I’m sorry Gen Z, astrology won’t save you – the world really is this messed up

Valentine’s Day houseplants by star sign: experts share their picks.”

This email header isn’t the most unhinged one I’ve ever received, not by any stretch of the imagination. But it is perhaps the most timely. It plopped into my inbox just as I was mulling over whether or not the modern commitment to, and feverish belief in, astrology had gotten out of hand.

If an email sincerely advising which succulents you should be buying for your latest paramour based on the planetary movements at the time of their birth is anything to go by, the answer might just be a resounding “yes”.

I hate to sound like a curmudgeonly cynic, but I can’t help it. I’ve watched the slow creep from interest in star signs being the preserve of teenagers reading their weekly horoscope in Mizz magazine – always packed with vague-isms like, “on the 15th, stick to your guns: you know what’s right!” to guarantee accuracy – to being taken seriously by great swathes of Gen Z adults. It’s left me feeling confused, out of touch and old. So very, very old.

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Of course, these days it goes far beyond platitudinous horoscopes. Contemporary devotees to a nebulous “spiritualism” based on the solar system don’t just know their star signs: they know their moon sign and their rising sign; they have birth chart readings in which the exact minute of their delivery from the womb has far-reaching implications for the rest of their lives; they know the 12 different full moons that happen annually and what they mean (the perpetual adolescent in me particularly enjoys November’s “beaver” moon). They know when Mercury is in retrograde and how to adapt, and when bigger shifts in planetary alignments indicate that we’re “entering a new era” worldwide.

When I say “they”, I’m not referring to some sort of wafty Mystic Meg-style demographic either. I mean any person in their twenties or thirties with a smartphone and a TikTok account. The social media platform has become a hub of astrological content, with more than 4.5 million videos containing the hashtag “astrology” at the time of writing. Much of this is inherently surface-level, pop-astrology stuff, on a par with those nonsense Mizz horoscopes, by virtue of the medium – extremely short-form clips, designed to hold viewers’ attention for just long enough to convey a brief, easily digestible piece of information.

Bella, a London-based content creator who has 1.2 million followers on TikTok, told The Times that her young followers found a “sense of agency” in turbulent times via astrology. “Social media platforms like TikTok and Instagram have made astrology widely accessible,” she said. “Bite-sized, visually engaging content like memes, reels, and zodiac-based trends resonate deeply with Gen Z.”

Astrology has surged in popularity with Gen Z (Getty)
Astrology has surged in popularity with Gen Z (Getty)

But there’s also been a huge surge in popularity for certain astrological apps that delve deeper. Co-Star, an American app combining Nasa data and content from astrologers, rocketed from 7.5 million global users in 2020 to 30 million in 2023, while spending on astrology-related products is projected to grow to $22.8bn by 2031, up from $12.8bn in 2021. Paid-for astrological services include “romantic compatibility reports”, which feels to me like the equivalent of when we used to put the names of boys we fancied in a paper fortune teller at primary school and let the fates decide which one we would marry (a prediction methodology that has had a zero per cent success rate thus far).

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Despite all of this making me feel like the most jaded, misanthropic version of myself, I really can see the appeal of astrology for the younger generation. Presented with an increasingly broken world in which climate change is already inflicting damage across the globe, the rise of the far-right to positions of power is a daily reality, and some of the worst men in human history are also the richest in human history (the wealth of the world’s billionaires grew by $2 trillion in 2024, just FYI), who wouldn’t want to turn to the galaxy at large for help? It provides a much-needed sense of comfort and control in an inherently chaotic world, a theory that something bigger is at work in our lives that we don’t fully understand. It gives reassuring explanations for who we are as individuals on a fundamental level and why we’re having a bad day/week/year (delete as appropriate).

In an ever-more secular society it does, in fact, offer what people used to get from organised religion. According to a 2023 study from Kings College London, the UK public are now among the least likely to believe in God internationally – less than half (49 per cent) identified as theists, down from 75 per cent in 1981. Meanwhile, 35 per cent of women and 22 per cent of men in Great Britain say they are “spiritual”, according to YouGov data; on average, Brits were 10 per cent more likely to identify as such than as “religious”.

It’s left me feeling confused, out of touch and old. So very, very old

And really, who am I to judge where people find emotional succour amid the current bin-fire of world events? Nobody, that’s who. Yet a natural uneasiness descends when I see some of the sketchier outcomes play out.

Paying for a romantic compatibility test might sound harmless, but feels indicative of the exploitation of a generation who struggle to trust their own instincts or step into their own decisions with confidence. Turning to the sky for answers might not sound any kookier than lots of world religions if you really break them down, but I think there’s cause for concern when one in three Gen Z and millennials truly believe that astrology can replace therapy. I once overheard someone I get on well with state in all seriousness that they “don’t really trust Pisces” – my star sign – and, while we laughed about it, I couldn’t help but feel a niggle of discontent at the close-mindedness that often comes when you make sweeping generalisations about what people are like based on a factor as arbitrary as the 30-day period in which they were born.

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The whole thing also fits, tellingly, with the modern era’s rampant individualism – the navel-gazing obsession with ourselves, who we are and what our lives mean, rather than any kind of outward-facing interest in how we might fit into a wider collective or community.

Sure, take comfort where you can. Life is short and often tough to navigate. But don’t make the mistake of thinking that burning orbs thousands of light years away know you better than you know yourself – or that learning about the lunar nodes can really help you take back control in a chaotic universe. After all, if Brexit couldn’t do it, what hope has an astrological chart got?