How Sabrina the Teenage Witch helped make growing up a little less scary

Anne-iversaries is a bi-weekly column by writer Anne T. Donahue that explores and celebrates the pop culture that defined the '90s and 2000s and the way it affects us now (with, of course, a few personal anecdotes along the way).

In autumn of 1996, I knew I wasn't a teenage witch.

First, because I was barely 11 years old and, according to Sabrina folklore, was five years from 16 and therefore half a decade from coming into my supernatural powers (should I have any). Second, because I just knew I couldn't be. Life in the Ontario suburbs was largely uneventful, with most weekends reserved for jaunts to the variety store or afternoons at the mall. Cambridge, Ontario — unlike Sabrina Spellman's New England — would be the last place on earth to cast spells and brew potions, especially since I went to Catholic school, and when a friend brought a Wiccan book to recess, she and those who spent lunchtime reading it were almost suspended.

But, obvious lack of magic powers aside, I still aspired to Sabrina's teen witch reality. I couldn't wait until I was old enough to dress as well as Melissa Joan Hart or fall in love with my own Harvey Kinkle (who adored Sabrina because of how weird and eccentric she was, not despite it). I eyed my family's cat suspiciously, pretty sure he couldn't actually speak, but giving him ample opportunity to answer me back when I talked to him just in case. And then there were Sabrina's aunts, Hilda and Zelda, who I saw as being the coolest fictional adults on either side of the realm.

For those who aren't familiar (and how dare you, truly), Sabrina's two aunts were and are a co-parenting dream team. Granted custody of their niece in the wake of her supernatural awakening, the two centuries-old sisters piloted the younger Spellman's magical education while serving 1990s-era Jack Lemmon/Walter Matthau realness. Zelda (played by Beth Broderick) was a scientist and a straight-laced rule-follower whose dedication to doing the right thing often foiled the fun of her sister Hilda. Hilda (played by Canada's very own Caroline Rhea) was artistic and funny — a witch who'd been there, done that, and revelled in showing Sabrina the lighter side of witchcraft. Hilda and Zelda balanced one another and their dynamic paralleled the type of best friendship most of us aspire to — because sure, the two were opposites who bickered constantly, but that's also what family is. And the best types of friendship always feel like family.

Thanks to Sabrina, I had two (fictional) role models who made adulthood seem like the most fun thing — who made it seem less like endless decades of bill payments, standing in line at the bank and all the other things I dreaded about growing up.- Anne T. Donahue

Plus, Zelda and Hilda represented a new type of adulthood (and one we'd end up seeing more and more in TV and film as the decade went on). The two weren't married, they dated mortal men casually and they waxed poetic about their infamous love affairs throughout history. They lived in an old Victorian mansion and ignored the digs by supernatural family members who made spinster jokes at their expense. So where so many 90s-era TV shows fixated on families defined by settling down, getting married and having kids, Zelda and Hilda offered a future in which I realized that, should I want to, I could focus on my career, hang out with my friends and flirt with Paul Feig at my leisure. (The future Bridesmaids director played Sabrina's biology teacher Mr. Pool in season one.)

And of course, all of this was made better by the comedic timing of Caroline Rhea, who I straight up just wanted to be. Even at 11, I knew I wasn't as cool and collected as the brilliant Zelda, but I also knew I was more than capable of shelling out one-liners with abandon. I knew I erred on the side of being fun instead of mysterious and, should I morph into a witch, knew I would use my magic for revenge over important life lessons. Which also made adulthood a little less scary; a little less like the antithesis of fun.

Because the thing is, around age 11, the magic of childhood begins to wear off as you begin your slow, painful and confusing evolution into being a grown-up. But thanks to Sabrina, I had two (fictional) role models who made adulthood seem like the most fun thing — who made it seem less like endless decades of bill payments, standing in line at the bank and all the other things I dreaded about growing up, even if that illusion only lasted a little while. (Like until eighth grade, when my teen angst began and I'd listen to the Titanic soundtrack and cry because I was sure I'd never find my own Jack Dawson.)