We have always loved The Vulgar Witch, even when we dressed her up in less threatening terms.
Think of Molly Weasley (Harry Potter) screaming "NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!" before killing Bellatrix Lestrange. That is a vulgar witch. Think of Granny Weatherwax (Terry Pratchett's Discworld), who washes her face with soap that stings, curses like a cart driver, and beats vampires with a frying pan. Think of The Witch of waste in Miyazaki’s Howl’s Moving Castle, who is initially a villain but ends up as a cranky, beloved, tea-drinking nuisance.
In folklore, she is Baba Yaga, who lives in a hut on chicken legs and demands you clean her kitchen before she helps you. She is the Scottish nicnevin, the French fee des dents, and the Pennsylvania Dutch hexenmeister who kept a jar of curses under the sink.
These figures are not pretty. They are not serene. They are effective.
In contemporary media, the witch is often depicted through a lens of high-aesthetic spiritualism: a figure of crystal magic, herbal teas, and ethereal connection to the divine. However, a darker, more potent archetype persists in folklore and countercultural literature: The Vulgar Witch. The Vulgar Witch
To understand this figure, one must first deconstruct the term "vulgar." In contemporary parlance, vulgar implies obscenity or bad taste. Historically, however, it simply meant "common." The Vulgar Witch is the witch of the vulgus—the mob, the peasantry, the dirt-under-the-fingernails reality of survival. She does not float above the earth; she digs into it. This paper posits that the Vulgar Witch is defined by three core tenets: a rejection of polite speech (the usage of curses), a rejection of bodily shame (the grotesque), and a rejection of hierarchical subservience (class warfare). She is the manifestation of everything polite society wishes to repress.
In the curated digital covens of Instagram and TikTok, witchcraft has found a new aesthetic. It is an aesthetic of crystals polished to a mirror shine, of altars bathed in the soft glow of salt lamps, of flowy linen dresses worn while smudging sage in a minimalist apartment. The modern witch is often portrayed as serene, spiritually hygienic, and meticulously organized. She is, for lack of a better term, respectable.
But lurking in the shadow of this #WitchTok revolution is a figure who refuses to be sanitized. She is the muddy-footed hedge-rider. She is the crone who spits into her cauldron. She is the folk healer whose remedies involve bodily fluids, grave dirt, and the kinds of herbs you don’t display on an open shelf. This is The Vulgar Witch.
The word "vulgar" comes from the Latin vulgus, meaning "the common crowd" or "the mob." To be vulgar is to be ordinary, coarse, and rooted in the raw, messy reality of the flesh. For centuries, the vulgar witch has been the subject of male terror and patriarchal law. But today, in an era of spiritual consumerism, reclaiming the vulgar witch is a radical act of defiance. This article is an exploration of that figure—her history, her grimoire, and why we desperately need her chaos back. We have always loved The Vulgar Witch, even
The most immediate signifier of the Vulgar Witch is her language. In almost every folklore tradition, from the Russian Baba Yaga to the Scottish Limmer, the witch speaks in riddles, threats, or profanities.
The usage of "vulgar language"—profanity, scatological humor, and cursing—is a magical act of boundary-breaking. The sociolinguist Timothy Jay notes that cursing is often the domain of the powerless, a way to regain agency through linguistic aggression. For the Vulgar Witch, words are not merely symbols; they are physical acts. To speak a "dirty" word is to dirty the social space, to refuse the etiquette of the ruling class.
While the "good" witch might bless or heal, the Vulgar Witch curses. In a literal sense, to cast a curse is to wish misfortune, but in a linguistic sense, it is to utilize the power of the taboo. The Vulgar Witch understands that polite society is held together by a fragile web of etiquette; by tearing this web with foul language, she exposes the raw mechanics of power beneath it.
If you feel the call of the hedge, if the polished crystals leave you cold, here is how you begin to reclaim your vulgar birthright. In contemporary media, the witch is often depicted
Step 1: Stop cleaning your altar. Let the dust settle. Let the candle wax build up like geological strata. A used altar is a powerful altar. The grime tells the story of your work.
Step 2: Swear. Literal vulgarity—profanity—is a sonic spell. Use curse words to anchor your intent. Scream “Fuck off” into the wind as a banishing. Whisper “Shit” as you drop a war water bottle. The taboo of the word gives it edge.
Step 3: Work with the "low" spirits. Don’t go looking for angels. Talk to the spirit of the dumpster behind your apartment. Leave an offering for the rat who lives in the alley. Pray to the god of the subway grate. The vulgar witch finds the sacred in the places the elites refuse to look.
Step 4: Master the Side-Eye. The most powerful weapon of the vulgar witch is malocchio—the evil eye. It requires no tools. Look at your enemy. Look at the injustice. Look at the system that oppresses you. Curl your lip, narrow your gaze, and push your intent through your pupils. You don’t need a spell jar when you have a look that says "I know exactly what you are."
Step 5: Bleed on your craft. Literally or metaphorically, put your pain into your magic. If you are sad, cry into your cauldron. If you are angry, spit into your protection bottle. Your vulnerability is not a weakness to be cleansed away; it is the fuel for the fire. The vulgar witch knows that the most potent ingredient in any working is yourself—unfiltered, unshowered, and utterly real.