Man, I never thought I’d be the type to sit here and try to figure out if someone is a “true” Pisces. Honestly, astrology always felt like silly nonsense you read while waiting for a haircut. But then you meet someone, and their inability to operate in a straight line becomes a genuine life hurdle, and you start looking for answers in the weirdest places.
My entire obsession with the core traits of the fish started because of Mick. Mick is a great guy, a Pisces through and through, but his constant inability to commit to a schedule nearly torpedoed a critical side gig that I was counting on for rent last month. I needed structure; he demanded emotional freedom. We kept hitting a wall. So, instead of yelling at him, I decided to analyze him. I set out to see if he was just a disorganized jerk, or if he was the actual, textbook, stereotypical fish.
The Messy Process of Defining the “True Fish”
The first thing I did was ditch all the glossy, modern horoscope sites. You know, the ones that say Pisces are just “creative and loving.” Garbage. I needed the raw, deep-cut, old-school descriptions—the stuff that talked about self-pity, martyrdom, and the overwhelming desire to escape reality. I dug deep into ancient forums, pulling threads from sketchy 1990s astrology bulletin boards. It was exhausting.
I compiled a list of what I believed were the non-negotiable, core true Pisces traits. These weren’t the nice ones; these were the traits that make them impossible to work with when the clock is ticking.
I focused on three main pillars I extracted from the archived conversations:
- The Master Escapist: If things get tough, they vanish—literally or mentally.
- The Emotional Sponge/Martyr: Absorbs everyone else’s problems, then claims victim status because they “feel too much.”
- The Chronically Confused: Always floating, unable to manage basic financial or logistical tasks.
Once I had my brutal checklist, I developed a ridiculous, zero-to-five scoring system. Zero meant “totally grounded and normal,” five meant “needs immediate spiritual intervention and a GPS tracker.”
Applying the Scorecard and Hitting Reality
The next step was the actual practice: I applied the scoring system to Mick’s behavior over the previous four weeks. I reviewed every single late reply, every time he dramatically quit a commitment only to wander back two days later, and every excuse he invented for why he couldn’t possibly be held responsible for his actions.
It was a tedious process. I scrubbed through old text messages and email chains. I marked down points every time he used phrases like “I just can’t handle this energy” or “It felt cosmically wrong to show up.”
What did I find out? Mick scored frighteningly high. He hit a 4.5 on Escapism after he decided to spend three days in the woods without a phone because “the pressure was too intense.” He scored a perfect 5 on Martyrdom when he tried to tell me my stern email about the deadline was causing him genuine physical pain.
But here’s where the practice got interesting, and why I kept going with this absurd project. I realized I was spending hours doing this analysis. Why? Because I was trying to impose order on chaos. Mick’s life was a mess, and analyzing his star sign was my weird, roundabout way of dealing with the financial stress he had caused me.
The Realization and the Unexpected Twist
This whole “True Fish” investigation started right after my main project got derailed, which meant my income tanked. I had just signed a lease on a new, much pricier place, thinking the side gig with Mick was a lock. When it blew up, I spent two weeks panicking, trying to scrape together the money. Instead of applying for a new job immediately, which was the sensible thing to do, I dove headfirst into astrology research.
This analysis, this obsessive scoring of someone else’s character flaws based on the movement of Jupiter, became my temporary escape. It was easier to prove the universe was rigged against me because Mick was a “True Pisces” than it was to accept I had mismanaged my career risk.
The twist? After all the scoring, after concluding that Mick was indeed the stereotypical, flaky, emotional fish, I felt… better. Not because I understood him, but because the act of meticulously recording his instability created a sense of control in my own life that had been missing. It was a bizarre form of self-therapy.
So, does Mick have the core true Pisces traits? Yes. Absolutely. He’s the poster child. But the real practical takeaway from this whole exercise wasn’t about the stars; it was about how we project our own need for order onto the seemingly random chaos of other people’s lives. I used the stereotype to explain the mess, and in doing so, I stabilized my own situation enough to finally go find a new, non-Pisces-dependent client. It worked, but man, what a strange route to productivity.
