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The Fault in Her Stars
Last week, the French fashion blogger Garance Doré posted about how long it takes to become “a true New York alien” — two years to eat like one, four years to start referring to dogs as children, and just one to lose all sense of astrology as a stigmatizing hobby. “What’s shameful is to not respect people who believe in horoscopes,” Doré wrote. “It’s totally weird if someone doesn’t know his rising sign.” Today’s New York is full of people who will tell you that they never expected to believe in astrology before finding their lives minutely foretold on AstrologyZone.
While fully accepting the hooeyness of it all, can you just take a second and report how accurate your February forecast was? Was it, in fact, eerily accurate? Would it make sense to make romantic plans for the 28th, when Virgos are to be showered with “fairy dust”? Also, a friend’s ex-girlfriend used to ask literally every person what their sign was, and he almost died of humiliation a thousand times (bodega clerk! croupier! zookeeper! girl waiting for the bathroom! his boss!).