7 wonderfully witchy perfumes

What even is a witch? Now, it’s important to be respectful here and acknowledge that women are still being persecuted for witchcraft in some areas of the world. And there are many interpretations of what it might mean to be a witch. I’m not an expert by any means, but I am interested in the rebellious thread which seems to stitch most kinds of witches together.

Witches are often viewed with equal parts awe, suspicion and fear by non-witchy folk. But just because your skills are unusual and/or powerful, does that always mean they’re threatening? I would argue not.

So, in this wee round up of witchy perfumes, I’ve imagined witches living in different places, and what they might choose to smell like based on the natural materials they could find in those areas. Perhaps they’re a bit unconventional, and live their lives a bit differently from most folk. But all, I imagine, with a deep rooted conviction that there is enormous power in the seen and unseen of the natural world.

As usual in my fragrance blog posts, I’ve written wee scent stories to give you the impression of a perfume. Wearing perfume is often about how it makes you feel, and what emotions and memories it might evoke. How do you want to feel today?

If you’re interested in the specific fragrance notes stated by a brand, feel free to click on the name of the perfume and that’ll take you to their website or a stockist’s website.

Fragrance notes are very subjective. So don’t worry if you smell things that a brand doesn’t mention—there are no right or wrong answers. And the same goes if you don’t smell what a brand lists as the notes. Your experience is as valid as anyone else’s.

Hexensalbe -Stora Skuggan – perfume for a hedge witch

Hubble twice, a cauldron of spice.

A spear of glossy dark liquorice. Two bundles of bay and a frond of fennel. Bitter sap, bubbling wild and free. Vetiver glooping. Crack—an old leather strap breaks and falls into the simmering juice. Five clove buds. A swift grating from an iris root. Three teaspoons of crossroad soil. Stir with a silver buttonhook.

Do you dare get to know this perfume?

Firewater – Jorum Studio – perfume for a fjord witch

Imagine…

You are a warrior

Languidly sprawling across soft, dry bracken near the

leaping flames of a birch fire.

Sweat soaked leather armour hangs from a sturdy pine, and high up in its branches 

Tiny birds are twittering and flickering, 

busily gathering soft stuff for lining

their nests.

The chill breeze shifts direction—a hint of seaweed reaches you,

Mingling with the rising sap of the trees.

Sunlight drips through the high branches 

big, golden drops of warmth you’ve waited all the 

brutally cold and dark winter to see again.

Your flask of spirit is near. You pour a libation on the ground,

raise it to your lips, and 

rest while you can.

Fantome des Maules – Stora Skuggan – perfume for a forest witch

Deep green, dark green, darkest green that’s almost black, as you peer from a sunlit field. What stirs in the shadows of the woods? Crushed mint and a brave cluster of carnations lie within this liminal space.  

But are you safe?

Bristling pine needles, felting the forest floor, soft under your feet as you cautiously enter the copse cavern. Are you wise, my child? Should you turn back?

A crackling. Some rustling. One wisp of burned sugar. 

Your head flicks round. Hands flexing and heart pounding. Is that breathing you can hear?

Copper leaves drift idly. Golden light finds you. Radiant beams twinkle and you gaze in awe.

What have you stumbled upon?

Askr – Jorum Studio – perfume for a sea witch

Now, to me, this is the smell of somewhere in real life. In SW Scotland, there’s a castle called Culzean. It stands proudly on a rocky outcrop, gazing sternly across the sea to Kintyre and, beyond that, to Ireland. Hugging the coastline at the base of the castle is ancient woodland, roots digging deep into sandy soil and casting feathery fingers of shade over silver sand.

Askr is the smell to me of nestling under some old ash trees along Croy beach, nudging spars of driftwood together with my feet to make a wee fire. A wrecked dinghy crumbles tarry flecks onto the sand. Amber beads of resin drip down a Scots pine.

Waves pound the glistening rocks, seaweed tumbles through the air, and the setting sun sets fire to the millions of iridescent crushed shells from which the powder soft sand is made. All that’s missing is a chunk of ambergris—maybe one day…

Tolu – Ormonde Jayne – perfume for a cave witch

Imagine…

You’re a high priestess, blissfully living in an enchanted cave, deep in a forgotten forest, and far away from the mundanity of the rest of the world.

Swooping arms of inky pine hide the entrance to your sanctuary, holding you and your companions safely within.

Reclining on softly rustling bronze bracken, your fingertips softly caress the rich amber of your supple velvet cloak, which wraps snugly around your proud figure.

Delicate threads of the deepest green silk trace intricate patterns on the sleeves, which glint and glimmer in the flickering flames of an abundant wood fire, as you gesture politely to a nearby wood sprite. 

They eagerly hand you a glittering glass of buttered rum, ladled from a copper cauldron suspended over the glowing flames, and you breathe the heady aroma, generous with warm clove and nutmeg.

Topaz light scatters across the low roof of the ancient cave as you tilt the fragrant liquid gently in your glass.

The golden liquid glimmers. You take a slow sip. And savour.

Lonestar Memories – Tauer – perfume for a cowperson witch

An arid wind scours the prairie. Shredded clouds writhe across the fat disc of the moon, hanging low and peach like overhead. Your horse snickers contentedly, plucking sweet threads of hay from their net.

You sit cross legged in the flickering light of your campfire, sweaty chaps moulded to your legs. One hand holds a linen pouch of sweet spices, and the other gently crushes a bundle of eucalyptus. You breathe in – deep and slow –  tilt your head back and look at the stars.

Scorpio Rising – ERIS Parfums – perfume for an Icelandic witch

Maybe it’s a bit overstated, but Iceland really is the land of fire and ice. I don’t think I fully comprehended a place so jammed full of contradictions until I visited in the depths of winter. Gazing at hissing mud pools, watching super heated steam soar metres into the air, and mesmerised by a half frozen lake where some of the water was warm enough to feel like a bath.

Cold and hot all at the same time, Scorpio Rising is full of contradictions. Warm black pepper and bright ginger strike sparks off each other, while billowing sheets dry on a frosty day. Briskly snapping the freshly laundered bedding off the line, you tuck it snugly away in your cedar lined wardrobe, where cloves, cinnamon and vetiver sachets guard against moths.

Which witchy fragrances have I missed?

Go on, no need to be shy. I’m sure there are many other wonderfully witchy perfumes out there. Do you have a favourite?

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