The Particulars Of Contemporary Bog Witch Fashion

20251119

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

Esme prided herself on being an expert in witch fashion. But her latest customer was testing both her skills and her patience.
“No, no, no!” The young witch threw the tastefully embroidered autumnal cloak as if it were a garbage bag of used diapers. “I told you, I’m a bog witch. I want to be totally repulsive. Can’t you see that?”
She pointed to the tattered malodorous… ‘garments’… which Esme had insisted were hung far away from anything else.
“Mmm.” Esme bit back several choice, ripe words. Keeping her painted smile pulled tight against her teeth.
After careful consideration, she sweetly asked “If you wish to look as if you just climbed out of a mud puddle, why bother coming to my boutique? Surely you could’ve simply… rolled around in dead leaves, or some such.”
The bog witch scowled. “That just makes me look like a joke. I want to, to intimidate people! I want respect!”
“Mmmm.”
Finding a way to inspire respect by looking like a gross caricature of a vagabond was a challenge Esme felt might be beyond even her skills. Also she wanted this person out of here so she could start cleaning everything that’d been touched. And everything near those, for good measure.
“I think perhaps you need a… specialist. You could ask around, see if an older bog witch can recommend anyone?”
The girl snorted. Folded her arms and pouted at the floor. Then she grumbled “There aren’t any. Bog witches, I mean. Not for miles.”
“Really?” Esme blinked.
Come to think of it, she’d never met a bog witch at any coven events, but… she’d assumed they communed in the bog, or something.
“I’m the first person in the town to inherit the link in, like, three generations.” The girl absently twirled a finger through her hair, which was so greasy it held the curl even after her hand drew away.
Esme stifled a shudder and tried to focus. “That would make things difficult. What are you basing your, er, fashion vision on, then?”
“The last local bog witch was my great-grandma. I found everything I could about her, and I’ve been working from the descriptions people left.”
“Hm.” Esme folded her arms, fingers absently drumming.
Firstly, she suspected many of those descriptions would’ve been… how to put this… deliberately unflattering. But there was also the distinct possibility that the witch in question had been mad. Perhaps not when she took up the craft, but decades of working in isolation took a toll on the mind. Not to mention, so many people still refused to acknowledge substance risks. Far too many fine witches had been lost, one way or another, to cumulative toxicity in the line of duty.
With all that being speculation, and somewhat unkind to a young woman’s sole role model, Esme settled on saying “I… think… that what we need to do is work from first principles. Three generations is a long time, after all. What worked for your great-grandmother doesn’t necessarily apply to a, ah, modern bog witch.”
“I… suppose not?” The girl gnawed on her lip, an absent gesture which Esme suspected risked poisoning.
“So.” Esme clapped her hands together, her lips pursed into a thoughtful frown. “When I think ‘bog’, it’s true that mud springs to mind. But also moss, heather, water… and life. They’re very vibrant, alive places, aren’t they?”
“Yes!” The girl lit up. Aha, there was that link in action. “I can’t believe how many people think of them as ‘barren’ or ‘depressing’! They’re wonderful, and so important for the local ecosystem, and-”
Esme listened closely, making notes, until finally the young witch ran out of steam and clattered to a halt with an embarrassed “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
“No, no, this was perfect.” Esme shot her a reassuring smile. “You see, that-” she tapped the key statements she’d transcribed and circled “-is what we want to try and encapsulate in your ensemble. We want something which is practical for your work, and when that work takes you out of the bog, we want the essence of the bog carried with you.”
“…Yes.” The girl said softly, her eyes shining.
Now, how to accomplish that without the poor child being draped in rank mud and rotting vegetation?
“Tell you what.” Esme waved the notes she’d jotted down. “I’ll go away and have a think, and see what I can find about contemporary bog witch fashion. In the meantime, you consider what aspects of bog witchery are most ‘you’. What you want to use to represent the bog. Perhaps you could make your own perfumes from the indigenous plants? And are there any animals you want to integrate into your uniform? That sort of thing.”
“Oh. Hm.”
Good, good, that had set wheels turning. Esme knew that ‘I have a million shiny new ideas clamouring for attention’ look well.
“Then we’ll put it all together and make you an ensemble which demands respect.” Esme went to pat the younger witch’s shoulder than thought better of it. Hopefully the motion wasn’t obvious. She quickly continued “Something which presents - and celebrates - both the austere and life-rich aspects of bogs. Something which clearly communicates how important your work is. Something which forces doors open and ensures you a seat at any relevant table.”
Without anyone needing to hold their nose or throw all the windows open.
Thankfully the young witch was nodding vigorously, bubbling over with excitement, and she threw her clothes back on and practically skipped out the door.
Leaving Esme to sigh with mingled professional satisfaction and personal relief, before setting about cleaning up the mud and… well, she’d rather just not look too closely and assume it was all mud, thank you!
Once the place was presentable again she’d reach out to her network and ask for advice. On bog witch fashion, particularly contemporary. And how to tactfully impart the importance of hygiene for a modern witch.

Prompt was “Write a story containing the line ‘I want to be totally repulsive. Can’t you see that?’.”