I was born on 12 July 1996. This means that I am a Cancer sun, Leo rising, and Gemini moon. It also means that I have found myself entrenched in the tail-end of a millennial fascination with astrology. Astrology may date back to Babylonian times, but only in 2019 have star-signs become a $2.2 billion market—the result of trendy Zodiac apps such as Co—Star und The Pattern, and countless Instagram accounts (think @zodiac.signs und @astrologyroast) dedicated to horoscopes. Previously confined to the dusty back pages of women’s magazines, in recent years horoscopes have wormed their way into the mainstream—and through some kind of cosmic realignment are now considered cool.
Whilst I approach astrology much as I do clean-eating and adults who voluntarily play team sports—with a healthy degree of suspicion—I still can’t deny its intoxicating appeal. I skulk about social media, ogling at the astro-women of Instagram. As much as I want to laugh at them, sniff at their rambling captions about Mercury in retrograde and Saturn’s return, I cannot shake a palpable sense of envy. I bristle at how they seem so settled, marvel at how they speak so evenly and peacefully, seethe at how headbands look so good on them and so bad on me. Astrology is clearly working for them, I think, their lives a heady mix of the bewitching and covetable. And so, in a decision driven by both curiosity and jealousy, I decide to download Co–Star and to live my life according to my horoscope for a week.
For those unfamiliar, Co—Star is the technological manifestation of 21st century astrology-obsession. A simple to use zodiac app, whose sparse black and white design evokes a moody tumblr page, it asks users to enter their date and time of birth. From here, it calculates your birth chart (a sprawling list of sun signs, moon signs, Venus signs and so on), diagnoses your personality traits, and allows you to connect with friends to assess your cosmic compatibility. It also, famously, dispenses artificial-intelligence generated advice every morning, as users receive daily alerts relating to their astrological alignment.
It was these pithy push notifications that made the app notorious—Co—Star reminders such as “try not to be a dick today” are regular meme page fodder. As a serial over-thinker, I could do with a generous dose of brutal honesty, so I switch my notifications on and eagerly await enlightenment.
Things begin somewhat slowly. “Try not to avoid your responsibilities today”, Co—Star gently scolds me on my first day of use. It’s not the ruthless consultation I was expecting, but it’s fitting for someone with a tendency to procrastinate. I take the app’s advice and dutifully begin my research for this article. My day of astrology investigation starts in exactly the way I imagine any self-respecting journalist’s would: with a check of mine and my boyfriend’s zodiac compatibility. According to Elle’s AstroTwins we are an excellent match, so I suppose I won’t have to break up with him for the purpose of this exercise. Apparently Cancers and Virgos are “a couple that can outlast the ages, since you’re fast friends and seamless companions.” I text him the exciting news. “I’m working so can’t really speak—but great,” comes the reply, which sound like the words of a fast-friend and seamless companion to me!
The second and third days of Co—Star’s insights are puzzling. “Use your imagination,” Tuesday’s tip tells me. Didn’t I already do this yesterday when I was trying to not avoid my responsibilities? I suppose Co—Star does not know that I work in a creative field, so not avoiding my responsibilities also equates to using my imagination. I let them off the hook. Wednesday’s advice is a baffling 180 degree turn as the app urges me that “now is not the time to express your individual genius.” I wonder about my individual genius: have I been over-expressing it in the past? Does it even exist in the first place?
By Thursday, I am craving tangible advice, so the app’s instructions to “teach someone something today” is timely. I am relieved. After a gruelling day of shunning my individual genius, I can finally go about imparting my wisdom. I show my flatmate how to make lemony mushrooms on toast. I teach a pair of confused interrailers which U-Bahn ticket to buy. I instruct my dad on how to do a swipe Instagram, as opposed to posting four fuzzy pictures of the same heavily zoomed-in sunset in one go. Co—Star only asked me to teach someeine something, but here I am getting cocky and teaching three people three things—it is, frankly, a miracle the zodiac does not self-combust.
For all my snide analysis of Co—Star, Friday’s advice is undeniably potent. When a banner reading “no one’s perfect” slides down my screen I am inclined to bat it away as meaningless cliche, a hollow catchphrase that is best found in self-help books and power ballads. But, sticking to my exercise I click on it to read more, and find myself, alarmingly, moved. “Your main challenge right now is to find out if your goals are pipe dreams or actually achievable. Don’t worry too much, everyone feels this way.”
They’ve got me. As a 23-year-old teetering on the edge of the working world, I tun spend my waking hours in what feels like an unending state of panic. But, according to Co—Star, “everyone feels this way,” and I take strange comfort in the fact that I’m not alone. Uncertainty is apparently ubiquitous.
Perhaps, this generational sentiment of rudderlessness, is why millennials love star-signs. Defined by instability, millennials are the first generation to earn less than their parents. We don’t own houses, we job-hop more, and we’re less inclined to ‘settle down’. When my mum was my age, she was only two years away from marrying and having children, whereas I recently had to give up a house-plant for adoption because I found the responsibility of ownership to be too overwhelming. The appeal of astrology, therefore, lies in its reassuring sense of security. For this generation, horoscopes are simply concrete answers in a life otherwise dictated by unpredictability.
To rely on horoscopes entirely is misguided, and to position astrology as science is dangerous. But, to satiate a very human desire and relinquish control to higher forces is valid. So, I think I’ll keep my Co—Star notifications switched on, at least for the duration of my Saturn’s return.