what is a witch? 🔮

unpacking a loaded term

Practical Magic is a newsletter about ritual, creativity, and modern magic for the 21st century witch.

It’s written by Dana Cooper of Ritualist, a Hudson Valley-based witch shop & plant shop. ✷

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For generations, the word “witch” was used to ostracize, persecute, shame, and justify violence — those who claimed the title of witch could only do so in the safest of spaces and in the company of likeminded peers. These days, many of us have chosen to reclaim the word and wear it proudly (and what a privilege it is to be able to do so.) Still, it’s a term that’s often misunderstood, and one that carries its fair share of negative connotations. In my experience, even those who aren’t deterred by its centuries-long smear campaign struggle to wrap their heads around what a witch actually looks like, believes, and practices.

As the owner of a witch shop, I can tell you this: it’s been fascinating to witness people’s reaction to the word.

When I first opened Ritualist, I toyed with how to describe it publicly: there are so many terms for shops that sell apothecary goods, tarot decks, and other tools for healing and ritual, and they each hold such a different energy. I knew that I could call Ritualist a metaphysical shop, but that word brought to mind images of the the more traditional, old-school stores that I grew up with, which didn’t quite align with the vision I had for my own business. The word spiritual was in the running, but it had become such a buzzword in recent years — so much so that unfortunately, I could no longer hear the term “spirituality” without immediately thinking of things like spiritual bypassing / love and light mentality, cultural appropriation, and folks trying to sell people products or fancy retreats in order to “fix” them (ick.)

In the end, I settled on the word “witch,” positioning Ritualist as a “modern witch shop.” I knew that it was a polarizing word, but I also knew that my shop wouldn’t be for everyone, regardless of what terminology I chose. I can happily say that I’ve never regretted my decision — but as you can imagine, having the word “witch” on your storefront brings up a lot of questions! Thankfully most of them have been asked with respect and out of curiosity, and talking about the word witch and the practice of witchcraft has been the catalyst for some really interesting and thought-provoking conversations. That’s what inspired me to share my thoughts on the term with you here — and what better time to talk about a complex, taboo subject than during scorpio season?

I’m not sure when I first started using this analogy, but it’s one that I often turn to as a jumping-off point when people ask me things like “what makes someone a witch?,” or “how do you know if you’re a witch?”: I view the word “witch” much like I view the word “artist.”

The term “artist” is so fluid and versatile: if you create anything that you consider to be “art,” then you’re absolutely entitled to claim it for yourself. Your medium doesn’t matter, whether or not you’re publicly known for your work doesn’t matter, how long you’ve been making art or how often you create doesn’t matter (and of course, neither do things like your gender identity, how you present yourself aesthetically, how you earn a living, or what your religious or spiritual beliefs are.) The title of “artist” isn’t just reserved for individuals whose paintings hang on gallery walls or whose sculptures live in museums — it also refers to the person who pulls out their sketchbook to process emotions, the friend who knits scarves for their inner circle, the graphics enthusiast who designs flyers for local events, and so on and so forth. If the title resonates with you, you’re allowed to use it. No one needs to bestow it upon you, and no one can take it away from you, either.

To me, the title of “witch” works the same way: it’s meant to be worn proudly by those with whom it resonates, regardless of what their practice might look like (and regardless of whether or not anyone else thinks they’ve “earned” it.) The thing I love most about the term witch is that it means a million different things to a million different people, and it applies to folks of every identity, lifestyle, and lived experience one can imagine. Witchcraft doesn’t just look like casting spells and honoring the full moon — witchcraft can be anything. Some of my most tried and true forms of witchcraft are activities that nearly everyone I know has engaged in at some point in their lives: things like journaling, meditating, and reflecting on the habits or thought patterns that are or aren’t serving their goals. I turn to these practices far more often than I turn to elaborate rituals, but I don’t consider them to be any less magical.

It’s my belief that living your life as a witch — whether publicly or behind closed doors — is much more about the way you view and interact with the world around you than it is about making sure your practice resembles what’s presented to us on tv or in movies. I have a ton of respect for more traditional practices of witchcraft — for culturally-specific traditions and practices that have been passed down through generations — but I also believe that witchcraft (and spiritual practice of any kind) is extremely personal, and can be adjusted accordingly. I always encourage folks to engage with and learn from practitioners, facilitators, elders, and teachers whose values align with their own, but ultimately, to “take what resonates and leave the rest,” as so many of my own trusted teachers have suggested.

Here comes the caveat to that: I believe that it’s absolutely crucial to consider ethics within your practice (and sadly, I think we’ve all seen what it looks like when folks don’t.) Things like cultural appropriation (adopting sacred practices from cultures that are not your own in an extractive or disrespectful manner, or engaging in closed practices that don’t belong to your lineage) and spiritual bypassing (using spirituality to avoid or dismiss very real and valid issues and emotions) run rampant in the spiritual / witchcraft community — and just because witchcraft is such a fluid and flexible practice doesn’t mean that it’s a free-for-all. My one “rule” for myself in claiming the title of witch is that I take care not to intentionally cause harm. We all make mistakes, but in my eyes, practicing witchcraft means honoring an ongoing commitment to being open to learning, listening to others, and adjusting your actions as needed. There’s so much more that could be said on this — and there are certainly others who are more equipped than I to dive into such an important topic — but it would be irresponsible of me not to bring ethics into the conversation here, at least in a small way. By all means, make your practice your own — but please practice responsibly!

I’ll let you in on a little secret: calling myself a witch brings up more imposter syndrome than anything else in my life ever has (and I would imagine that many folks who call themselves artists struggle with similar feelings of fraudulence and unworthiness.) Even though I firmly believe that witchcraft doesn’t have to look a specific way and that it can consist of simple, everyday activities, I still feel like a total imposter most of the time — mainly because my practice looks nothing like what most people would imagine witchcraft to be. As I discussed in my very first Substack, I rarely make time for traditional or elaborate rituals these days. My personal practice often falls by the wayside completely, simply because so much of my energy is focused elsewhere in this season of my life. Every time a customer asks me what I did for the full moon (and the answer is “I laid on my couch watching Netflix”)  — or when I totally lose track of what date the full moon falls on in the first place — I feel like my Witch Card™ is going to be revoked. I’m tempted to shame myself for owning a witch shop and for (humbly) offering guidance to others when I can’t even seem to take my own advice or make time for my own practice. But then I remember how I define the words witch and witchcraft, and I realize that I’d be a hypocrite to gatekeep myself.

All of this is to say: if the term “witch” resonates with you, I hope you give yourself permission to wear it as a badge of honor.

If it’s something that’s brand new to you, feel free to try on the title — just for yourself — and see how it feels. Words are spells, after all, and the titles we give ourselves hold more power than we might realize. ✷

PS: I wrote this on the Scorpio new moon, so I guess I did have a new moon ritual this month. :)