Man, I needed a distraction last week. Seriously. I was stuck trying to troubleshoot some ridiculous legacy database issue that nobody wanted to touch, and my head felt like it was going to split open. I decided to ditch the screen for an hour, grabbed a lukewarm cup of coffee, and just stared out the window, looking for something completely useless to occupy my brain.
I somehow fell down this rabbit hole of reading about astrology, which I usually treat as a fun hobby but never take seriously. Then I saw this claim, this utterly specific claim: Your Rising Sign dictates your physical appearance. And specifically, they were talking about Pisces Rising traits—big, watery eyes, soft facial features, maybe a slightly dreamy or disoriented look. I thought, “This is bunk. But let’s see if my face matches this pile of nonsense.”
The Setup: Figuring Out What I Was Supposed to See
First, I had to confirm my exact rising sign. I dug up my birth chart details—thank god for online calculators, because I sure as heck wasn’t doing the math myself. Confirmed: Yup, Pisces Rising, smack dab in the middle degrees. So, the theory was set. My face should look like a textbook representation of the cosmic fish.
I started digging around to compile a bulleted list of the alleged common physical markers. I pulled up descriptions from three different sites and summarized them to get the consensus look. This wasn’t professional research; I was literally scrolling through forums and quick-read astrology blogs while ignoring my actual job.
The key features I was told to look for included:
- Soft, often round facial shape.
- Eyes that are large, widely spaced, or have a slightly sad/dreamy appearance.
- Skin that can sometimes appear pale or have a translucent quality.
- A generally gentle or sensitive overall vibe.
- A tendency toward slight swelling or puffiness, especially around the eyes or lower face.
I printed that ridiculous list out. Why print it? Because holding a piece of paper makes the experiment feel more scientific, even when you are measuring your cheekbones against descriptions of sea creatures.
The Practice: Scrutinizing My Own Face
Next came the hard part: objective self-assessment. I marched straight into the bathroom, flipped on the brightest light, and dragged my full-length mirror closer to the sink. You need brutal honesty and terrible fluorescent lighting for this kind of work. I grabbed my phone and snapped a few quick, unflattering selfies from different angles. No filters, obviously. This was science, damn it.
I held the printed list up, squinting first at the paper, then at my reflection. It felt incredibly strange, just staring deeply at my own face, actively trying to identify softness and dreaminess. I started at the top and worked my way down, physically checking the boxes.
I pushed my hair back to assess my face shape. Round? Maybe slightly oval, leaning towards soft. That was a tick in the right column. Then came the eyes. This was the big one. I leaned in so close the mirror fogged up. Were they large? Yeah, maybe a bit larger than average. Watery? They look perpetually tired, which I guess counts as watery after that database fiasco. I recorded a half-match there. I wrote down, “Eyes: Large, but mostly just exhausted.”
I moved to the jawline. Pisces is supposed to be soft, less defined than, say, a Capricorn or Aries Rising. I poked around my jaw. It’s certainly not chiseled; it slopes gently into my neck. Match. Another point for the rising fish.
I spent an embarrassing amount of time obsessing over my skin. Translucent? Pale? I’ve got fair skin, always have, but translucent sounds like I’m about to turn into a ghost. I decided that this trait was too subjective, so I crossed it off the list immediately. No need to overthink it.
The puffiness trait was undeniable. I always wake up slightly puffy, and by mid-afternoon, that database stress had definitely created a little swelling under my eyes. I circled that trait emphatically. That was a definite hit. If Pisces Rising equals “looks like they need a nap and a strong diuretic,” then I was nailing it.
The Record: Tallying the Results
After about twenty minutes of this intense, borderline narcissistic physical examination, I compiled the score. I rated each key feature I had researched against what I actually saw:
- Face Shape (Soft/Round): Confirmed. Strong match.
- Eyes (Large/Dreamy/Watery): Half-match. Large, yes. Dreamy, only if ‘dreamy’ means ‘desperately needs caffeine.’
- Jawline (Soft/Undefined): Confirmed. Strong match.
- Overall Vibe (Gentle/Sensitive): Subjective, but people usually say I look approachable. Let’s give it a weak match.
- Swelling/Puffiness: Confirmed, especially when stressed. Solid match.
My conclusion? I totally match the key physical traits of a Pisces Rising. It was weirdly satisfying, like a fun, stupid puzzle finally fitting together. Now, did the astrology actually dictate my face, or was I just finding confirmation bias because I desperately wanted a distraction? I have absolutely no idea, and frankly, I don’t care. It certainly beat trying to find the missing semicolon in that legacy code.
I ended the practice by taking one final photo, smiling this time. My eyes might be puffy and tired, but the face shape checks out. It was a good exercise in paying attention to small details, even if those details were utterly meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Go check your own faces, folks. You might surprise yourself. And hey, it’s a lot more fun than debugging old systems.
