Strawberry Moon Has People Feeling Some Type of Way (Probably Because They Forgot to Charge Their Crystals)
Look, I’m not saying the universe is out to get you, but the Strawberry Moon hitting this week has a bunch of people on social media acting like they’re the main character in a witchy Netflix series. If you’ve seen a sudden uptick in your feed full of blurry photos of an orange-ish moon taken on a 2019 iPhone, congratulations—you’ve survived another celestial event that means absolutely nothing in your day-to-day life, but somehow makes everyone lose their damn minds.
Let’s get the boring facts out of the way so we can get to the good part (making fun of everyone). The Strawberry Moon is just the full moon in June. It’s called that because the Algonquin tribes noticed it coincided with strawberry harvesting season. Not because it’s actually pink or looks like a strawberry, which is a disappointment to the kind of people who think the moon is made of cheese and also that their ex’s new partner “has bad moon energy.”
This year, the Strawberry Moon is also a “Micro Moon,” which is NASA’s fancy way of saying it’s at the farthest point from Earth in its orbit. So it’s smaller and dimmer. Basically, it’s the celestial equivalent of your friend who shows up to the party, says “I’m not really feeling it,” and stands in the corner. But don’t worry, the self-proclaimed “lightworkers” and “energy healers” on Instagram have already posted 47 stories about how this is actually a “time of deep reflection” and “letting go of what no longer serves you.” Translation: they’re about to post a tearful journal entry about their toxic situationship and blame it on the stars.
Naturally, Reddit’s r/astrology and r/witchcraft communities have been a goldmine of unhinged takes. We’re talking people asking if they should break up with their boyfriend because Mercury is in retrograde *and* the moon is in Capricorn. Or, my personal favorite, the person who said they felt “a strong pull to clean their house at 3 AM” and wondered if the Strawberry Moon was responsible. No, Karen, that’s called insomnia and a crippling caffeine addiction. But sure, blame the moon. It’s not like it can fight back.
The real question is: why do we, as a society, treat these cosmic events like they’re a paid holiday? I saw a post on X (formerly Twitter, because Elon must suffer) that said, “The Strawberry Moon has me feeling so emotional and sensitive, I literally cried at a commercial for car insurance.” Okay, first of all, that’s called being a human with a soul, not lunar alignment. Second, if you’re crying at a commercial about saving 15% on your deductible, maybe the problem isn’t the moon—maybe it’s that you haven’t had a real conversation with another person in three days.
Let’s talk about the actual astrological nonsense that’s been floating around. Apparently, this Strawberry Moon is in Sagittarius, which means it’s “amplifying emotions” and “encouraging radical honesty.” Oh, great. So your coworker who already over-shares about her colonoscopy is going to start “telling her truth” about how she thinks the office potluck schedule is “oppressive.” Fantastic. Can’t wait for the HR meeting that follows.
And if you’re one of those people who has a “full moon ritual,” I have questions. Are you lighting a candle? Writing down your intentions? Chanting something in a language you learned from a Tumblr post in 2014? Look, I’m not knocking the placebo effect—if believing the moon has psychic powers helps you get out of bed and shower, more power to you. But I refuse to believe that the same celestial body that controls the tides is also concerned with whether or not you finally get a promotion at your soul-crushing marketing job.
The best part of the Strawberry Moon hype is the photography. Every year, without fail, someone posts a picture of the moon that looks like a glowing orange orb and captions it “Strawberry Moon 2024 🌙🍓” as if they just captured a rare cosmic event. My brother in Christ, that is a streetlamp with bad focus. You are not a National Geographic photographer. You are a dude standing in a Waffle House parking lot at 10 PM. Stop.
But the absolute peak of this lunar lunacy is the people who claim they can “feel” the moon’s energy. I saw a TikTok where a girl said the Strawberry Moon was making her “skin tingle” and she “knew it was time to manifest her dream job.” Girl, you have 47 missed calls from hiring managers. The reason you’re feeling “tingly” is that you haven’t eaten anything but cold brew and anxiety today. Please go touch grass.
Look, I get it. Life is hard. The news cycle is a dumpster fire. We’re all just looking for a reason to feel something other than crushing existential dread. If the Strawberry Moon gives you an excuse to buy a new crystal, take a bath, and ignore your problems for a night, fine. Go for it. But let’s not pretend that this is some profound, universe-altering event. It’s a rock in space reflecting sunlight. That’s it. That’s the tweet.
And yet, here we are. Another month, another full moon, another wave of people asking if they should text their ex because “the energy feels right.” No. The answer is always no. The moon is not a relationship counselor. It’s a big, cold, dead rock. You’re just lonely and it’s 2 AM. Put the phone down.
So go ahead, gaze at the Strawberry Moon tonight. Take your blurry picture. Post your emoji-laden Instagram story. But for the love of all that is holy, stop acting like it’s going to
Final Thoughts
As someone who's covered astronomical events for decades, I find the "strawberry moon" a poignant reminder that our connection to the sky is often rooted in practical necessity, not just poetry—the name honors the brief, precious window when wild berries were ripe for harvest. Yet, in an age of light pollution and digital distraction, this seasonal marker feels more like a nostalgic whisper than a vital calendar, a gentle nudge to look up from our screens and remember that the moon, whether pink or pale, has always been the original timekeeper for those who lived by the land. Ultimately, its beauty lies not in its color—which is rarely truly strawberry—but in its call to pause, grounding us in a rhythm far older than our own.