As Lindsay Lohan and I stumble towards our late 20s, we’ve opened our minds to the power of the occult. While Lindsay is allegedly what we in the biz call a “white witch,” I’ve lately found myself turned into a type of specifically dreadful banshee: the girl who visits a witch store and can’t stop talking about it. With Valentine’s Day fast approaching and journalism as an excuse, I decided to give my love life a little push from the occult via Catland, Brooklyn’s “premier metaphysical boutique and event space.”
The lovelorn get to pick their poison at Catland: crystals, statues, incense, candles, all of which I try my best to ignore as co-owner Joe Peterson blends me a custom love potion. Called “Come To Me” oil, its a blend of essential oil like rose, patchouli, musk, and jasmine essence. (A friend will later ask me why I smell like baking soda.) The muggle perfume they sell on the bottom floor of Macy’s gives me a headache, so I’m just excited for a painless fragrance. (Or will it cause my exes pain? You never know with magic.) Peterson shows me how to anoint myself with the “Come to Me” oil. Eyes closed, with my hand on my forehead, I wonder if I should buy a cat candle or a vagina candle on my way out.
I expect the oil will guide me in the direction of Jamie Dornan or at least someone attainable like Leonardo DiCaprio, but Peterson tells me it is I who must control the oil. Womp womp. Since my love potion was created with “chaos magick,” I need to believe in it and take control of my own destiny for it to work. There goes my automatic $6 love life. Peterson agrees when I tell him his oil sounds just like therapy.
I do get a few witchy tips, though. The oil will provide me with confidence. I can mix up my anointing ritual for a more personal process if I wish. One way to channel the chaos magic is to make and burn personalized ritual candles. Another way, I am told calmly, is to masturbate to the point of exhaustion.
The vagina candles can also help.
Catland also does tarot readings (and teaches tarot classes, and sells tarot books) so I got a reading to kick off my month of nonstop loving. For my reading, we would delve into my past love life and look into my future. My “past” cards were justice, death, the devil, and one more I can’t remember because I was waiting for Satan to rise up from the ground. Apparently I spend a lot of time in my head [I’m a writer] and have had bad boyfriends [I’m a human]. I’m just acting skeptical now to be cool; even when it’s a full con, hearing someone tell you about yourself is always appealing. My “future” cards were all oranges and ocean blues: the page of cups, a knight, the sun.
Plus, I was wearing my red sweatshirt, so we decided I was emotionally ready for love. I left Catland and ran into a friend on the train. How often does that happen? Come To Me, indeed.
My cat keeps trying to eat my crystals but the Come to Me has worked like a charm. I’m still single, but a publicist did send me a couple’s vibrator the other day, so I must have been putting out couple juju into the world. Between the vibe and my red sweatshirt, we can all agree I’m prepared.
One night, doused in oil, I listened to my friend complain about his new girlfriend. Zonked out on white wine, I completely forgot to subtly anoint him. Despite my magick fail, the two broke up the next day. Praise to patchouli! None of us liked that girl. If magic isn’t getting me laid, at least it can get my friend out of a bad relationship.
But in fairness, between the crystals and the candle who knows which element of chaos magick was responsible for the couple’s demise. Lindsay, maybe it’s time for us to move on past white magic?