Aeyde Hexe Ch. 01

 'The Maiden' by Tish Weinstock

In his 1486 book Malleus Maleficarum, the German Catholic clergyman and renowned misogynist pig, Herinch Kramer warned against the perceived dangers of witches. So depraved were these women, Kramer argued, that they would cut off men’s members for sport, stashing them away in birds’ nests where they were kept miraculously alive, and fed on a girl dinner of oats and corn. They also smothered babies, summoned storms, destroyed crops and generally wreaked havoc, chaos, and misery. But god forbid you leave these women alone to think. Because, “When a woman thinks alone,” Kramer wrote, “She thinks evil.” Mic drop.

Though Kramer erred *slightly* on the extreme side, his controversial text captured the general cultural consensus, which was that women who were intelligent, attractive, independent, and sexually autonomous(!) - basically all the things you’d list on your Tinder profile - were to be viewed with suspicion and contempt. Because women who are hot, smart, and cool must be plain evil. Right? Swipe left at all costs. 

For Kramer, this applied to all women, but especially the young ones; those femme fatales who were at once dangerous and alluring, and unpredictable and unruly as a result. Disrupting centuries-old codes of female passivity and obedience, they represented the possibility that a woman might reject the patriarchal systems designed to corset and contain her and live life on her own terms, instead. Sacrilege! Heresy! Witch! Indeed, such a threat were these young maidens to the dominant power structures (not to mention the fragility of the male ego) that the only way to control them was punishment by death. Hanging, drowning, stoning, and burning at the stake. Some were even strangled before they were burnt. You know, just in case… 

Take, Joan of Arc. A 15th-century peasant girl from rural France, Joan started hearing voices and experiencing visions when she was just a teen. Believing them to be messages from saints, willing her to help Charles VII reclaim the French throne from the English during the Hundred Years War, she broke all convention by journeying to the royal court and offering her services in battle. She cut her hair short, wore (male) armour, and became a military leader, leading the French to great victory. Despite being heralded a hero at home, abroad, she was branded a heretic. A peasant girl with divine powers dressing like a man? Not on Kramer’s watch. As such, in 1430 she was captured by the Burgundians and sold to the English, who put her on trial for heresy, witchcraft and cross-dressing, and subsequently burned her at the stake. 

Between the 15th and 18th centuries, it’s estimated that around 60,000 people were executed for witchcraft in Europe and America, the majority of whom were women. Were they actually witches? Did they really possess supernatural powers? Is there somewhere, out there, a cave full of boxes containing perfectly intact penises? It’s impossible to say. But it was never really about the magic, though, was it? It was about power and who was allowed to wield it. 

While the extermination of witches was officially outlawed by the mid-18th century, young women who identify outside of the norm continue to be persecuted. Think: the sexually empowered (read: bat shit crazy) Victorian banished to the asylum, the wayward flapper ostracized by polite society, the banged up suffragette fighting for her rights or the pill popping ’50s housewife suffering from domestic ennui. There's also the bra burning feminist still fighting for those elusive rights, the feared and revered girl boss breaking balls in the boardroom, the unapologetic pop star refusing to conform to the record label's demands, the Iranian girls ripping off their hijabs, the teen goth eating defiantly alone at lunch, the queer artist rebelling against the tyranny of Russian oppression, the trans woman in Trump’s America, simply trying to exist, in fact any woman in Trump’s America trying to exist. 

But where there is persecution, there is always resistance. Indeed, thanks to feminism and its many undulating waves, women have been slowly able to claw some power back, and what's more, they’ve been doing it through the image of the witch. No longer the construct of male anxiety, the witch has become a symbol of power and resistance. This dates back to the 1960s and 70s when the Women’s International Terrorist Conspiracy from Hell (AKA W.I.T.C.H) used to dress up in long black robes and pointed hats as they stuck two crooked fingers up to the patriarchy. Around the same time, Yoko Ono penned the song "Yes, I'm a Witch" in which she sung the famous lines: “Yes, I'm a witch, I'm a bitch. I don't care what you say.” Yas, queen. 

Fast-forward to the '90s and early '00s, and television shows like Charmed and Buffy, alongside cult movies like The Craft, introduced audiences to a new wave of women disarming demons and destabilising the patriarchy one spell at a time. These women were smart, funny, independent and complex. Sometimes even dark, which wasn’t necessarily framed as a flaw, but rather an authentic representation of the many facets of being a woman. What's more, their power wasn’t tied to their looks or “feminine” charm, but rather came from a strength within, which is what made them so impactful. 

Spells were being cast on the runway too, as designers began to embrace the figure of the witch as the personification of female empowerment. Blending '90s grunge with gothic allure, French designer Martine Sitbon's iconic spring/summer 1993 collection featured an enchanting Kate Moss sauntering down the runway in a pointed hat and veil. Elsewhere, Comme De Garçons' “Dark Romance, Witch” autumn/winter 04 collection featured a coven of models in deconstructed Victorian dress. 

And it wasn't just witches being rehabilitated, but Joan of Arc, too. Canonised as a saint in 1920, for designers like John Galliano, Jean Paul Gaultier, and Alexander McQueen, Joan of Arc represented the ultimate expression of rebellion and resistance. McQueen was so inspired by her story of martyrdom that he based an entire show around her, which featured medieval chainmail and ecclesiastical attire, and crescendoed in a model being engulfed by flames.

Then, along came social media and third-wave feminism, which saw the explosion of the witch as an explicit feminist icon and political figure. For example, in online communities such as #witchesofinstagram and #Witchtok, like-minded individuals are turning to astrology, rituals, spells, herbology and tarot as a way to protect themselves against the micro and macro aggressions of the modern world. Meanwhile, during the #MeToo movement and Women's March, feminist activists would carry around signs emblazoned with the words: “We are the daughters of the witches you didn’t burn” and “Hex the patriarchy”. For these everyday individuals, the witch has become a powerful symbol of hope and resilience in a world that continues to police and punish women.  

So, where does that leave us? As long as sexist norms and patriarchal structures persist, independent, autonomous, and empowered young women will always be feared. But this doesn't have to be a bad thing. It's actually our superpower. In the words of Yoko Ono, "My voice is real. My voice speaks truth. I don't fit in your ways. I'm not gonna die for you.” Long live the witch.

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