Perhaps the most interesting thing about the new witchcraft craze is that it has less to do with magic than it might initially seem. Of course, there are tarot cards, crystals, full moon rituals and videos explaining which herbs belong in your cocktail right now. But beneath all the aesthetics lies a rather simple longing: to stop having to understand, plan and optimise everything, if only for a moment. For years, self-improvement was the answer to almost everything. The morning routine had to get better, the calendar fuller, the next trip more productive. At some point, even relaxation came with its own KPI. And now, of all things, the opposite has become appealing. Lighting candles, drawing cards, going outside without immediately needing to know what the walk is supposed to achieve. WitchTok has surpassed 32 billion views, while moon calendars and small rituals are appearing with increasing frequency on Instagram. Whether you believe in any of it is almost beside the point. Perhaps it is less about predicting the future and more about learning to listen to yourself again.
Autumn 2026 is giving rise to a new kind of girls’ trip. Not three nights in a city spent squeezing in as many restaurants, bars and outfit changes as possible, but a weekend somewhere a little remote and a little mysterious. A house with dark wooden floors, heavy curtains and a garden that doesn't look as though a team arrives every morning with hedge trimmers. A cabin where mobile reception is patchy. An old country house where nobody would be surprised to find a portrait in the hallway whose eyes seem to follow you for just a little too long.
The plan is deliberately open-ended. Perhaps the days are organised around the phases of the moon. Perhaps there is foraging in the woods, a walk across a windswept moor or simply a stroll around the block without a destination in mind. In the evening, tarot cards are spread across the table, herbs are mixed into cocktails and more candles are lit than the host probably intended. Someone brings a recipe for a pumpkin cocktail. Someone else is convinced that the card they have drawn carries a very clear message. Everyone listens, even if nobody knows exactly what it means.
There is a different kind of appeal here than in those big nights out where everyone already knows, before arriving, where the best photos will be taken. A coven getaway has nothing to prove. It doesn't promise a new version of yourself by Monday morning or a perfectly curated travel diary. It is a trip in which the place itself becomes part of the experience rather than merely a backdrop for the group. The garden provides herbs for the table. The kitchen revolves around whatever happens to be in season. A walk lasts as long as it needs to. And when everyone eventually gathers around a candle at the end of the evening to talk about the cards, no grand revelation has to follow. Perhaps it is enough that nobody checks the time while someone else is speaking.
The witchcraft renaissance therefore feels less like an escape into an imagined past and more like a desire for a different kind of present. One in which intuition has room to exist again, and not every decision has to pass through an endless internal strategy meeting. Autumn has always been the season for retreating, gathering around full tables and spending long evenings together. Now, it has simply found a new vocabulary for it: covens, full moons, foraging and a little magic. Whether you believe in any of it remains an open question. Whether a weekend without an agenda suddenly sounds incredibly tempting, perhaps less so.