“I’m a Christian” “I’m a Pisces”

The first time I entered a metaphysical supply store, I felt cheated. Singing bowls, a collection of rocks, dream catchers, and incense—it was as though parts of my Indian culture had been sliced and blended into a bougie fad. Every time someone would bring up the healing properties of some colorful quartz, I’d think how smart these “gurus” were for selling kids a useless pebble for $20. I felt as though random parts of various non-Western religions had been mishmashed into a popular obsession of tarot cards, astrology, and overpriced gimmicks. It felt like cultural appropriation.

I was confused when people who didn’t understand the cultural or religious significance started buying “Om” necklaces and Ganesh statues, but I don’t believe their intentions were malicious. I realized that fragments of Eastern religions, along with pseudosciences, clairvoyance, and animism, were filling an important gap in many Americans’ lives: religion.

Seventy percent of Americans reported belonging to a house of worship in 1999. That number had dwindled to 47 percent by 2020. As the number of Americans identifying with an organized religion falls, people, especially those from younger generations, enter a metaphysical supply store hoping to find one or two ways to channel their spirituality. With a rise in activism around feminism and LGBTQ+ rights, many religions have started to feel outdated. In order to avoid the cognitive dissonance experienced by following a religion that doesn’t uphold their values, many people have started to drop religion from their identity and pick up their star sign instead.

Fields like astrology (which has roots in early Mesopotamian, Indian, and Greek civilizations) give people a similar sense of security as religion. It gives them a higher power to believe in, gurus and texts to guide them, and a method to explain circumstances they can’t control. It feels more scientific than organized religions, making it an attractive alternative. Though over-reliance on astrological explanation can become toxic—I once overheard a woman say, “Yeah, he has his temper tantrums sometimes, but what can you expect, he’s an Aries”—most people recognize fields like astrology and tarot cards as speculation with charts, descriptions, and advice that are specific enough to feel personalized, yet vague enough to be generally applicable. The attraction of such fields is not in accuracy, but in faith.

What I once saw as a sloppy concoction of various faiths has started to look a lot more like a spiritual exploration. Rather than turning to the Bible, people are turning to self-help books and prayer beads for salvation. In the modern age, religion is less about choosing one faith and sticking to it, and more about exploring aspects of various faiths and finding the ones that work for you. For some people, opening their Co-Star app in the morning can be just as much of a spiritual experience as going to a church, mosque, or synagogue.

While I originally felt uncomfortable watching parts of the religion I grew up with cut up and reshaped for American society, I realize that what may be part cultural appropriation is also a form of cultural diffusion. Singing bowls help calm a mom and her baby before bedtime, prayer beads help a young man roll away anxious energy from a long day at work, a rock necklace helps a trans person feel protected, and incense helps a girl ground herself after a big test. These people are searching for their peace, and I hope they find it—whichever cultural and religious blend it may be through.