If you started reading webcomics in the 2010s and were some kind of nerd (introverted, anxious, perhaps tea-drinking, loving cats and weird-looking dogs), you’ve probably come across Gemma Correll’s work. Born in 1984 and a professional illustrator and cartoonist for over 20 years, Correll is part of the millennial generation of internet cartoonists who laid the foundation for the tone of today’s modern swipe comics. The early days of Swipe Comics were defined by the proliferation of work on Etsy and tumblr, as artists learned how to spread short-form webcomics to exciting new online audiences. The term “swipe” referred to the rather novel concept of swiping from panel to panel. Today, Swipe Comics is most commonly seen on Instagram, X (formerly Twitter), and Bluesky, all of which now feature Kollel’s art. Along with contemporaries such as Sarah Anderson and Simon Tofield, Correll often focuses on the foibles of beloved animals (Correll’s published collections include A Cat’s Life, A Dog’s Life, The Pug’s Etiquette Guide, and It’s a Pug’s Life), the anxiety and loneliness of being a young professional, and finding joy despite the monotony of work. “Becoming an adult.”
Correll’s work is also seminal for what I have chosen to call the third wave of women’s comics. The third wave lasted from the 2000s to the late 2010s, and the second wave was between the 1980s and 2000s and included cartoonists Linda Barry and Julie Doucette, both of whom Correll cites as influences on his work. Like her comic book influences, Correll’s comics have consistently focused on the daily struggles faced by women, including overtly feminist critiques of modern culture like Snow White and the Seven Trolls, while works like Worrier Pose are engaging and honest depictions of constant anxiety.
“Snow White and the Seven Trolls” by Gemma Correll
“Worrier Pose” by Gemma Correll
Despite the endearing silliness of Correll’s comics, with their sketchy black characters, blushing heroines, and constant puns, it would be a shame not to see Correll as an important figure in feminist comics of the 2010s. The third wave of Kollel is characterized by the advent of the Internet as an accessible channel for mass publishing. Suddenly, comics no longer needed to come in the form of floppy issues, funny pages, or graphic novels, opening the door to a wide range of narrative experimentation. Pieces became much shorter, art became more minimalist, and cute or meme-like images were embraced by millions of viewers within days.
If you compare the rich, exuberant quality of Barry’s or Doucet’s pages with the simplicity of Correll’s or Anderson’s work, you can see the stylistic evolution to which I am referring. This simplification does not represent the deterioration of comics from Barry to Correll, but rather the evolution of the medium and structure with which comics are shared.
Four panels from Julie Doucet’s 1999 book My New York Diary
I bring up this stylistic change not because it’s worse or better than what came before, but because it emphasizes a certain thematic throughline present in the first, second, and third waves of women’s manga. Correll and Barry are all similarly concerned with sexual harassment, ridiculous female body standards, and mental illness, but Correll chooses a much shorter format. Most of Correll’s comics are one to four panels long, and are presented to the reader at once rather than panel by panel. These comics are designed for the internet. They’re quick reads, but because Correll’s comics tend to be absurdist, pun-based comedies like “Worrier Pose,” it’s easy to overlook the real inner characters portrayed within them. Her characters are almost always confused about something, and despite their universal blushing, ubiquitous striped shirts, and charmingly tousled hair, they feel uncomfortable in the world. These comics are challenging works that combine the cozy, core aesthetic that’s so popular on the internet with a deep-rooted undercurrent of anxiety.
The Internet has also had a dramatic impact on the textual aspects of Correll’s work. Her comic predecessors were generally long, character-driven memoirs or works of fiction, such as Barry’s 100 Demons. Such works relied heavily on both dialogue and first-person narration, in a manner similar to that found in prose novels and memoirs. However, Correll’s work almost completely omits dialogue, opting instead for a combination of New Yorker-style captions (usually puns) and speech bubbles. Because each piece is so short, the thoughts contained within each bubble are less about individual character development and more about an easily relatable internal monologue. This means that rather than following the growth of a character we get to know and grow attached to, we’re presented with a character that readers can immediately relate to, whether or not they’ve seen Gemma Correll’s comics before.
Correll’s form of storytelling thrives on the internet, where attention spans are increasingly short, anxiety is on the rise, and feelings of isolation are on the rise. It’s comforting to be able to recognize in bite-sized pieces that someone else in the world is wondering when the last time they took a shower and whether their significant other can tell that it was a week ago. Correll’s portraits of pretty girls with crumbs on their bras and blushing faces tap into the strangeness of a world in which we all have to present ourselves as perfect online, even as the internet eats away at our daily fresh air, communal kindness, and stability.
Something like this:
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