Mutha — Magazine Alison Mutha Magazine

You are not alone. Mutha sees you.

Alison had poured her last $400 into printing 200 copies. She had written half the content under a pseudonym because she was terrified her own mother, a former debutante from Charleston, would see it. "Mutha," after all, was a family name she was reclaiming from the suffocating politeness of her upbringing. mutha magazine alison mutha magazine

The name was stamped in bruised-plum ink on the recycled cardstock cover. Below it, in smaller type: A Magazine for the Rest of Us. You are not alone

She used the $200 to print 500 more copies. She wrote a new column called "Ask Your Mutha," where she answered questions with brutal honesty. ("Dear Mutha: My child only eats beige food. Is she dying?" Answer: "No. She is thriving on a diet of air, spite, and chicken nuggets. You are doing fine.") She had written half the content under a

The last page of every issue was a photo of a reader’s real-life mess: a sink full of dishes, a toddler crying in a shopping cart, a mother crying in a parked car. The caption was always the same.

She laughed. It was a wet, cracked, real laugh.