Look, I know what you’re expecting. You’re expecting me to mock Miss Cleo. You’re expecting me to tear apart the late-night infomercials, the cartoon Jamaican accent, the psychic hotline scandal, the lawsuits, the whole gloriously ridiculous circus of it.
But you’re wrong. Dead wrong.
Because I believe Miss Cleo was the real deal.
And no, I’m not kidding.
Was the Psychic Readers Network a scam? Absolutely. Was it run by corporate hucksters who saw Miss Cleo as a walking, talking goldmine? Of course.
Did Miss Cleo herself get stiffed by the very network that used her face to sell the “future” to insomniacs across America? Yes, she did.
But that woman knew things.
I don’t care how many exposés you’ve read or how many snide YouTube documentaries you’ve half-watched. There was something about Miss Cleo — something unteachable, untrainable, utterly and terrifyingly real.
Her “readings” weren’t about cold reading. They weren’t about fishing for obvious emotional cues or throwing out generic advice about a “tall, dark stranger.”
They hit harder. They cut deeper.
You could hear it in her voice — the way she would just know, without hesitation, without the fluttery, trembling faux-mysticism most “psychics” slather on like stage makeup.
She wasn’t guessing. She wasn’t hedging.
She saw you.
You want to know the real reason they buried her behind cheesy graphics and fake hotlines?
Because people were terrified of what would happen if she actually had a platform to say what she really knew.
Say what you will — and I’m sure you will — but Miss Cleo had the gift. Not the kind you can monetize, or sanitize, or stuff into a three-minute call segment between ads for collectible plates. The real gift. The kind that shows you exactly what you didn’t want to see.
And if you think this ruins my credibility, you’re welcome to unsubscribe. I don’t care.
Some truths aren’t meant to be explained. Some truths call you up at three in the morning, reverse the charges, and tell you you’re lying to yourself about everything that matters.
Miss Cleo knew. She just knew. Rest easy, Queen.
You were too good for this world anyway.