From medieval card games to queer coffee-table rituals, Tarot has come a long way. But why are some queers drawn to this form of divination?

So, here’s the deal: you’re either curious about Tarot or are wondering about why everyone else seems a little cray-cray about it. Well, the answer has probably been staring you in the face this whole time. But before I spill the cosmic tea, let me ask: what have you been told about Tarot or anything remotely related to the mystical or occult? Devil’s tools to lure innocent souls? Or some new-age spiritual gimmick?

Here’s a quick history lesson. Tarot started out as playing cards in 14th-century Italy. Over time, people began using them to connect to something deeper, whether that was their own selves, the spiritual realm, or as a practical way for Romani mothers to provide for their families such as through fortune-telling. Fast forward to 2025, and it’s become a fixture in queer spaces. Almost every queer person has crossed paths with these 78 cards in some way. But why this fascination? Most Tarot readers will give you one simple answer: guidance. (Yep. That’s the answer to the question at the start. Pat yourself on the back for sticking with me thus far.)

In my experience, there are two big reasons people get hooked on Tarot (you are always welcome to comment with more reasons!):

Tarot as a guilty pleasure for those raised with strict beliefs.

I have a dear friend who left a religion and found themselves adrift without a spiritual anchor. In their search for meaning, and maybe some labels, Tarot appeared. Its fluidity, wild imagery, and lack of rigid rules made it feel like a safe, playful space to explore something spiritual without the old constraints of religious institutions.

Tarot as a tool to probe the subconscious.

Another friend, a confirmed atheist, uses Tarot as a tangible reflection of their own thoughts. A simple past-present-future spread, guided by three questions, becomes a way to bring to surface what’s really on their mind that day. No mysticism required, just self-reflection!

Maybe it’s no coincidence that tarot found a home in queer spaces. For people who grew up being told what to believe, who to love, or who to be, tarot offers something revolutionary: choice. Every card is an invitation, not a commandment. It doesn’t tell you who you are; it asks who you want to be. For queer folks, that kind of freedom feels like sacred ground.

Some queer people love tarot for the same reason we love drag, it’s all about transformation, baby. You shuffle, you pull, you project, you reflect. One minute you’re The Fool, the next you’re The Empress, and somehow both are true. Tarot gets it: identity is fluid, drama is sacred, and nothing is ever just one thing. Tarot fills a spiritual gap left by institutions that excluded us. It’s not about magic so much as meaning-making; creating rituals that feel safe, personal, and our own. A deck of cards becomes a mirror, a tool for self-trust, and sometimes, a quiet rebellion.

One of the most well-known tarot decks in the world is the Rider–Waite–Smith deck, first published by William Rider in 1909. Created under the guidance of mystic scholar A. E. Waite, the deck’s enduring magic comes from the artistry of Pamela Colman Smith, a Jamaican-British illustrator whose vivid imagination brought each card to life. Despite her profound influence, Smith’s name was long omitted from occult history, and her contributions were quietly overlooked in a world that too often credited only cis-men. Which is why many magick practitioners will call it the Rider-Waite-Smith deck instead of just Rider-Waite. As one should.

Over the years to come, many creative illustrators have tried to replicate the infamous tarot deck in their own style. One such remarkable deck to emerge in recent years is the Modern Witch Tarot by acclaimed illustrator Lisa Sterle. Reimagining the classic Rider–Waite–Smith symbolism through a fresh, contemporary lens, Sterle fills her cards with vibrant, stylish characters drawn from our everyday world. Diverse, fashion-forward, and unapologetically feminine. A modern deck celebrating color, confidence, and empowerment.

Tarot keeps changing, just like we do. What began as a game became a language and queers, as always, made that language our own. It’s part reflection, part rebellion, part self-love ritual disguised as mysticism. Whether you pull a card to find yourself or just to feel something, tarot gives us permission to be fluid, uncertain, and endlessly becoming.

And for the witches out there, what’s the first card that comes to mind after reading this? ✨🃏