The capitalist coven
Maybe we are all a little witchy

It’s 2 a.m. You’re scrolling through Etsy, past the crochet frogs and vintage mugs, when you see it: a $35 “Banishing Negativity” spell jar. The reviews are glowing. 

“It actually worked,” one buyer swears. 

Another says, “My ex texted me within 24 hours.”

You pause. You don’t even believe in magic, but something inside you thinks: maybe, just one jar wouldn’t hurt.

Welcome to the world of Etsy witches, the internet’s latest blend of capitalism, chaos, and cosmic energy. Witchcraft used to involve cauldrons and secrecy, now it involves free shipping and a promo code.

The Cambridge Dictionary defines witchcraft as “the activity of performing magic to help or harm other people.” Once a symbol of danger and rebellion, witchcraft has been rebranded into an aesthetic—pastel tarot decks, moon phase jewelry, and “cleanse your aura” mists.

Modern witchcraft thrives online, especially on TikTok’s WitchTok, where candle rituals, spell tutorials, and astrology charts rack up billions of views. Etsy has become the marketplace version of that, a place where sellers market spiritual services the way others sell tote bags.

Historically, witches were burned for their power. Now, they monetize it. The modern witch is less about cursing kings and more about curing burnout.

But, Etsy witches are walking contradictions. They promote anti-capitalist healing and “manifestation over materialism,” while charging $45 for a vial of moon water. It’s easy to mock, but the irony is kind of the point.

Today’s witchcraft isn’t rebellion against capitalism—it’s survivingly within it. 

Buying spells online gives people a sense of control in a world that constantly reminds them they have none. Every order confirmation is a small prayer disguised as a receipt.

Even Etsy itself knows that this balance is strange. The platform technically bans “metaphysical services that promise results,” yet thousands of witches still list “entertainment-only” spells with winks in their descriptions. The line between belief and branding has never been blurrier.

For many young people, witchcraft fills a gap left by religion. Statistics Canada reports that over one-third of Canadians now identify as having no religious affiliation, and that number is even higher among Gen Z. Traditional faith feels outdated, but spirituality, flexible, aesthetic, and personal, is thriving.

Witchcraft fits perfectly into that secular landscape. It’s religion you can remix: a pinch of astrology, a dash of psychology, and a heavy pour of vibes. There’s no priest, no doctrine—just you, your candle, and your intentions.

Maybe this is what faith looks like now: less about God, more about algorithms and manifestation playlists. We’ve replaced sermons with moon rituals and found meaning in the chaos of the feed.

So, is the rise of Etsy witches a reflection of our desperation? Maybe—but not in a pathetic way. When the world feels unfixable, small rituals make it feel less so. Lighting a candle for abundance or buying a charm to repel negativity is a way of saying, I still believe things can change.

Spiritual consumerism isn’t new, people have always paid for meaning. The difference is that Gen Z is self-aware about it. We know a spell jar won’t solve climate change, but it might make midterms feel slightly less cursed.

Online, witchcraft isn’t just a belief system, it’s performance art. TikTok once exploded with “Trump Death Day” predictions and a viral rumour that witches had hexed the moon. More recently, conspiracy threads blamed an “Etsy coven” for the supposed “curse” of conservative commentator Charlie Kirk.

Whether people actually believe these things is beside the point. Witchcraft now functions as internet folklore, half meme, half myth. Everyone’s in on the joke, yet everyone’s just a little serious about it too. Because witches are powerful—and power is what everyone’s chasing. 

The witch has always been a symbol of resistance, especially for women and queer communities. She’s independent, feared, and unapologetic, all traits society still tries to police. Being a witch, even an ironic one, means reclaiming that autonomy. It’s saying, “If the world won’t protect me, maybe my crystals will.”

Maybe we laugh at Etsy witches because they remind us of ourselves—trying to find order, identity, and a little hope in a system that profits off our confusion. Sure, it’s easy to roll your eyes at the person buying a “manifest rent money” candle. But in a world where everything feels out of control, who can blame them for wanting to believe?

Maybe the Etsy witch isn’t really selling magic. Maybe she’s selling the comforting illusion that, for once, the universe might listen.