Is it a ‘message meant for you’? Is it the algorithm? Or is it both?
“If you’re seeing this, this message is meant for you,” says 24-year-old psychic reader Amie Bayardelle as she effortlessly shuffles a slightly weathered deck of tarot cards and gazes into her iPhone camera. “I feel like there is something that your person wants to express to you.”
Scrolling through TikTok, you’re likely to encounter an abundance of these digital tarot readings. Since 2020 they’ve exploded in popularity, with #tarot boasting over 85 billion views, and #psychic and #fortuneteller earning 10 billion and 850 million views respectively. Young people are increasingly foregoing prayer and instead turning to their FYPs to decrypt mixed signals from their situationships or decipher whether a long-gone ex is still out there, ruminating about the collapse of their relationship.
These often hyper-specific predictions were a source of comfort to 25-year-old Nicholas, who began watching TikTok tarot last year following a turbulent breakup. “They told me to focus on myself if I wanted another chance at connecting with my partner,” he says. Since stumbling across the videos on his FYP, he now depends on two different readers for daily guidance. “Without them, I probably would have taken a lot longer to get to that conclusion and I would have sent some dumb text messages,” he admits.
Although this desire to turn to online psychic readers for advice may suggest that young people are becoming more spiritual, their belief in new age practices actually doesn’t eclipse that of previous generations. “Between 20 to 25 per cent of people believe in fortune telling, and that’s remained completely consistent since the 1950s,” says Linda Woodhead, Head of Department in Theology and Religious Studies at King’s College London. “Every generation seems to rediscover it, but what it gives to people does change over time. Psychic mediumistic readings around the First World War were much more about contacting someone who’s died. That’s not so important to young people today; it’s much more about individual guidance now.”
Although belief in new-age spirituality hasn’t faltered, faith in traditional religion continues to decline. In Britain, only 37 per cent of Gen Z believe in God, making them the country’s least religious generation to date. This is partly down to their unwillingness to set aside their values for a faith that may have previously excluded groups based on sexuality, race or gender. Tarot, then, offers a similar sense of guidance without any homophobic, racist, or sexist connotations.
And behind these fragments of otherwordly guidance is a new cohort of young, self-proclaimed psychic readers who are using the mystery of the algorithm to deliver their fortunes. 22-year-old Dylan Andrejczuk is one of many delivering daily readings via the FYP, after taking up the practice during 2020’s first lockdown. Despite the tumultuous economy, political instability and a worsening climate crisis, he says most of his audience are seeking enlightenment surrounding their love lives. “The reading that I get the most is, ‘will they come back’?,” he says. “It tends to be people asking about their past relationships and whether they’re going to reconcile.”
It’s also why 24-year-old Ashley* began seeking advice from the psychic videos in her feed, crediting the daily readings for giving her the encouragement to send the messages gathering virtual dust in her Notes app. “I texted an ex-situationship and got the closure I wanted, which the psychic said was OK to do,” she explains. “The reading was so specific to my situation, I couldn’t help but think it was a sign.”
This emphasis on destiny is, in part, key to the success of these readings, which always begin with the insistence that they’ve landed in front of this specific viewer for a reason. “I do believe it reaches whoever it needs to reach,” says Bayardelle, who has amassed a dedicated following of 36,000 through her daily readings. “I don’t know what the algorithm does, but I do believe the messages reach who they need to reach because it’s kind of a byproduct of that person’s timeline.”
Although the universe communicating via algorithm seems slightly dystopian, it turns out it’s not a unique concept. As Woodhead points out, it’s very much in line with traditional, religious ideas of fate. “That’s always been common in every religion, where what comes up is what you’re meant to hear,” she explains. “Christians, for example, if they have a question, will open the Bible at random and the first verse they see is God speaking to them. That’s exactly the same principle. It’s the sense of ‘that is not meaningless, those things were sent to me and that’s why it’s meaningful.”
Belief in destiny can thrive on TikTok specifically, where the workings of the algorithm remain a mystery only privy to the upper echelons of its management. This is why users, including psychic readers, often adopt ‘folk theory’ to decipher the meaning of the videos serviced to them. “Since TikTok’s users don’t really have any true insights into how the platform works, they create theories based on their experiences,” says Shiv Issar, PhD candidate at the University of Oregon and researcher into the social construction of algorithms. “Oftentimes, these folk theories are affirmed by other people who have had similar experiences on the platform, but that’s as far as it can go. Some people leverage their expertise in fields like data science or computer science to give their theories more legitimacy, while others bank on the extent to which their content has gone viral.”
It may be why many TikTok readings tend to be more optimistic, avoiding any warnings of danger or darkness ahead. It’s been suggested that by encouraging users to comment to “claim” a positive affirmation, the video will in turn be boosted by the algorithm and served to more users. Yet, as Issar points out, this theory cannot actually be proven. “Typically, more engagement, in terms of comments, time spent watching, likes and remixes, equals more visibility. Some folk theorists like to state that certain metrics are way more important than others, but there’s no way of knowing that for certain because there are so many other factors to consider,” he says. “Whether it’s the number of comments on a video or the length of engagement that a user is providing them with, all they’re doing is capitalising on people’s beliefs to boost metrics that they think are important.”
Yet despite the scepticism that has long existed alongside new-age beliefs, Woodhead points out that shreds of optimism splintering an otherwise depressing social feed can be a positive thing, whether you believe it or not. And, for an increasingly isolated generation, it’s no wonder messages of togetherness resonate. “Astrology makes you feel like you’re part of the planetary system and you’re not on your own, and tarot is the universe speaking through the cards,” she explains. “I don’t think any kind of religion or spirituality goes on if it doesn’t work. These practices remain because they work for people – whatever they’re seeking, whether it’s guidance or advice, it gives it to them.”
It’s this generalised guidance that keeps Nicholas returning to the TikTok psychics, having found closure from his relationship thanks to their positive affirmations. “It’s comforting to hear non-biased strangers on the internet indirectly helping you come to conclusions on things you already knew,” he says. “I know I need to practice self-love. But hearing a dozen or so people on TikTok tell me that the universe wants me to practice self-love? That feels kind of good and affirming.”
*Name has been changed