A Brief, Completely Accurate History of The Gargoyle

By Charlie Palmer

Long before it was a magazine, The Gargoyle was a cave. In what is now vaguely considered Southeast Michigan, early humans gathered around a fire and scratched satirical drawings into stone: stick figures mocking their tribal leader, a bison labeled “mid,” and at least one speech bubble reading something untranslatable but clearly sarcastic. Anthropologists agree this was the first issue.

In the late Middle Ages, a group of monks at the University of An Arbour (then spelled “Aodifnrvef,” because spelling had not yet been invented) began circulating satirical manuscripts criticizing the Church, the Crown, and the concept of “pants.” These early issues, hand-drawn on a combination of vellum and asbestos, are now referred to as The Proto-Gargoyle. They featured marginalia of grotesque little men making rude faces at authority, an aesthetic that remains unchanged to this day. 

The magazine went underground for several centuries, resurfacing briefly during the Enlightenment when a short-lived pamphlet titled Uncommon Sense was immediately banned for asking whether kings were “cringe.” After this, The Gargoyle entered its Dark Age, which most scholars agree the current version of the Garg is still in.

In 1909, the magazine officially “launched” when a group of University of Michigan students rediscovered the ancient Gargoyle charter while looking for a quiet place to smoke in the Arb. They decided satire should be put on paper instead of whispered. Armed with a printing press, too much confidence, and no clear editorial policy, they produced the first “official” issue. It sold poorly but confused everyone which was considered a success.

Throughout the 20th century, The Gargoyle (barely) survived censorship, wars, and budget cuts. Notable contributors include that one raccoon who submitted a single-panel comic in 1973 and probably some other people too, I guess.

Today, The Gargoyle continues its sacred duty: mocking power, misunderstanding art, and pretending chaos is editorial vision. Like the stone creatures it’s named after, the magazine is ugly, persistent, and impossible to remove without damaging the building.

The Gargoyle will always persist, not because it is necessary, but because someone, somewhere, keeps drawing something stupid and thinking, “This should be published.”