I tried to use a love spell book to see if it had an impact on my love life.

The spells involved saying incantations, lighting candles, and placing notes in my phone case.

My love life remained unchanged, but I still gained some value from the book.



When the first serious relationship of my adult life ended, I went through all the standard breakup coping mechanisms. I did some online shopping, re-downloaded (then hastily deleted) several dating apps, and seriously considered joining a gym.

I also started using a spell book.

This particular decision was perhaps the greatest sign that I was going through something rough. Although mystical things are having a moment right now — at least, I can speak to a number of my peers becoming astrological birth chart enthusiasts — I've never delved so deeply into the fad myself.

But I had been sent "Love Magic," a spell book by a practicing witch named Anastasia Greywolf. It promised to help me attract love, improve my chances when online dating, and bring a general sense of good fortune to my life.

The spell book. Sara Hendricks

So as the book sat unopened on my desk, I couldn't help but wonder: What better time to start dabbling in the occult than when going through a breakup?

At first, it was hard to feel comfortable saying "spells" out loud.

I hoped using a spell book might require investing in serious witch supplies — eye of a newt, toe of a frog, and the like. But as it turned out, many of the spells were pretty simple mantras that might be found in a standard yoga class.

One of these spells was an attempt to "welcome love," which the book advised doing before a date or while getting over a breakup. That said, the spell could also be used to welcome platonic love in your life.

This spell seemed a lot like a mantra from yoga class to me. Sara Hendricks

Despite going to yoga every now and then, I didn't feel comfortable muttering mantras — especially alone in a room. To make it feel more "natural," I opted to read them as an incantation. (This is a spell book after all.)

The words never came easily to me, but I had to concede that nothing about them was technically false or objectionable in any way. They were all things I would tell my friends if they had recently gone through a breakup (albeit with slightly less ornate wording) but would rarely think to say to myself.

Though I wasn't swarmed with Facebook friend requests after casting the spell, I didn't feel any less loved.

Telling myself I am "free" and "open" to love was just as difficult.

The next spell I tried was designed to "open" a person up to love. It required I find a scented candle, light it, place two walnuts before it, and recite another incantation that involved asserting I was "open" and "free" to love.

The book did not explain how "opening" oneself up to love might differ from "welcoming" love. The main difference, as far as I could tell, was that this spell didn't seem to be tied to any particular event, so it could be done more often than the "welcoming" spell.

This spell required a candle and some nuts. Sara Hendricks

This spell, again, was not exactly my style. But the candle felt properly witchy, the nuts allowed for the element of novelty I had been craving (though, full disclosure, I did not have any walnuts and used pistachios instead), and the words were by no means offensive.

It's too early to say whether the spell worked wonders on my love life, but I do think some magic was at play. I had ordered Thai food before starting the spell, and it arrived just when I finished my third round of recitations.

Some might call that nothing more than good timing, and point out the food was bound to get to my apartment eventually. But others, surely, would call that magic.

The last spell I tried may have caused the most embarrassing moment of my life.

This spell conjured Timothée Chalamet. (Kind of.) Sara Hendricks

The last spell I tried was meant to give me more luck with online dating. I was supposed to write down all the qualities I would like in a partner on a slip of paper, then place it between my phone and its case.

This one was hard for me because, like a lot of people, I am unable to fully self-identify what it is that I actually want in a partner. I know what I don't want — those things are becoming increasingly apparent to me as I get older — but choosing what I like, and feeling confident enough in my decision to actively pursue it, is much more difficult.

But a spell would be nothing without a little effort, so I wrote down arbitrary things like "tall," "dark hair," and "nice clothes," and stuck the note inside my phone case.

Shortly afterward, I saw Timothée Chalamet — who, if you aren't familiar, is tall, has dark hair, and wears nice clothes — on the subway.

Or, at least, I thought I saw Timothée Chalamet on the subway. Convinced it was him, buffeted by the charm I had in my phone case, and encouraged by a friend, I approached him to let him know I was a fan.

Obviously, it was not him. The man on the platform was just another tall man wearing nice clothes and a Chalamet-esque hairstyle (according to a Timothée Chalamet fan Twitter account, the real Chalamet was actually with another fan, who is not me, in Los Angeles at the time), which made the moment among the most embarrassing ones of my life thus far.

Also, throughout it all, my online dating life remained unchanged.

As a journalist, I cannot in good conscience recommend witchcraft as a legitimate means of finding love.

There is no conclusive evidence — and, indeed, probably no real way to gauge evidence at all — that anything I did in this experiment worked in the slightest. At best, I accidentally managed to summon a facsimile of Timothée Chalamet; at worst, I told a random man on the subway that I "love his work," which is just about the worst thing I can imagine.

That said, I ended the experiment feeling glad that "Love Magic," and spell books like it, exist. Although magic itself is an objectively dubious promise, the book allows for some self-reflection and encouragement that might not be found in other places.

Putting yourself out there can be hard for anyone, particularly if you feel you have tried (and maybe failed) to do so already. A book that serves as an explicit reminder that it's OK to want to open oneself up to something special might be corny, but it could also help out a lot of people.

In the end, I don't think it is too much of a stretch to say that most people would like to feel as though they have some kind of worth that other people see and appreciate, even when they don't feel like anything they do has any value. And this book, while certainly not the only way to attain such value, provides a channel through which someone might start to achieve that.

So, straight-up magic probably isn't for me. But as far as magic books are concerned, for now, I am a fan.

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