Why everybody wants to be a witch

Cut to the Feeling is a monthly column by Anne T. Donahue about the art and pop culture that sparks joy, grief, nostalgia, and everything in between.

In case you'd forgotten, Sabrina the Teenage Witch begins on Sabrina Spellman's 16th birthday. That morning, she learns she has magical powers — that her pet cat can speak, and that she can turn her high school nemesis into a pineapple. So, understandably, I was obsessed. 

My childhood love for Sabrina ran deep. When the series premiered in 1996, I was 11 going on 12 and very much aware of my lack of power over most things. I was stuck at the same school, in the same class, with the same people; stuck asking my mom and dad for car rides; stuck doing chores to earn enough allowance to get a new Dr. Pepper lip balm. Turning 16 seemed like the light at the end of my tunnel.

Obviously I knew I wouldn't wake up a witch that morning (or so I assured my mom when she caught me encouraging my cat to speak). But that didn't snuff out the precious hope that I found in the witchcore of the 90s — the same impulse that draws so many people to search #witchtok for answers or to begin their very own crystal collection.

A life of magic offered a sense of control. Sabrina, though she was iconically un-hip, got results. The Owens women of Practical Magic dabble in altering the fate of the people around them. Nancy in The Craft, while damaged and eventually unhinged, could make the school's predator fly out a window. To be a witch meant to elevate oneself over standard social protocol. It meant participation in the storyline instead of the passive observation of it.

It's understandable why witch-centric life choice still thrives. Spoiler alert: real life can be terrible. And the more helpless we feel, the more precious an alternative universe becomes — especially if it's weaved within narratives where heroes evoke something not only unseen, but often condemned.

Even work rooted in the darkness of magic can ease the soul. The Witches are a reminder to never cross anyone, lest they be dangerous. Charmed is rooted in the belief that even someone who seems normal can still boast exceptional gifts — made even more powerful when anchored in sisterhood. The Love Witch makes romantic love seem exhausting, which is ideal if you're dealing with the real-life struggle of trying to get over somebody. And Practical Magic celebrates the universal accessibility of magic (and the valuable message not to try and raise the dead).

To live vicariously through fictional witches is a temporary antidote to feeling passive and ordinary. You wanna mess with me? No problem, I'll just hex you.

This isn't to conflate pop culture magic with the real practices it's based on, nor to over-romanticize escapism as the cure for unhappiness. Actual witchcraft is not about pointing one's finger and awaiting one's nemesis to turn into fruit — it's a belief based in emotional and spiritual respect and rituals (although I dream every day my cat will finally speak to me). It also doesn't instantly solve all problems, right wrongs, or reverse history. Embracing adulthood means making peace with the unfortunate truth that some things just suck, regardless of what crystal you carry or what spell you conjure. But it's still a salve to imagine a world where you have that power.

The thing is, almost every TV or movie witch eventually understands that there is no cure-all to real (mortal) life. Sally Owens (Practical Magic) realizes she needs the help of her neighbours and community to rid her sister of a terrible man, while the Charmed sisters still go to their jobs, endure the grind, and work to find balance between their magic and mortal lives. Even Nancy from The Craft is shown losing touch with reality after she dives too far into the world of magic — and the film's protagonist, Sarah, still has to go back to high school. Sabrina Spellman (of ABC's Sabrina, thank you very much) rarely misses a class. The monotony of life stops for no one.

I'm clearly still disappointed that upon turning 16, I didn't awake to find a book of spells waiting for me with the revelation that I could simply point and do magic. But I had still stumbled upon the magic of supernatural escapism and the bigger lessons it brought with it. Which, in retrospect, is probably for the better: Sabrina still had to slog it out for a few seasons during her college years, which (ironically) led to the series losing its magic. At least I had the power to change the channel.