I was basically born witchy. My parents were new-age junkies (my father is still a kabbalistic healer, so yeah), and our bookshelves were filled with bright and glossy iridescent tomes about astrology, meditation, the kabbalah, crystals, and ways to use spices to boost magical vibes with titles like The Complete Book of Magic and Witchcraft, Crystals and Healing, and Astral Projection.
Throughout high school, I was an outsider in my Manhattan prep school. I became friends with a group of “misfits” who were vastly informed about the esoteric and occult. We were a band of sisters who forged together and created our own little coven. Instead of jogging in Central Park during gym class, we would talk tarot cards.
A few years ago, I made things “official” by admitting to the world that I am a witch and by admitting my new career as a magical being and astrologer freely to would-be dates with zero fear of scoffs and hate. I was a practicing astrologer for several years, but my crew (at the time) would poke fun at me because of my beliefs. They would say it was a childhood fantasy and that I didn’t live in reality (even though it was my personal truth).
After a bad breakup with a Z-list Capricorn celebrity, who laughed at my Full Moon celebrations and desire to consult the tarot for clarity, I decided to break away from my fear of being criticized by others. I was determined to live genuinely and surround myself with people who embraced my beliefs. I even changed my bios in all my dating apps to read, “Young Mystic Looking for Love: All Astrological Sun Signs Welcome.”
Dating as a witch isn’t as rare as you might think—there are a lot of us (even celebrities). Plus, Bewitched, Sabrina, and I Dream of Jeannie reruns have destigmatized the modern-day perception of what a witch is “supposed” to look like (we don’t have green faces and pointed noses). And dating is the same as it is for everyone else—a shitshow…but with more frustrations because my dates think I actually spend my evenings boiling frogs in cauldrons and crafting spells.
Most of the dudes who slide into my DMs on social media ask if they can send me nudes or some other sexual BS. As a complete prude, I block them but laugh at their bravado. They think being a witch will make me open to threesomes and orgies like in The Witches of Eastwick. On dating apps, like OkCupid and Bumble, I meet guys who ask me why I am a witch. One time, someone messaged me just to tell me I’m going to hell. Isn’t that what every girl wants? (No.) On the contrary, the majority of men I’ve encountered on Tinder are very open to my beliefs and have been extremely receptive to me. They usually ask astrology questions as a cute way to flirt.
One time, I matched with a fellow astrologer (who shall remain nameless). “Hey cutie, what’s your Moon Sign,” was his opening line. He acknowledged that he had a preference for Gemini women and presumed I had a Scorpio ascendant from my intense glare in the photo on my profile.
“No, I have a Libra ascendant,” I replied.
“I can’t date a Libra rising…I’m not into that.”
Yeah, he dumped me before we ever met. Another set of DMs brought me face-to-face with a guy who was into occult and esoteric studies. The chances of us matching on OkCupid were low, but we managed to connect regardless of the odds. I did a tarot reading on our relationship and pulled The Tower Card. We joked about the unpromising potential of our romance and agreed to have an enjoyable evening out, regardless of the low chances of it working out. It was fine.
My favorite—I’m being sarcastic…you’ll see—dating experience occurred several years ago with a conservative guy who also turned out to be a bit of a misogynist. He saw my profile and after a few weeks of texting agreed to meet up IRL. When we hung out, he asked if I predicted how the date would go and if I had done a love spell on him. After a couple of cocktails, he confessed that my power scared him, as my ability to understand and live in harmony with the universal energy on Earth freaked him out. We never spoke again.
Dating as a witch is hard. But there are things I can do to make it better. *wiggles eyebrows* Like if I meet someone and they aren’t, say, on their best behavior, I can just put their names in a jar with sugar water until they become sweet. Or I can put their name on a piece of paper and place it in the freezer in a plastic bag filled with water so they won’t contact me again.
If you’re dating a witch—or thinking about sliding into their DMS—there are things you can do too.
Instead of throwing shade, actually ask about their beliefs. Don’t let your own fears or hang-ups hold you back from opening your heart to someone, even if they are a witch. Full Moon ceremonies are fun. They can help calm energies. Manifesting dreams together can lead to emotional health and wellness as a couple. And don’t forget, sex can be next level and transcendent—sex magic is a form of spell casting, BTW.
I’ve recently met someone who treats me with the respect I deserve, but at times, I can feel the eye-roll energy from our text convos. More so than not, when I talk about witch bottles, eclipses, mythological figures, and tarot, he’s engaged and intrigued. However, there are times I feel insecure that my views don’t align with his traditional beliefs because he laughs at the way I prep for a Full Moon or that I make an offering to a deity. Ninety-seven percent of the time we talk about magic and astrology, he’s actually really supportive, then the other three percent of the time, he makes jokes aimed at me when I give him witch tips on how to decompress and manifest money. But his mind and heart are open, which is all that really matters.
And if they’re not open to my witchy ways, I can just throw their names in the freezer and defrost them later before I add them to my cauldron of boiling frogs. Just kidding(ish).