My first encounters with the word “charm” came around the age of six from friends and coworkers of my mom in the form of “well, isn’t she charming!” spoken over my head. The remark was complimentary but the tone patronizing, said in that certain cooing voice of well-meaning adults discussing children present as though they aren’t there. Used as a synonym for “precocious,” it was often intended as a compliment to my mother, but also carried with it a slight dig at the fact that she let me sit at the grown-up table and treated my opinions as valuable as those of her peers. I quickly grew to resent the word, as it indicated an adult who would comment on my rosy cheeks or growth spurt and then appear utterly un-amused when I opened my mouth. Needless to say, the association with the “children should be seen and NOT heard” left all variations of the word “charm” viewed as undesirable by my childhood self.
A new view of the word and its derivations came a few years later, spurred by my Harry Potter-induced obsession with witchcraft and magic. As I poured over the latest work by Rowling (and the plethora of formulaic young adult novels that jumped on the wizard train) I learned that charms were simple and harmless spells, incantations to light up a room or erase a muggle’s memory. Obviously, the connotations I held with regards to the word were completely altered. As I anxiously counted the days until my twelfth birthday, when I would be greeted with a letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I imagined all the ways I could use such spells in my daily life, ranging from instantly tidying my room with the flick of a wand to transforming that “B” on a spelling quiz to a more satisfying (and deserved!) “A”. Thus, my notions on the word came to be more positive, associated with my fascination with magic.
A few more years down the road, I obtained another appreciation for the word, again influenced by a series and genre of books. This newest version came from my first foray into historical fiction, especially the work of Phillipa Gregory about English women in the court of King Henry VIII. In these novels, “charm” was the tool used by women like Anne Boleyn to manipulate and seduce. In a world where men held nearly all the power, such allure was the one thing that allowed a woman control over her destiny. This version of the word held all the mystery and magic of my earlier definition, combined with a slightly forbidden risqué quality – it was an adult word and an adult concept, fascinating to an adolescent reader. Charm was something that appealed to boys and men, held by women who got what they wanted - the kind of women men wanted and women wanted to be. Thus, it was a quality I desperately sought to master. At age 13, this was quite a momentous task, one that led to my pouring over often-racy historical fiction and quite a few embarrassing attempts to wink without looking like a sufferer of a persistent eye-twitch. But the new context for the words “charm” and “charming” layered onto my preconceived notions, creating a deeper understanding of the word.
As I begin my journey to divine the true and complete definition of the word “charm” and its history, I possess an understanding of the word as shown in a simple dictionary search: a word with a variety of meanings, all linked by a somewhat magical element. A charm can be an amulet worn for protection or a more aesthetic trinket, such as those found on charm bracelets. The word can refer to a spell cast with a specific magical intent, or the more subtle allure of an individual that similarly gets her what she wants. Most commonly, it has the meaning of appealing, alluring, or pleasing, whether in reference to a quaint cottage or someone’s personality. Apparently, it also has a meaning linked to physics and the study of quarks; that, however, is a definition I care very little about. I’ll focus instead on the origins, historical connotations, literary uses, and modern multi-faceted definition of the word “charm”. (717)
