On the Darkside, this makes you a vain, arrogant, condescending solipsist with imperial longings and an all-pervasive addiction to unconditional sycophancy.
ANNOYING HABITS
Punctuality
There must be some mistake. Of course you are never late. How could you be? No event would ever start until you and your entourage arrive, surely? If it did, you’d flounce off right away and have it cancelled.
Toothpaste
Leos would not deign to behave inconsiderately around the toothpaste. You simply wouldn’t know how to squeeze the tube from the middle; you have a little woman to do that for you.
Temper gauge
0 to boiling point in a nanosecond. Dramatic solar flaring and flouncing, down a notch to murderous irritation, and then you allow yourself to be soothed by a meaty tidbit thrown by a terrified acolyte.
personalitybossy, boastful, bombastic
No doubt one of your lackeys has read to you all about astrology. (You may even have a court astrologer.) Your lackeys will have told you that, as a Leo, you are proud, loyal, courageous, generous, magnanimous, dignified, enthusiastic, splendid, bedazzling—all in all, a class act, Your Brightside Maj. Well, they would, wouldn’t they? Don’t you ever notice the fixed grins of your courtiers: the smile that doesn’t quite reach their eyes? And the way they back out of your presence with pleasing abasement? You think this is reverential; they think they have hit upon an almost foolproof way to avoid a knife in the back
History is benighted with dark lions—weak kings, bad kings, evil emperors, despotic tyrants. (And for the purposes of this book, all Leos are kings, in spite of the fact that large numbers of you are, technically and anatomically, queens.) Inside the hollow crown you (and I) know that you are an arrogant, intolerant, patronizing, pompous, self-centered bully; oh, and a snob and a drama queen, too. You never really got beyond what child psychologists call the terrible twos, did you? And, just like the tyrant of the toyshop, you can’t really believe you are getting away with it. You remember that scene in The Wizard of Oz, where the fearsome all-powerful wizard is revealed as an insignificant little old man behind a curtain, pulling on a vast array of levers? That’s you, that is—scared that you will be found out, and they will take away your crown.
You absolutely have to be adored; by everybody; all the time. It never occurs to you how boring this may be for the conscripted adorers; you do not see that they go through the motions (or perhaps you do, but you don’t care—it’s the motions you want). This lust for adoration is often your downfall because you are very easily flattered—you great, gorgeous, handsome, clever tawny thing, you—and you believe every word. You are too ready to roll over on your back, purr under the honeyed stream, and fail to notice that while you are blessing out, others (usually Scorpios, Taureans, and Capricorns) are usurping your powers. You can’t hear the whisper of plotting behind the roaring of the Hallelujah chorus, so you can be very easily manipulated.
You expect the world to revolve around you, and a surprising amount of it does: some of the other zodiac signs (they know who they are) have a positively craven attitude. When it doesn’t, you plunge into grand imperial sulk mode (you call this dignified silence) until a little man comes to fix it. It has been reported to you that people think you have double standards; you can only shrug, and agree. There is what you deserve by Divine Right, and what is good enough for everyone else. Is there a problem?
And you are never, ever wrong. Even when you are wrong, you have people whose job it is to redefine wrong, or recalibrate the world so that you are right, looked at from a certain angle.
b***h rating
B++. Why b***h? You are the king. You know that magnanimous praise—she does so well with what little she’s got—can inflict just as much collateral damage as upfront abuse; but of course when you do condescend to go in for catty remarks, they are always big catty remarks.
Collective noun
A protocol tip for non-Leos. You may find yourself, for some bizarre zodiacal reason, in a grand salon full of Leos (and if you do, pause to wonder what an unranked nobody like you is doing there). The massed pools of limelight blind you, and a mistral of air-kisses musses your hair. You are privileged to be in the midst of a Royal Barge of Leos. Bow and grovel.
FAVE DEADLY SIN
And which deadly sin comes by royal appointment? All of them, is the republican response—they’re practically a job description for successful monarchy. But your Number One sin has got to be Pride. For a start, it’s the deadly sinners’ deadly sin: it’s known as the sin from which all others arise, and you just love to be up there with the top people. Pride is also known as Vanity, which as far as you’re concerned is just as it should be: Vanity is your second favorite, and you get two sins for the price of one.
blame your planetbig, bad, and blazing
Even you think you have taken this Supreme Ruler business a bit too far, and your braver subjects are starting to call you Caligula. How can you regain your benign monarch status? Easy: blame your planet. In your case, it’s the Sun.
Astrologers speak of the Sun moving in and out of the zodiacal signs; that’s just the view from here. In astronomical reality, the Sun stands still and we all rush around it, helplessly captivated, in circles (or in some cases ellipses, but who’s counting). Isn’t that just so, Leo? A ruling planet around which adoring satellites revolve: it’s no more than you deserve. It even has a corona. Plus the Sun has always and everywhere been worshiped; there’s not a culture on Earth that has not produced a sun god or goddess at some point—the Greek Helios/Apollo rode the skies in a flaming golden chariot drawn by snow-white horses (nothing subtle about sun gods, and Leo wouldn’t want it any other way).
Surely there can be no Darkside to the Sun? It may look like a benevolent disk (albeit with a penchant for cheap, tacky, retina-scorching sunsets); but up close, it’s a scary great ball of gas, a giant nuclear reactor in the sky, gobbling up hydrogen and emitting all sorts of mysterious rays that it’s just as well we don’t know about. We think it eats itself for our warmth and benefit, but it would do this whether or not it was surrounded by dependent planets. It’s the shining and stellar performance that counts. You can relate to that, can’t you Leo?
who's got your number?check out the opposition
Your polar opposite is Aquarius: aloof, standoffish, mad, bad, and dangerous to know. What would a drama queen like you want with a celebrity-phobe longer like your average Aquarian? How do you have this—shall we say—understanding? Well, like good cop and bad cop, or arch villain and fixer, you need each other to make the Darkside work for you. It’s all about elements (undesirable ones, of course). You are Fire; Aquarius is Air. Fire needs oxygen to burn, just as you need the oxygen of adoration to show how gorgeously you can light up any event.
You are a creature of bombast and histrionics, but can’t you feel, deep down, the chilly, insolent Mr. Cool, watching you flouncing around issuing your impossible orders and demanding instant grovel? Ever wonder how you can order three executions and a public flogging and still play with sweet little kittens? Or how a vain, self-deluded egocentrist like you can must the detachment to compile an effective long-term masterplan?
Respect your inner Aquarian; it provides a small (but potent) sliver of icy detachment that cools the furnace of your raging self-regard, separating your inner self from the consequences of your actions, so that you soul can sleep at night. It is the little spot of head-ruled yin in the swirl of your heart-ruled yang. Of course, if it gets too icy in there, you graduate from king to evil emperor.
sexpowerful, professional, performance
What your lovely assistants have to realize is that Leo sex is all about performance and applause. Just because you’re experiencing intimate passion, does it mean you have to be alone? (Your definition of intimate, in any case, is just you, your partner, your hairdresser, your caterer, your aromatherapist, your fitness coach, and a few gofers.) Basic requirements are a hall of mirrors and a satellite uplink to global TV. To be fair, you take your part seriously, buffing the body and practicing hip grinds and pelvic thrusts to the Jagger standard, but then you focus so hard on style, posturing, and execution that you fail to notice your partner has gone to sleep. This makes you angry, for he or she (or they) will not then be able to give you marks out of ten with the special numbered cards you have prepared, or offer a round of wild applause and scream for an encore.
Because you need so much adoration, many of you go for the harem (or “pride”) option. This is quite unusually sympathetic and thoughtful of you, for no individual human can grind out as much unconditional attention as you need.
DARKSIDE DATE
There is no possibility that you will not get a date. You know you are handsome, noble, and irresistible. Plus there is always droit de seigneur (the king gets to date whomever he wants, or the peasants will pay—it works for both sexes). You love the chase and the pouncing, and can wait for days behind an acacia bush for a particularly doe-eyed young gazelle. But dates have to remember that it is all about you. You have got to be adored. The more dependent and servile they are, the more you love them. Your ideal date is with a poor and impressionable (but beautiful—you are a total lookist) beggar maid (or boy) whom you can smother with condescending luxury, put on a pedestal (you don’t hear the protests), demand undying love from, and them despise and discard when they cannot deliver, or when you get bored.
What kind of love rat are you?
Once your ardor has cooled, and the thrill has gone, you can't be bothered to tell your ex that they are an ex. However, if you need the ex for some reason—perhaps your wardrobe needs shifting, or you're feeling suddenly lonely at the top—then you just lift your despotic digit and reel them back in.
IMCOMPATIBILITY RATING
Aries—bitter confrontations over who is to wear the Pants of Dominance.
Taurus—you flash your claws; they dig in their hooves.
Gemini—if it you they love, or your penumbra of celebrity?
Cancer—when you're in a royal rage, they'll just matronize you.
Leo—serious strategy defect; who will do the adoring?
Virgo—they don't eat meat!
Libra—synchronized charm offensives; but their magic mirror is incompatible with yours.
Scorpio—you suspect they may be secretly in control. You'd be right.
Sagittarius—'nuff respect? Well, no, actually.
Capricorn—they cramp your style, hide your Gold Card.
Aquarius—rational, reticent, and republican—yet fascinating.
Pisces—pleasingly servile, but always fun away with Guinevere (or Lancelot) in the end.
relationshipskiss my royal paw
Relate is probably the wrong word. Leos condescend; or form alliances; or allow themselves to be worshipped. You don't need to network. At a party you are the one in the middle, either radiating charm and loveliness or in a histrionic fit so mighty that no one can fail to notice.
A fearful snob (and what's wrong with that?), you prefer to ally yourself with people who will make you look good—the powerful, important, influential, or just plain rich (bedazzled beggars are best kept for bed). However, they must not be more handsome, successful, powerful, and rich than you. If people displease you (perhaps your royal radar detects a slight dimming in the sycophantic wattage) you drop them instantly; it never crosses your mind that they might deserve and explanation.
Anyone with even the most tenuous grip on the psychology of the individual can easily crash the Leo magic circle: all they have to do is fawn, bow, and scrape. The brighter among them realize that you need them—or at least the oxygen of their esteem—just as much as they need you; is a king still a king when he has no subjects? The rest of us have often seen haughty, handsome Leos accompanied (one pace behind) by inconspicuous mousy spouses and wondered why; now we know: they give great grovel.
In any romance, you initiate the game (and heaven help any Chosen One who does not respond). The "relationship" is conducted at your command; everything will be fine as long your partner realizes that you rule the roost.
workyou're the boss
It will all be OK as long as you are in charge. Clearly, your way is the only way. Why don't people know what's good for them? The actual job is a teensy bit irrelevant. You must: a) be in charge; b) be seen to be in charge; c) be paid in gold; d) have an admiring horde of slavish acolytes (minimum number: three) to do the heavy work and the fawning.
Your strategy in any work situation is to sweep in, with or without a retinue, impose your rule, and punish treasonable behavior. You can do this with a clear conscience because you are king. That's why astute employers often take you on as a hatchet person: it only costs a big desk and an imposing title. As for working your way up the workplace hierarchy, excuse me? Whatever your position, you are, in your eyes, the boss. Officially you do not do office gossip; unofficially, of course, you have organized a posse of sycophantic informers whose balls you have in a vise and who report to you at noon. And if you are any good at kingship, you dress down every now and then and mingle with the common people around the water cooler (but we warned: your disguise may not be as good as you think it is).
You may appear to be a workaholic, but really you are only good at face time; you (and I) know that you can be titanically lazy. (Have you seen what male lions do all day?) Lolling on velvet divans being fed peeled grapes and watching the workforce sweat is part of the job description, isn't it?
DREAM JOBS
Most of you are already in your dream job (any job with you in it must by definition be a dream), but even you may take a break from bossing to scratch beneath the crown and wonder if perhaps you are hiding your glorious light under a bushel. Leo superjobs include:
Monarch
What better way to express regal longings than through the proper channels? All you have to do is either marry an existing royal or maul your way through the existing heirs. How hard can that be?
Megastar
Bathe in the hot white limelight, hear the roar of the crowd, feel the love of the little people! But move into a gated compound and drive everywhere in a sealed limo—you don't want to bump into the sweaty little proles.
crimes and misdemeanorshow bad could it get?
So what sort of criminal would you be, if sociopathy became the new world order? How would you spend your days (or maybe nights) if you really lived on the Darkside? Petty larceny is below you—you have other people to do that kind of thing. What you like best is the big job: stealing countries, for example. Anything involving bullion (in huge amounts) is good. You are also adept at high-society confidence trickery, fraudulent behavior that involves dressing up and suckering Joe Public. Being a Fire sign, you are very attracted to arson, especially the kind that yields fat insurance payouts.
Of course you respect the law; you are the law after all (it's the law of the jungle of which you are king); but the rest of us have to understand that what is the law for us simply does not apply to you, because you have diplomatic immunity and the Divine Right of Kings on your side. If your subjects insist that you have transgressed, you insist right back on being tried by your peers—that is, a team of other royals who will understand. Mind you, you just love a day in court—what a supremely regal word that is. Even if it's only a question of non-returned library books, you will take it all the way to the Supreme Court, because then you can give your star turn in the dock. An audience in an audience is an audience.
And if it all goes slammer-shaped and you are locked up, you do at least get a captive audience, peasants to patronize, and your very own guards, and pretty soon you seize the throne as the King of the Cooler.
WHEN LIONS GO WRONG
Leo crimes are always on the large scale; there will always be an Organization (all Leos want to be the Godfather, if they aren't already) and you avoid carrying out the actual work. You like the purry white cat on your lap, and giving orders as you savor your hand-rolled cigar.
Bullion thief
Think Auric Goldfinger, but with style. Repatriating obscene amounts of gold (all gold is yours, by Divine Right) cannot be wrong, can it? It has to be solid gold, in bars; silver is so bourgeois, and cash is common.
Grand scammer
Great! Dress up as Crown Prince Leopold of Ruritania and strip-mine and assets of impressionable social climbers. If that doesn't work, you're just as impressive as a televangelist or snake-oil salesman.
at homepalace, sweet palace
On the whole, you welcome visitor to your royal enclosure (as long as they take their shoes off, and leave backward) since even the most irascible lions among you want to show off your dazzling array of trophies and spare crowns, and how tastefully you can pay someone else to decorate your lovely home. And since few of us can resist rubbernecking around a mansion, we flock (taking our desert-gauge sunglasses with us, of course). Occasionally, we find a Miss Havisham lion in there, slumped in dusty finery on a grimy, gilded throne, garlanded with cobwebs, dreaming of former glories.
DOMESTIC DISHARMONY
Aries—your meat shelf in the fridge will always be empty.
Taurus—territorial standoffs in the kitchen; they are stubborn, you are resolute.
Gemini—they laugh in the face of protocol, and will borrow your crown without asking!
Cancer—they are always adding inappropriate homely touches to the state rooms.
Leo—twin thrones; no room for both sets of courtiers.
Virgo—constantly tut-tutting under their breath about something they call extravagance.
Libra—serious bathroom gridlock, and they may well have more self-portraits than you.
Scorpio—they're the power, you're the glory; the only palace mate you can't intimidate.
Sagittarius—they will use your coronation robes for bathmats and forget to turn the faucet off.
Capricorn—forever switching off the lights so no one can see you properly.
Aquarius—cool brains; they will outwit you when it's bill-paying time.
Pisces—pleasingly slavish, but unreliable around corkscrews.
Decor
You think Neuschwanstein and Versailles are just a shade too restrained. What exactly is wrong with leopardskin chaises-lounges, rube-dusted lampshades, and a solid gold catflap? And you have just commissioned a swimming pool with your portrait in gilded tiles at the bottom. What could be more tasteful?
Sharing the Leo palace
Sometimes, when the royal coffers are a few gold bars short of a banquet, you deign to fling open the palace gates and allow the little people to come in. It'll be a bit smelly, of course, but remember that not only do they pay hard cash and give good grovel, they can also be made to do all the chores.
playtimethe darkside of fun
You are unbearable anywhere the Sun don't shine. (You are a Fire sign, don't forget.) Avoid anywhere with world-class attractions that divert attention from your own glory—Rome, Ayer's Rock, the Taj Mahal, the Grand Canyon, the Great Wall of China. Don't go camping: you know you are strictly a hotel and hairdryers person. Don't go on adventure vacations unless you have a very large number of intrepid servants, diplomatic immunity, and a bulletproof sedan chair. And never, ever go anywhere on your own. You may begin to believe you don't exist.
Remember, however, that anywhere with a population of sycophantic locals (preferably poor, pathetically grateful, and used to worshiping their superiors) will soothe your soul—it's always good to know that somewhere in the world, someone is admiring you. Group vacations (with a carefully vetted membership) can be extremely satisfying—an instant captive audience.
Vacations from hell
* An adrenaline-packed adventure vacation with Gemini and Sagittarius; you will ruin your hair.
* A far-from-the-madding crowd vacation with Aquarius and Scorpio; madding crowds are exactly what you live for—there'll be no one to impress.
* Going camping in Nebraska with parsimonious Virgo and Capricorn; you cannot cope with anything less than five-star luxury.
Road rage
Either you are the one being driven in the big, purring stretch-limo and have a chauffeur to do road rage for you; or you are the one driving the gas-guzzling SUV (a lion's got to have room for the retinue and regalia) that takes up the whole highway; you don't understand why anyone else is on the road, because you did not declare the day the day an official holiday. You do the map reading, perfectly; you do the driving, perfectly; you decide where to go. You hear no complaints. Likelihood of you being the trudging peasant? Zero.
Gamesmanship
If it's a team game, you must be captain, regardless of your qualifications. You know exactly how great you are; therefore you resent any criticism—and any praise, because no one should presume that they can appreciate you as well as you do. You always play to win; if you don't win, you sulk and order a lackey to take your ball home.
