“Whats Your Zodiac Sign”

Is it true that zodiacs matter? When you first meet new friends, everyone likes to go around the table and ask, What’s your zodiac sign? I’m not sure if I believe in that kind of thing, but I’m starting to think maybe I should…

Female friendships in your 20s are different than when we were younger. Back then, we could simply tell our parents, I don’t like X. Maybe they’d force us to have another playdate, but if we kept saying it, they’d get the idea, and we wouldn’t have to be friends. But as we get older, friendships become more twisted—more deliciously complicated. When you meet in a big group where no one really knows each other, how do you say goodbye to all but maybe one or two?

Being in the States, Paris, and Sydney, I’ve collected a lot of friends along the way, but few I feel I’ll know for the rest of my life. When we were younger, saying I don’t like X was harmless; now it carries weight, because it’s never that simple.

Recently, I met a bunch of girls—mostly from around Europe, two from Australia, two from the States, and two from Canada. It was an accident that the group got so big; not intentional, but you’re not going to vibe with everyone. I’m a very private person. I don’t share much with my parents or the people around me—sometimes not even with close friends. This started a long time ago, around when I launched my company. I became private because I had to; I couldn’t let investors know my age, and I was laser-focused on the business. I didn’t have a college experience—just scraps of it—mostly with one friend throughout college, who I’m eternally grateful for.

We’ll call him E. E was, like that famous line goes, a ray of sunshine in the darkness of what building a company brought. Don’t get me wrong building a company brought love, care, creativity. I adore it, but it is draining at times. I never really felt my age, because I couldn’t. But E made me feel like I was 20, like I was in college, and I’ll never forget that feeling—because I rarely feel it anymore. Life got busy, heavy, and I had to grow up fast. He knew everything, but I couldn’t let anyone else in. I could smell the jealousy, envy, maybe even hate radiating from people around me who were sometimes three times older. I learned quickly that sharing everything only drains your energy.

When I met the big group of girls, I had to read the room like my life depended on it. I’ll call them Jen and Maya; the rest, I’ll just lump together—they’re extras in this little movie. When I met Jen, she reminded me of someone from high school who I thought would be my ride-or-die best friend. We spent a week together at summer camp; she made me feel like I was her everything. But when she found prettier, cooler friends, she ditched me—high and dry. Not even a clean break, but the kind of distancing that leaves you confused, thinking she’s still your friend, but it’s all fake. Later I found out she actually admired me—she still stalks my LinkedIn sometimes—but through high school, she made me feel watched, not liked. Observed like prey, not a friend. Calculated envy.

I don’t understand people like that. Why? Is it insecurity? Why do they play sweet, make everyone feel like a best friend, but inside, carry only envy and a desperate need to stay relevant?

So with Jen, my radar was up instantly. She reminded me exactly of that girl from high school. She openly admitted she lied, then made a TikTok calling herself out for being a pathological liar. By then, my red flags were practically on fire. She’s the type who says, Can I just say something mean?—and then it’s something condescending, rude, and dripping with judgment. People like her include you, but only to exclude you later. My gut was screaming, and when I told another friend in Paris, she told me, Listen to your gut. You have good instincts.

Keep in mind, both these girls—Jen and my high school ghost—were in sororities. The one from high school? Top house at Bama. And I hate to generalize, but sorority girls? Terrifying. Not all—because Maya, one of the girls, is genuinely smart, grounded, and gives off I-don’t-give-a-fuck energy. She’s older, more mature. I like her vibe. What I’m trying to say is: read between the lines. Energy doesn’t lie.

It’s not like Jen and the high school girl haven’t had their own struggles—we all do. But they radiate a kind of plastic positivity, crafted to control how others see them, like they’re playing a game of perception manipulation. I can’t fully describe it, but it feels rotten—like they’re deliberately trying to tear you down in front of others, even if you just met, with snide passive-aggressive comments.

I met someone like this in Sydney, too. I thought maybe she’d be a long-term friend, but she was even worse: tall, big bug-eyed, school in a major city, and she’d make you feel like you were the only person in the world—then turn on a dime for someone prettier. She curated her friendships like a collector, and others in Sydney said the same about her.

So why? Why do people do this? Unfollowing or ghosting doesn’t work like it did when we were kids. Cutting off toxic energy is harder when it’s deliberate, especially in a group dynamic. But at the end of the day, it’s your energy—protect it like it’s couture. I’ve been lucky to find a few real ones here and there, but they’re rare—like dating. You either click or you don’t. But with men, you can dump them, block them, and move on. Girls? Girls can be catty, mean, and downright scary.

So I learned my lesson, once and for all: protect your energy first. Listen to your gut. When you get that gut feeling like I had with Jen or that high school girl—run. Just like you’d run from a guy who love-bombs you on the second date. Girls fake-bomb you with kindness, but remember: that bomb has layers. Whether the zodiac signs have anything to do with it is another question—but I do know I get along with Leos, Aquariuses, and Capricorns.