Every generation of Pagans seems to have an unofficial fashion icon.
If social media is to be believed, we’re all gliding through forests in flowing black velvet, trailing lace sleeves, silver jewelry, and enough dramatic scarves to supply an off-Broadway production of Macbeth. Somewhere in the background, Stevie Nicks is singing while ravens circle obligingly overhead.
It’s a lovely image.
It just doesn’t happen to resemble most of the Pagans I know.
In real life, our community tends to dress less like Stevie Nicks and a little more like Marla Singer (reference the movie “Fight Club”) wandered through a Renaissance Faire, stopped at the feed store, and made one last run through Costco on the way home.
There are hiking boots that have seen more festivals than some of us have birthdays.
There are faded Pagan Pride T-shirts that are so soft they’re practically considered sacred objects.
There are yoga pants. So many yoga pants.
There are hoodies acquired from festivals long gone, with names of gatherings that newer Pagans have never even heard of.
And somewhere in the closet hangs The Cloak.
You know the one.
The cloak that only comes out for ritual, Samhain, Renaissance festivals, or that one friend who always insists on taking group pictures.
The rest of the year, it’s quietly waiting while we spend most of our lives dressed like people who need to stop by the grocery store after work.
One of the things I’ve always appreciated about our community is that, despite the stereotypes, most Pagans are remarkably practical.
“Pagan” has always been more about people of the earth than people of the country club.
Many of us garden.
Many of us camp.
Many of us make things with our hands.
Many of us have spent years stretching a dollar while still trying to create beauty and meaning in our lives.
Velvet is lovely.
Cotton washes better.
Our jewelry often tells stories rather than making fashion statements. A pendant picked up at a festival twenty years ago. A ring inherited from a grandmother. A bracelet from an artist whose name we’ve long forgotten but whose work still makes us smile.
And if you’ve ever looked closely at a Pagan’s everyday clothing, you’ll often find evidence of real life.
A little candle wax.
A tiny smear of ash.
Multiple burn holes from falling embers related to sage, pot, incense, burning petitions, and showoff candles.
Cat hair that has become so permanent it should probably be listed as a fiber content.
Maybe that’s one of the things I enjoy most about our community.
For all the beautiful ritual photographs online, most Pagans spend far more time living their spirituality than posing for it.
We’re pulling weeds.
Walking dogs.
Going to work.
Making soup.
Driving to the hardware store because somehow we need more twine.
The sacred has to fit into ordinary life or it doesn’t fit anywhere at all.
That’s not to say we don’t enjoy dressing up.
Of course we do.
Hand me an excuse to wear flowing sleeves and enough silver to interfere with airport security, and I’m in.
But there’s something comforting about realizing that the people who have been walking this path the longest often look…well…remarkably ordinary most of the time.
The magic isn’t in the wardrobe.
It’s in the person wearing it.
So yes, keep the velvet.
Keep the lace.
Keep the dramatic hats and the moon jewelry and the boots that make you feel like you could wander into an enchanted forest at a moment’s notice.
Just don’t be disappointed if, on most Tuesdays, your reflection looks a little less like Stevie Nicks and a little more like someone who has cat hair on their black shirt, dirt under their fingernails from the garden, and a grocery list in one pocket.
If that’s you…
Welcome.
You’re probably dressed exactly like a Pagan.
Want to join the conversation about this blog post? Go to the Green Egg Forum and scroll for the forum post that relates to this article
As Editor of the Green Egg Blog, Katrina Rasbold weaves ancient wisdom into the complexities of modern life, fostering a space for deep inquiry and magical growth. Katrina is the editor of Green Egg Magazine, a priestess, author, and co-creator of the CUSP path, working from the crossroads of tradition and transformation. She owns and operates Crossroads Occult with her husband, Eric, offering a sanctuary for those seeking mentorship, quality handmade magical items, and authentic craft. Discover her full body of work at www.katrinarasbold.com.