I saw this damn YourTango headline flash up on a slow Tuesday afternoon. Usually, I scroll right past that cosmic junk, right? But this time, it was all about Virgo and the core sexuality traits. Now, I’ll tell you straight up, I have a long, messy history with Virgos. I needed to know if this guide, this supposedly definitive list, actually held up against real human behavior, especially after the last few months I’ve been through.
I immediately grabbed my old notebook—the one I use for documenting everything from server migration notes to grocery lists—and I pulled the article up on my screen. My immediate goal: dismantle this thing point by point. Not for some academic study, but because I was trying to figure out why I kept running into the same brick wall with the same sign on it. It had been driving me nuts since I moved apartments last spring.
The Extraction Process: What I Did First
The first step was simple: I skimmed the whole piece, focusing on the five or six main bullet points they were pushing as “core traits.” I wrote down those traits in bold, big letters on the left page. Things like “Perfectionist in Bed,” “Need for Structure,” “The Emotional Barrier,” and “Service-Oriented Partner.” Sounded like standard horoscope boilerplate, but I was committed. I decided to treat this like a bug report: isolate the variables and test them against the known sample.
My sample size wasn’t huge, but it was real. I had:
- My old roommate, Sam (Virgo Sun, total neat freak, but a disaster romantically).
- My sister, Clara (Virgo Rising, extremely guarded, but fiercely loyal).
- And the recent subject of my frustration—I’ll just call him “The Architect” (Virgo stellium, the reason I even bothered with this YourTango nonsense).
I committed to spending a week just observing and remembering past interactions through the lens of those traits. I didn’t bother with the fluffy prose in the article; I just used the keywords as filters.
The Unplanned Deep Dive and The Big Mess
Why did I suddenly care so much about dissecting a YourTango article? This is where the practice log gets messy, just like the real process always does. See, I’d been planning a big overseas contracting gig for months. I quit my comfortable role, packed everything into storage, and was literally days from flying out when my passport got rejected for a stupid clerical error. Boom. Suddenly, I was unemployed, apartment-less, and stuck in a place I thought I’d be leaving. It was a total, unexpected structural failure of my life plan.
I grabbed a short-term, dead-end job just to pay for cheap rent, and during that unexpected downtime, everything I thought I knew about predictability and order just flew out the window. I felt like I needed to build a new framework for understanding people since the framework for my life had just collapsed. When The Architect showed up—who was all precision, planning, and control—it felt like the universe was shoving a lesson right in my face. I needed to decode him, and by extension, decode the idea of order that Virgos supposedly embody.
So, I went back to my list, looking for patterns that explained the chaos I’d just experienced, not just what the article was saying. I wasn’t testing astrology; I was testing my own observations against a provided template. I spent hours just rereading old texts and emails, looking for moments of “service-oriented” vs. moments of “emotional detachment.”
The Realizations I Nailed Down
The biggest thing I confirmed was the “Need for Structure” thing. Sam, the roommate, was a mess everywhere else, but his routine for getting coffee and handling his actual work was terrifyingly perfect. The Architect had to plan everything—even spontaneous actions were pre-planned spontaneity. I marked this trait with a giant ‘Confirmed – 90% Match’ in my notes. It wasn’t about being tidy; it was about controlling the flow of experience.
But the “Perfectionist in Bed”? I laughed out loud when I reviewed my notes on that. That was a total bust. What I observed was less “perfection” and more just “deliberate focus.” They weren’t trying to achieve some ideal; they were just focusing hard on the task at hand, which is what they do with everything. I scratched out the YourTango term and replaced it with: “Intense, Singular Focus on the Immediate Scenario.” Much more accurate.
I processed the rest of the traits similarly. I discarded the flowery, vague language and boiled down the observations into verbs and actions. I realized the guide wasn’t a blueprint for celestial bodies; it was just a poorly written observation guide for highly conscientious people. I had forced the structure of an article onto my personal mess, and in doing so, I built a new framework for understanding that specific type of human interaction. The process wasn’t about the stars; it was about me imposing order on a chaotic period of unemployment and relationship confusion. And that, really, is what I took away from the whole exhausting exercise. I shut the notebook, tossed The Architect’s number, and finally booked a new flight.
