In the 1990s, you could open any tabloid magazine and, alongside gaudy spreads of paparazzi photos and the latest dish on a Hollywood has-been, you could access the ancient wisdom of the cosmos. Or something like that.
Horoscopes — astrological forecasts of an individual’s future, based on their zodiac sign — have been staples in newspapers for nearly a century, although they’re considered by many to be nothing more than kitschy, baseless nonsense.
So it’s hard to believe that when astrology originated in Mesopotamia thousands of years ago, it was regarded as a reputable science. Yes, the civilization that brought us mathematics, agriculture and the wheel is the same civilization we have to thank for tabloid horoscopes sponsored by dating apps and insurance companies.
Ancient Mesopotamian astrology is probably quite different from the lighthearted horoscopes that we consume in magazines and on the internet today. In 1930, the Sunday Express was the first newspaper to print a horoscope, using a birth chart to foretell the future of the newborn Princess Margaret. Soon after, astrology’s popularity — bolstered by newspapers and magazines with armies of rabid readers — burgeoned in Western culture.
Some publications never got on board with astrology: In the New York Times’ archives, stories about astrology are filed under “Superstition and Witchcraft.”
“Witchcraft” is excessive, but I’d be lying if I said astrology doesn’t seem a little superstitious and ill-founded to me. Most Americans feel the same way: A 2024 Pew Research Center survey found that 30% of adults consult astrology, tarot cards or a fortune teller at least once a year, but only 10% do so because they believe these practices give them helpful insights — and a mere 1% reported relying greatly on astrology to make major life decisions.
With that being said, I’ve been known to casually check my horoscope from time to time. But from Feb. 16 to 22, I assumed the identity of an astrology groupie, diving headfirst into my horoscope — taken from popular magazines Cosmopolitan and Elle — to determine for good: Is astrology truly prophetic, or just a load of starry-eyed nonsense?
First, I looked inward, consulting Cosmopolitan’s astrological profile of my sign: Scorpio. According to Cosmopolitan, being a Scorpio means I’m “charismatic, magnetic and alluring.” Well, I like the sound of that!
I’m a little less keen on the hobbies that Cosmo claims Scorpios possess, which include martial arts and “climbing the career ladder.” I did take a self-defense class once, though I wasn’t particularly gifted. (though I dream of smacking someone someday.) And I wouldn’t say I’m interested in “climbing the career ladder.” I’m graduating in two months with a degree in journalism, and I’ll take anything at this point, even if it’s on the lowest career-ladder rung.
Ideal careers for Scorpios, Cosmo says, include journalism (woohoo!), detective work and … military? Yikes. I guess if this whole reporting thing doesn’t work out for me, Cosmo thinks I’d get a kick out of joining the army. Well, I don’t want to drop bombs on innocent civilians, so I must be a bad Scorpio. Can I forfeit my zodiac sign and become a Taurus or something?
Truth be told, I’ve always felt a sort of disconnect with my sign. I happened to be born in early November, so according to every horoscope ever, that means I’m “MYSTERIOUS.” As Cosmo puts it: “You’re a dark heart, my friend.” First of all, cringe. Second of all, I like to think I’m quite an effervescent person.
Whatever — why would I trust a magazine that named Jeffrey Epstein its “Bachelor of the Month” in 1980, anyways? (True story.) For my weekly and monthly horoscopes, I turned to Elle instead. The magazine does extensive coverage of astrology, publishing daily, weekly and monthly predictions for each zodiac sign.
Tuesday, Feb. 17, Elle says, is the year’s first eclipse, which could cause me to “be fixated on spending more time at Chez Scorpio over the next two weeks.” I won’t lie, “Chez Scorpio” has seen a lot of me lately. I’ve spent more than a few evenings binging “House of the Dragon” while nursing a half-gallon container of ice cream. Glad to see that my laziness was written in the stars.
That hibernation period won’t last, however, because Elle predicts four weeks of passion, excitement and steamy romance in my future. Speaking of romance, my “love days” for February, according to Elle, were Feb. 18 and Feb. 22. If I recall correctly, on Feb. 18, Love Day #1, a middle-aged man hit on me and a friend at a restaurant bar — and no, it didn’t blossom into a beautiful polygamous relationship.
Maybe I had better luck on Love Day #2, Feb. 22? Nope. I spent the day working on this article while my boyfriend sat next to me, playing FIFA. Nothing more romantic than watching a 22-year-old man yell at the TV with his sweatshirt pulled over his knees! Anyways, I don’t think I can count on astrology for any sound romantic advice in the future.
Elle also predicted that I would get a sudden urge to rearrange my furniture. So, the stars are telling me that I should … move my bedside table? I didn’t know that the cosmos had a passion for interior design.
After combing through my detailed monthly horoscope, I’m forced to conclude that astrology isn’t for me. It’s hard enough to make big life decisions without the stars giving me their unsolicited advice. Yet, there may be some truth in it: I got an army recruiting email while writing this, so my written-in-the-stars military career awaits. See you on the frontlines, fellow Scorpios!
