The 21st of March, 2024 was a significant day in my life for a couple of reasons. Firstly, it was the day I held the book-launch event for my long-delayed book, The Science of Weird Shit, published two days earlier by MIT Press (the paperback edition will be published on 1 April 2025 – thank you for asking). I marked this momentous occasion by giving a talk at Goldsmiths, University of London, from whence I had retired in 2020 having worked there for 35 years. This was followed by, although I say so myself, one hell of a party. A thoroughly good time was had by all.
The second reason that this was a significant day in my life, if not in anybody else’s, was that it was the official final day of operation for the Anomalistic Psychology Research Unit (APRU). Although this momentous event went unreported by the media, I felt that now, one year on, it would be appropriate to present a brief history of the Unit. So here it is.
The Unit was founded in the year 2000 as I was approaching the end of my 3-year stint as Head of the Psychology Department at Goldsmiths. Goldsmiths operated what was referred to as a “rotating head” system. This meant that anyone at the level of senior lecturer and above could potentially end up acting as head of department for 3 years (although I confess that the term always made me think of that memorable scene from The Exorcist). There was very little time to carry out much research when serving as HoD and, in recognition of this, Goldsmiths provided those in the role with a research assistant. My research assistant was Kate Holden and, between us, we came up with the idea of founding the APRU. The basic idea was that this would provide a focus for research activity in the area and encourage collaborative research both nationally and internationally.
Now, I’m not sure what image that title, “the Anomalistic Psychology Research Unit”, conjures up in your mind but I suspect that for many people with little direct experience of academia it may be a somewhat misleading one. Maybe you pictured a modern building with a big sign outside proudly proclaiming this dedicated unit? Maybe, in your mind’s eye, there are dozens of white-coated scientists inside, some hurrying around carrying clipboards and others chewing on pencils as they contemplate the results of their latest experiments displayed on their computer screens? Maybe others are using high-tech brain-scanners to probe the inner workings of psychics’ brains?
If so, I’m sorry to disappoint you. The truth is that the APRU never had any dedicated research space of any kind. There was never more than a dozen or so active members of the unit at any one time. Membership would consist of myself, my postgrads, project students, any research assistants I happened to have, colleagues (both from Goldsmiths and beyond) who wished to collaborate on specific projects, and volunteers.
Despite that, I think it’s fair to say that the APRU punched above its weight over the years, particularly in terms of media coverage. The reason is, of course, that the media love stories related to the paranormal which results in the general public getting the impression that there is much more research on such topics taking place within universities than there actually is. In fact, there are only a handful of universities around the world actively carrying out research in the areas of anomalistic psychology and parapsychology.
When journalists and other interested parties would sometimes request a tour of the APRU, I sensed they were often a little disappointed to learn that we did not have a suite of dedicated research labs. The truth is that it would have been entirely inappropriate for us to have such dedicated space. The methodologies used in our studies varied enormously from study to study, as described in The Science of Weird Shit. Some studies were carried out in small research cubicles, often collecting response data using small desktop computers. Others required the use of more elaborate set-ups, involving, say, observations through one-way mirrors. Sometimes data were collected via the administration of questionnaires to members of the general public going about their daily business.
In recent years, a lot of our research was carried out without having to leave one’s office at all thanks to the internet. When it comes to testing psychics, any test had to be designed around the specific claim that was being made which could involve some very elaborate set-ups. Given the wide variety of methodologies employed in our research, it made much more sense for us to make use of the general resources available within the Psychology Department at Goldsmiths as and when we needed them rather than to acquire dedicated research labs that would stand idle for much of the time.
So what did the APRU actually achieve over the 24 years of its existence? Rather a lot, as it happens. One of the explicit aims of the APRU was to “raise the academic profile” of anomalistic psychology – or, to put it another way, to make anomalistic psychology more academically respectable. In the early days of my interest in this area, back in the 1980s and ‘90s, it was made pretty clear to me by a previous head of department that my dabbling in anomalistic psychology would be tolerated but not actually encouraged – provided that I also carried out research and published in more conventional areas of psychology. I meekly complied, publishing papers on such topics as automated assessment and the relationship between cognition and emotion alongside my output on anomalistic psychology topics. Eventually, I took the plunge and made the decision to concentrate my research efforts solely upon topics within anomalistic psychology, concentrating mainly upon sleep paralysis, false memories, and belief in conspiracy theories.
In order to raise the academic respectability of anomalistic psychology, we published mainly in mainstream psychology journals as opposed to parapsychology journals. We did this because we were aware that the mainstream science media tend to completely ignore parapsychology journals (wrongly in our opinion). Since 2000, the APRU has published almost 40 papers on anomalistic topics in peer-reviewed journals (this total includes numerous papers by Dr Paul Rogers, an honorary member of the APRU), not to mention 39 chapters in edited volumes and innumerable articles elsewhere (including the Guardian and, of course, The Skeptic– which, from 2001 to 2011, we edited). Oh, and there were two co-authoredbooks, one sole-authored book, and a co-edited volume (the latter being a collection of some of the best articles published in The Skeptic magazine).
We also organised numerous conferences, often in association with other groups such as Sense About Science, the Centre for Inquiry UK, the Association for the Scientific Study of Anomalous Phenomena, and the Association for Skeptical Enquiry (including the European Skeptics Congress, held at Goldsmiths in 2015). In terms of conference and other presentations, we made well over 500 appearances from 2000 onwards. These ranged from invited keynote presentations at national and international conferences, through talks at various universities, to talks at local Skeptics in the Pub groups and in local schools – and even two national theatre tours in association with the BBC’s Uncanny series.
Overall, I think that’s a pretty reasonable level of output for a largely unfunded research unit. Although details of the Unit still appear on Goldsmiths website, its last official day of operation was, as stated at the beginning of this article, 21 March 2024. Speaking for myself, I intend to carry on researching, writing, and giving talks for a good few years to come. I just won’t have to feel guilty about never finding the time to update the APRU’s website.
Spring has sprung, marking the end of the cold and flu season. Winter isn’t just cold, wet, and dangerous, it also encourages the spread of colds, flu, and Covid. As more people gather indoors, airborne viruses find the perfect conditions to thrive.
Naturally, this surge in illness leads to renewed interest in how to treat a cold effectively, but despite advances in many fields of medical care over recent centuries, the common cold remains stubbornly incurable. Instead of a definitive cure, we’re left managing symptoms to ease discomfort.
BBC Future is part of the BBC’s international online service, covering science, technology, environment, and health. They position themselves as a source of truth, facts, and science – an approach I fully support. So, what do they have to say about the evidence behind home remedies?
Immune supplements
The article begins by noting that many home remedies focus on the idea of boosting the immune system, also noting that for otherwise healthy individuals, immune function is only impaired when there’s a deficiency in essential vitamins or minerals. If your diet is already well balanced, supplements offer little benefit. It’s a valid point – despite the claims of supplement pedlars, supplements won’t supercharge an already healthy immune system. It then goes on to discuss a specific piece of research on this, a pilot study published in PLoS One in 2020.
The study involved 259 participants who were randomly assigned to receive either a supplement (containing vitamins A, D, C, E, B6, B12, folic acid, zinc, selenium, copper, and iron) or a placebo. Over 12 weeks, participants completed weekly surveys tracking any cold symptoms. The results indicated fewer runny noses and fewer coughs among those taking supplements, concluding that this low-cost intervention merits further investigation.
Given the context already discussed (supplements aren’t expected to benefit otherwise healthy individuals without a vitamin or mineral deficiency) one assumes that some fraction of the cohort was mildly deficient in some nutrients, so the supplements here brought their immune function back up to par, reducing the incidence of colds. It’s an interesting finding, but there are a few issues.
The study had a high drop-out rate, with nearly 50% of participants failing to complete the weekly surveys. More concerningly, it did not account for multiple comparisons – a crucial flaw in scientific research.
Studies commonly use p-values to assess whether results are statistically meaningful or just due to chance. The typical threshold is p<0.05, meaning there’s only a 5% chance of observing results like these (or better) if there’s no real effect. However, when multiple outcomes are tested, the likelihood of finding at least one significant result by chance increases. It’s like playing dice: the probability of rolling a six on one attempt is low, but if you roll 20 times, the odds of getting at least one six rise to 97%.
Many studies fail to properly adjust for this, and this pilot study is no exception. The reported improvements for runny noses (p=0.01) and coughs (p=0.04) only hold for a single comparison, but the study also examined the incidence, duration, and severity of headaches, sore throats, congestion, aches, and fever. With so many comparisons, the probability of finding a significant result purely by chance increases dramatically. Just as you can’t roll 20 dice, pick up a six and demand an extra turn, you can’t do 20 comparisons in your study and then talk about how there is only a 1% chance of getting these findings if the supplement does nothing.
While there are a handful of significant effects here, they may well just be noise in the data given the number of comparisons made, and a simple statistical correction for the multiple comparisons eliminates these findings entirely.
To their credit, the authors of the paper acknowledge that the results are not conclusive, calling for more rigorous research. However, these larger, more robust trials have yet to be conducted. Given this, one could argue that it’s premature for BBC Future to reference this paper in an article on the effectiveness of supplements.
Garlic
Next their attention turns to garlic, referencing a 2001 study in which 146 volunteers took either a garlic supplement or a placebo for 12 weeks. The results were striking: the garlic group reported significantly fewer colds; just 24 cases compared to 65 in the placebo group. Cold duration was also notably shorter, averaging just over one day in the garlic group vs five days in the placebo group. The paper even goes so far as to claim that ‘the supplement studied may represent a cure for the common cold.’
These results are so extreme as to be absurd. Are we really expected to believe that participants taking garlic experienced colds lasting only one and a half days? If garlic genuinely cured colds, wouldn’t we have recognised its effects long before 2001? After all, people were chewing willow bark for pain relief for thousands of years before salicin was refined into aspirin. And if we really had discovered that garlic was the cure for the common cold in 2001, where are the Nobel Prizes? Why are we all still getting colds, a quarter of a century later?
Beyond the implausibility of its results, the study also had serious design flaws. The placebo was not taste-matched to the supplement, meaning participants could likely tell which group they were in. This introduces a major source of bias. Another red flag is the author’s claim that garlic ‘may represent a cure’ for colds, since this study wasn’t designed to test garlic as a cure but rather as a preventative, a fundamental difference.
Perhaps the most immediate explanation for these extreme findings lies in the study’s authorship. The lead researcher is the owner of The Garlic Centre, a business that sells garlic supplements – a clear conflict of interest. A 2014 Cochrane review found no reliable support for garlic’s effectiveness against colds, and characterised this paper as ‘poor quality.’ Yet, BBC Future chose to highlight this flawed study as evidence.
However, they fail to mention that this second analysis also found no positive effect for vitamin C. While it does conclude that vitamin C is generally safe, it does not support the claim that it reduces the duration or severity of colds – an omission that I would argue misrepresents the evidence.
The pattern repeats with zinc. BBC Future cites one review which suggests that zinc shortens the duration of runny and blocked noses while also reducing coughing and sneezing. However, a second paper they reference found no such benefit. In fact, some measures in this second paper showed participants in the placebo group do better than those taking zinc, suggesting that in some cases zinc may even be counterproductive. In fairness, this time BBC Future does point this out in their coverage.
Also to their credit, they highlight a key limitation in this type of research: studies rarely, if ever, test whether participants are deficient in vitamin C or zinc before supplementation begins. Any observed benefit could simply be due to correcting an undiagnosed deficiency rather than proving that these supplements provide a meaningful advantage for already healthy individuals. So fair play to BBC Future for recognising that nuance.
What really bothers me is that nearly all the papers on zinc and vitamin C cited by BBC Future come from the same author. Harri Hemilä, a professor at the University of Helsinki, appears to be a strong advocate for vitamin C megadosing and zinc supplementation. Nearly all of his recent publications focus on the supposed benefits of these supplements – not just for colds, but also for Covid, pneumonia, cardiovascular disease, sepsis, asthma, and more.
When he’s not promoting vitamin C and zinc, he’s criticising studies that fail to find positive results. He even authored a paper accusing mainstream medicine of bias against vitamin C, insisting that the evidence in its favour is unambiguously positive but unfairly dismissed. Given this, relying so heavily on his work without acknowledging his fringe stance on the subject is a significant oversight from BBC Future.
Skeptics often criticise false balance in journalism, where fringe and mainstream science are presented as if they hold equal weight. But here, we see almost the opposite problem. Even if we accept that there is some scientific debate about the efficacy of vitamin C megadosing, BBC Future leans overwhelmingly on data from a single researcher – one who openly acknowledges that mainstream science does not support megadosing as an effective intervention.
With respect to the common cold, BBC Future cites a 2011 study in which 719 participants who had only just caught a cold were randomly assigned to one of four groups. The first group received echinacea, a popular remedy claimed to help with colds, and knew that’s what it was. The second group also received echinacea, but they were not told it was echinacea, making this a blinded echinacea group. The third group received a placebo but believed they were taking echinacea. The final group received no treatment at all.
The primary outcome measures in the study were illness duration and illness severity. Duration was assessed by asking participants if they believe they still have a cold. The number of days they answered ‘yes’ determined the total duration. Illness severity was measured using a standardised questionnaire – a self-reported and subjective assessment completed by the participants twice a day.
Beyond these, the study collected a range of other data points, including stress levels, general health, and an open-ended question allowing participants to report side effects such as diarrhoea, headaches, nausea, rash, and upset stomach. There were also two objective measures: interleukin-8 concentration, which indicates immune response, and neutrophil counts, which reflect inflammation levels. Finally, researchers asked participants whether they believed echinacea works or not.
For readers who may be unfamiliar, echinacea is a popular alternative remedy derived from a type of daisy. While it has been used for centuries to treat colds, there is no good evidence to support its effectiveness in any medical context. However, it is known to interact dangerously with some medications, making its use potentially risky.
BBC Future reported this study as showing a placebo effect, where participants who believed in echinacea experienced shorter and milder colds than those who did not. They further note that this pattern held regardless of whether participants had actually taken any echinacea at all.
However, these findings rely entirely on self-reported data, where patient bias can easily influence results. People who believe they have received an effective treatment are more likely to report an improvement, even if no real improvement has occurred. This is a well-documented issue with subjective measures in clinical research and often overlooked in placebo effect research.
When looking at the objective data – the inflammation and immune response markers – there was no effect at all, either from echinacea itself or from belief in echinacea. Even the subjective findings disappear once a statistical adjustment is made for the large number of comparisons in the study, further undermining the claim that belief in echinacea had any measurable impact.
Nevertheless, BBC Future goes on to cite a second study in support of the first. This second paper, published in 2010, shows that patients who are unaware if they are getting echinacea do not report improved cold symptoms. This may appear to reinforce the placebo effect narrative: participants in the first study who believed in echinacea reported shorter and less severe colds, but those in the second study, who lacked that belief, did not report the same.
However, upon reading this second paper, I experienced a strong sense of déjà vu. It involved 719 participants who had only just caught a cold being randomly assigned to one of four groups – echinacea, blinded echinacea, placebo, and no treatment. It also shared almost all the same authors as the first study.
Because it turns out that this paper is actually the same dataset. The same patients, documenting the same colds – just published in a different journal eight months earlier. In this earlier version, they found no effect. This earlier paper concluded that illness duration and severity were not significantly affected by echinacea compared to the control groups.
Dissatisfied with these findings, the authors appear to have revisited the raw data and conducted subgroup analyses based on whether participants believed in echinacea. They then published these results in a different journal, presenting them as a separate study all about the placebo effect. Notably, the question about belief in echinacea does not get mentioned in the earlier paper, nor is it mentioned in the trial registration.
On the face of it, this appears to be a case of p-hacking, where researchers manipulate data analysis to produce statistically significant results. This is often done by testing multiple hypotheses, selectively reporting favourable results, or adjusting statistical methods until a desired finding emerges. While usually done with the best of intentions, p-hacking undermines the reliability of scientific research by increasing the likelihood of false positives.
Trial registration is a tool which is designed to combat this, keeping researchers honest about what questions they will ask, and what analyses they will perform. In this case, however, it appears to have fallen down; the second paper with the modified analysis simply does not mention that the registration exists.
BBC Future appears to be a genuine effort to present good science, but in this case, it fell short. Rather than offering a careful, critical analysis, the article relied on flawed studies, overlooked biases, and misrepresented key concepts.
Science journalism should do more than just report findings – it should question them. A more skeptical approach would have provided a clearer, more accurate picture of the evidence. Perhaps next time, BBC Future will live up to its stated mission and truly delve deeper.
From the pages of The Skeptic magazine, this is The Skeptic podcast, bringing you the best of the magazine’s expert analysis of pseudoscience, conspiracy theory and claims of the paranormal since its relaunch as online news source in September 2020.
There is only one certainty in life: everyone will die, from the poorest to the richest. Death is a certainty of life to humans, and we can’t defeat it… or can we?
With so much time and energy spent trying to develop technological equivalents of the fountain of youth, how close are we to arresting the march of time to cheat death or even significantly extend life?
Telomeres
Perhaps the most complicated category of life-extension technology aims to address telomeres – the DNA ‘caps’ that stop our chromosomes from separating or sticking to each other. Think of them as protectors, like the plastic tips at the ends of shoelaces.
Telomeres get shorter every time a cell divides, although telomerase stops this shortening for cells that divide a lot. This shortening is claimed to be associated with ageing; if so, logically, it is argued by some that if we could stop the from shortening or make telomerase active for all cells, we could have immortal cells. Preventing the shortening might not be impossible – we already have cells with effectively infinite telomeres: cancer cells. Many cancer cells can infinitely replicate, thanks to their telomeres.
However, despite what some theories claim, we don’t yet know the full effects of telomeres in ageing. Cellular ageing involves many factors, so it’s hard to know causality with certainty – we might find that we can arrest telomere shortening, which may not reduce cellular ageing. Even if we could make telomeres eternal, we might improve life expectancy, but we could still be just as far from the desired outcome of an immortal lifespan.
Stem cells
Another technology put forth as a potential cure for ageing involves harnessing stem cells, which are versatile cells capable of becoming other cell types, with the ability to repair and renew themselves. Stem cells are more present in the foetus/infant stages, as they are key to human development. They have a vast potential for research and improving the lives of humans, but the key words here are ‘improving’ and ‘extending’ life; they are not a miracle cure.
Imagine for a moment that we could use stem cells to regenerate all body parts (which, currently, we can’t). If you develop a liver problem, you could use stem cells to restore your liver to its youthful state. But what about the brain? Would we inject something into our brain that would slowly make all the old parts new again? The neuron activations and interactions in our lives form our memories and our personality; start to renew the cells, and you risk losing those features. Would you still be you if all your neurons were replaced with fresh new ones?
Digital representation of nerve cells connecting, via wallpaperflare.com
Utilization of fasting diets to alter mood continue to have poorly understood effects and treatment options. Currently, it is not fully understood which fasting option provides the most beneficial effects on groups and even less on individuals nor are there consistent trials assessing the effects of fasting diets in a comparable manner.
Few short and long-term studies work within an isocaloric/isonitrogenous framework making it more difficult to assess the effectiveness of various fasting regimes. Similarly, baseline assessments and comparable populations are limited in many dietetic studies.
Time-restricted feeding studies suggest this may be case, although caution is warranted in applying these results to humans. In mice, once-per-day CR feeding performed early in the dark cycle or early in the light cycle has equivalent effects on lifespan.
I suggest caution and avoiding fad diets or supposed miraculous solutions; we know that some people find benefit in fasting diets, but they aren’t a silver bullet for all health problems.
In conclusion
There are lots of theories around tech that could extend life, using diet, stem cells, and tech designed to target how our cells age. A lot of it is speculative, and where evidence exists, it’s in its infancy. Importantly, none of this would actually reverse ageing; at most, it could only slow ageing, and allow for longer lifespans.
Joseph Mercola – a leading figure in the anti-vax movement and one of the wealthiest and most prolific alternative medicine proponents in the world – derived some of his health advice via a ‘channelled’ spirit named Bahlon, according to new footage released by the Office for Science and Society at McGill University.
In the video, Mercola is seen during multiple extensive business consultations with Bahlon via the help of ‘psychic’ channeller named Kai Clay – otherwise known as Christopher W. Johnson, former CEO of the branding company Whitehorn Group.
During the channelling sessions – videos of which Mercola shared to other staff members within his organisation – Mercola claims to use knowledge from Bahlon, alongside insights generated by ChatGPT, to derive some of his health advice. Mercola also claims in the sessions to be regularly self-administering carbon dioxide enemas, claiming they feed his microbiome and create a forcefield to protect him from the alleged dangers of electromagnetic frequencies like 5G. Bizarrely, he attests to giving similar CO2 treatments to his pet dog, to whom he alleges he has fed samples of Mercola’s own blood.
Kai Clay, aka Christopher W. Johnson, closes his eyes in a trance as he channels the spirit of Bahlon
The exposé also reveals worrying plans to recruit “millions” of members of the public to “march with weapons” on veterinarians – a call to arms that is especially concerning given that Mercola flaunts a Glock 45 handgun during the sessions, kept in a drawer in his home office.
After reviewing 50 hours of leaked footage – dubbed “The Mercola Tapes” – Jonathan Jarry, science communicator at the OSS, has released extensive excerpts as part of a new documentary on Joseph Mercola and his ideas. The video shows Mercola’s claims that the Catholic Church forms the heart of “the Global Cabal”, in apparent support of claims made during an ongoing religious discrimination lawsuit brought by former Mercola Chief Business Officer Ryan Boland and former Chief Editor Janet Selvig (Mercola’s sister), who allege they were fired because of their strong commitments to the Catholic church. The suit specifically highlights the role of Christopher Johnson and his claims to channel “a high-vibration multidimensional entity from the causal plane” called Bahlon.
Mercola, whose website receives 10 million visitors per day and whose wellness empire is revealed in the video to be worth more than $300 million, was named in 2021 part of the “Disinformation Dozen” – a small group of major health misinformation promoters – and has a number of ties to Robert F. Kennedy Jr. In 2023, Mercola hosted a town hall in Cape Coral, Florida, as part of RFK Jr’s presidential run, before Kennedy’s appointment as head of Donald Trump’s Department of Health and Human Services.
In the Tapes, Mercola shares his fear that he could be involuntarily committed for appearing delusional: “I’m already whacked out. I’m an anti-vaxxer. Now I’m doing the spiritual stuff. My behaviour suggests I’m a nutcase!” He believes he will earn more Nobel Prizes than anyone before him and that he will destroy the insurance industry and bring about a “Mercola bank system.”
“The people who made Dr. Joe Mercola rich need to know where he gets his health information these days: from ChatGPT and from a branding expert who closes his eyes and pretends to be channelling an entity,” says Jarry. “In my opinion, the grandiosity and paranoia I see in the Mercola Tapes should serve as a case study in what can happen when you reject mainstream scientific knowledge and crave any sort of alternative, no matter how divorced from reality it is.”
If you haven’t heard, the secret to surviving Hollywood is not talent – it is keeping Beyoncé happy.
At least according to the internet, it is.
Welcome to the world of celebrity conspiracies, a place where fame and admiration easily twist into suspicion, and the glitz of stardom becomes a screen for dark, unseen forces. In this world, public figures are more than performers; they are thought to be architects of hidden agendas, puppeteers whose strings extend beyond the stage.
Beyoncé has been called many things: a queen, an icon, a mogul. For her fans, she is a symbol of power and grace, a woman who has mastered the art of performance and built an empire on talent and resilience. Yet in some corners of the internet, there is a much darker portrait being painted.
A grainy YouTube video here, a TikTok theory there, another Reddit post over there – all claiming that Beyoncé has been pulling the strings behind the scenes. From obscure symbols to “hidden” messages in lyrics, fans and theorists alike are piecing together “evidence” that Queen Bey is not just a pop icon but the queen of dark secrets, too.
Destined child of conspiracy
For many, Beyoncé’s journey from Houston’s modest beginnings to global superstardom feels almost too monumental to attribute solely to talent and hard work. To them, her success is not just remarkable; it is suspicious.
Conspiracy theories have only grown alongside Beyoncé’s career. The speculation that she is connected to the Illuminati – once a dominant theory – has since shifted to claims of orchestrated murders linked to her rise and her involvement in shadowy, powerful circles that control the music industry.
Oops! They Diddy it again
The recent arrest of Sean John Combs, AKA Puff Daddy/P. Diddy, has reignited old conspiracy theories involving Beyoncé and the powerful elite in the entertainment industry. Diddy has long been embroiled in rumours of being linked to mysterious celebrity deaths.
These claims often refer back to the infamous East Coast-West Coast rap rivalry of the 90s, where Diddy’s business dealings were entangled with personal vendettas and escalating violence, which ultimately led to the deaths of Tupac and Biggie. Given his close friendship with Beyoncé, the idea that someone with his influence could manipulate Beyoncé’s rise to fame seems to some disturbingly plausible.
TikTok has revived these theories with a popular phrase “She Knows” trending widely, which theorists argue has a double meaning. The internet claimed that “She Knows” is a wordplay on “Sean Knowles,” which is a nod to Beyoncé’s last name, “Knowles,” combined with Diddy’s real name, Sean.
Adding fuel to the fire, J. Cole’s lyrics in his song “She Knows” (which inspired the popular phrase) have become a cornerstone of these theories, with many taking his words out of context to support claims of Beyoncé’s alleged connections to a “celebrity body count.”
Rest in peace to Aaliyah Rest in peace to Left Eye (Left Eye) Michael Jackson, I’ll see ya Just as soon as I die (I die)
These lyrics are taken as a cryptic admission, with theorists pointing out that Aaliyah, Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes, and Michael Jackson all reached similar levels of fame as Beyoncé, and posed a threat to her dominance in the industry, only to meet untimely deaths. The theories surrounding Aaliyah’s passing are particularly detailed, often painting her as Beyoncé’s most direct competitor during the early 2000s.
Fuelling the speculation, theorists argue that J. Cole’s lyrics hint he knows too much. The phrase “Just as soon as I die” is taken as a warning that Diddy and Beyoncé might retaliate against him for exposing their supposed secrets. Fans point to this interpretation as evidence of an elaborate network of power and fear in the industry, with Beyoncé positioned at the centre.
This specific part of the song has become a popular background track in TikTok videos, often paired with clips of celebrities thanking Beyoncé during their acceptance speeches. According to theorists, these public acknowledgements are not merely gestures of gratitude but acts of self-preservation that celebrities do to avoid “falling out of favour” with Beyoncé, fearing they might share the alleged fates of stars who failed to show her proper respect.
These claims often cite high-profile incidents. For instance, Adele’s 2017 GRAMMYs moment, where she broke her Album of the Year award and dedicated it to Beyoncé, is frequently interpreted as more than just an emotional gesture. It is seen as an act of allegiance to maintain goodwill with Beyoncé. Similarly, Kanye West’s infamous interruption of Taylor Swift at the 2009 VMAs – where he declared Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies” is one of the best music videos ever – has been reframed as Kanye “protecting” Taylor from potential backlash or worse, aligning her with Beyoncé’s success. According to theorists, Taylor has even allegedly acknowledged this as a heroic act on his part.
Theories like these flourish, where quick clips and catchy hashtags breathe new life into narratives that might otherwise fade away.
Guilty until proven innocent?
To understand why some people are genuinely convinced by such theories and why Beyoncé often becomes the target of blame for events seemingly unrelated to her, I interviewed Naythan, a die-hard believer in the darker side of Beyoncé’s fame.
For Naythan, the evidence is everywhere – if you know where to look.
One of Naythan’s strongest beliefs centres on Beyoncé’s song “Daughter,” which he interprets as a criminal confession. “She clearly admitted to murdering Jay-Z’s mistress here, lol,” he claimed. He referenced long-standing rumours about Jay-Z’s alleged affair with Cathy White, who was reportedly pregnant with his child in 2011 but tragically passed away shortly after giving birth.
“And guess what? Beyoncé announced her pregnancy in 2011 too, but she’s lying,” Naythan added, showing me a video of Beyoncé’s pregnant belly allegedly deflating as she sat down during a talk show, which he claimed was proof she faked her pregnancy. Naythan pointed to specific lyrics from “Daughter” to support his theory:
Your body laid out on these filthy floors Your bloodstains on my custom coutures I really tried to stay cool But your arrogance disturbed my solitude Now I ripped your dress and you’re all black and blue Look what you made me do
“She killed Cathy because she was jealous of her,” he concluded. “Blue Ivy is Cathy’s child, not hers.” Naythan further argued that Beyoncé admitted everything herself through the song’s description, which mentions her “struggling with violent thoughts in the face of infidelity.” To Naythan, this aligns perfectly with the timeline of Cathy’s death.
Another striking example Naythan brings up is the recent trend tied to Diddy’s arrest (again). He insists that Beyoncé is fully aware of the alleged “manipulations and sacrifices” required to maintain her position and also complicit in them.
“They’re BFFs. How could she not know?” he argued.
Imagining secrets where none exist
When I asked Naythan about his sources of evidence, he told me, “The entire internet is talking about it. Facebook, Instagram Shorts, Reddit posts – you just have to look.”
He was dismissive when I questioned why he did not rely on traditional or credible outlets. “The news can write and report anything. How do you know it’s the truth? It’s all controlled by the government. They only show us what they want us to see,” he said, as though the mainstream media were part of a larger conspiracy to suppress the “real story.”
Conversely, the internet is not controlled by the government, according to him. That is why it is more trustworthy. “It’s people like us sharing what we find.” To Naythan, the chaos of unverified online posts was not a flaw but a feature; the lack of oversight made it more authentic in his eyes.
A 2019 YouGov poll shown in a statista chart reveals a high percentage of adult Americans believing in popular conspiracy theories.
It became evident, however, that his browsing habits likely shaped the conclusions he was defending. By engaging mainly with platforms and communities that fed into his pre-existing beliefs, Naythan seemed caught in a loop of confirmation bias. Rather than seeking diverse perspectives or critically analysing his sources, he gravitated toward content that reinforced his narrative.
In Naythan’s view, the “truth” was not about facts or logic – it was about rejecting the mainstream story and believing he was part of an exclusive group that knew the “real” story. This made the online sources he relied on feel trustworthy and essential, like a hidden treasure of secret information only a few people could access. Being in the know gave him a sense of power, even if it was not based on anything solid, which played into the age-old human desire to uncover secrets and expose supposed hidden agendas.
However, the sources conspiracy theorists like Naythan cite are often unreliable – frequently snippets of fan-made videos, half-remembered rumours, and selective readings of interviews or song lyrics. The evidence is usually circumstantial, often reliant on vague interpretations or dubious associations that do little more than feed into pre-existing narratives.
Dr McNaughton-Cassill explains that conspiracy theories operate in a self-sustaining loop: when confronted with disconfirming evidence, believers often dismiss it as propaganda or cover-up. This helps explain Naythan’s distrust of traditional media and his reliance on social media platforms for information. His insistence that mainstream outlets are controlled and untrustworthy fits McNaughton-Cassill’s observation that conspiracy theorists favour sources that align with their worldview, even when those sources lack credibility.
While these Beyoncé rumours might seem outlandish to many, it speaks to a broader tendency to dehumanise public figures, viewing their success as evidence of secret, sinister forces rather than the culmination of talent and effort. For some, this version of reality is infinitely more entertaining – and perhaps even more comforting – than the idea that Beyoncé’s success is simply her own.
Houston’s Pride
On the other side of the conspiracy debate are those who view Beyoncé not as a shadowy figure but as a cultural icon who has leveraged her fame to advance social change, empowerment, and philanthropy. To them, Beyoncé’s story is one of transformation – from a Houston girl with dreams to a global powerhouse who uses her influence to amplify marginalised voices and break barriers for women of colour.
I talked to Lisa, a Beyoncé fan who sees Beyoncé’s legacy in this light and finds the conspiracy theories misguided and dismissive. “If you look at her works, from the Black pride message in ‘Formation’ to her creation of scholarships for young women of colour, she’s committed to uplifting communities and not some evil witch that these people are saying,” Lisa explained as she told me about Beyoncé’s philanthropic work, much of it under the radar.
In 2017, Beyoncé launched the Formation Scholars program to award scholarships to “female incoming, current, or graduate students pursuing studies in creative arts, music, literature, or African-American studies,” signalling her support for the next generation of Black women leaders. She has also been a steadfast donor to charities like UNICEF and Global Citizen, responding to global crises and supporting health and educational initiatives for underprivileged communities. These highlighted a woman who has continually chosen to channel her resources toward meaningful change.
Lisa continued about how Beyoncé’s music has been a tool for empowerment. Songs like “Flawless,” “Run the World (Girls),” and “Brown Skin Girl” have served as anthems for women’s empowerment and pride in Black identity, reaching listeners across the globe with messages of self-love, resilience, and solidarity. Her albums, often references to Black history and Southern culture, connect her listeners to a deeper heritage.
Beyoncé’s commitment to using her art for advocacy has also come with personal risks. By aligning herself with movements like Black Lives Matter, she places herself at odds with audiences who view such stances as political or controversial. But for her, the risks are outweighed by the possibility of inspiring change. Through her work, she has opened dialogues about identity, race, and power – discussions that often provoke discomfort in those who would rather focus on conspiracies than confront systemic issues. Her high-profile support of movements such as #MeToo and her outspoken support for the LGBTQ+ community add to her role as an advocate for inclusivity and equality, far removed from the secretive figure conspiracy theories paint her to be.
“Honestly, I think some people just have a hard time believing in the success of strong, independent women, especially women of colour,” Lisa said.
Curious, I asked Lisa how she felt about Naythan’s interpretation of Beyoncé’s song “Daughter.” Her disappointment was evident. She explained that Naythan’s theory completely misrepresents the deeper themes of the song. “It’s about exploring her imperfections, not admitting to some made-up crime.”
While the official description of “Daughter” did portray a character (Beyoncé) grappling with violent impulses in the face of infidelity, the main focus was how those impulses prompted her to reflect on inherited traits from her father – both protective and destructive. The song explores her dual role as a defender and a potential aggressor, highlighted by her warning that she is “not harmless” and capable of embodying her father’s combative nature. However, this is not a confession of violence; instead, Beyoncé reflects on these traits to delve into broader themes of human flaws and inherited behaviours.
To Lisa, Beyoncé is far from a shadowy puppet master; she embodies a public figure who has succeeded in an industry where few Black women have reached her level, and she uses that success to make a difference.
The Bey-lief System
The contrast between these perspectives is stark. Conspiracy theories try to reduce Beyoncé to a puppet in some hidden plot, ignoring her real power and complexity. On the other hand, those who see her in a more grounded way recognise her as more than just a celebrity – she is an artist, entrepreneur, activist, and mother, with a positive impact that goes beyond entertainment and touches on real cultural and social issues.
Today, with so much information at our fingertips, it is easy to find “evidence” to back up any opinion, no matter how unlikely. For believers, it feels exciting to spot hidden symbols or patterns—it gives them the thrill of thinking they know something secret and powerful, even if the evidence is shaky at best. On the flip side, skeptics focus on hard facts and actual actions, writing off the wild theories as pure fantasy.
These polarised perspectives highlight a deeper issue: the human tendency toward selective belief. When seeking information that aligns with our existing feelings, we often construct narratives that feel comfortable and affirming. The real challenge is to identify this bias within ourselves and critically evaluate our interpretations – whether they pertain to celebrities or the broader world.
It is easier to imagine hidden forces or secret dealings than to accept that someone could rise through talent and hard work alone. Beyoncé, in this sense, becomes a mirror, reflecting our tendency to distrust success and explain it through fantastical narratives. For many, these conspiracies fulfil a need for mystery or entertainment, turning her every move into hidden “meaning,” her lyrics into codes, and her public appearances into puzzles.
In the end, these stories tell us less about Beyoncé and more about ourselves – our biases, fears, and the desire to find patterns where none exist. As her legacy continues to grow, we have a choice: embrace her achievements as they are, or distort them into tales that satisfy our preconceptions. Perhaps the next time we encounter a sensational story, we should ask if it is true and why it resonates with us.
Pseudonyms are used to respect the privacy of the interviewees.
From the pages of The Skeptic magazine, this is The Skeptic podcast, bringing you the best of the magazine’s expert analysis of pseudoscience, conspiracy theory and claims of the paranormal since its relaunch as online news source in September 2020.
Early into the Covid-19 pandemic, the World Economic Forum leader and unlikely villain of the conspiracist movement, Klaus Schwab, proposed that the world use the crisis as a chance to reassess the form of capitalism pursued by economies across the globe, and consider if better systems were available. While we can debate the merits of his proposal, and even discuss what motivations he had, it’s fair to say that his suggested “Great Reset” bore little resemblance to the version that would be passed around conspiracy circles as evidence of a shadowy New World Order.
In those spaces, which exploded online in the enforced pause of the Covid lockdowns, The Great Reset was something sinister that needed to be opposed by a concerted coalition of free-thinking people – dubbed by some the ‘Great Resist’.
While the reset never actually happened, and the world went back to essentially the same broken capitalist system it had been driving towards before the intervention of the novel coronavirus, the bonds formed at events and protests by followers of the Great Resist persisted, and soon they needed a new bête noir to rise up against. This search for suitable villains would see the rag-tag movement fight back against traffic-calming measures and LGBTQ rights but, while they may have been the most visible (and sadly, in some circles, palatable) causes, the hunt for bogey men also alighted on even less mainstream fears.
This perhaps explains how a community centre in Alfreton, Derbyshire, became the site of an unlikely coalition of figures from the conspiracist fringe in November 2024. Apparently convened at the request of the community centre’s board of directors, the Great Resist conference boasted a theme song from “I’m Too Sexy” duo Right Said Fred, and was organised by former UKIP candidate Liz Phillips, who clearly drew from her political address book for many of the speakers. Top billing almost certainly went to the politically promiscuous Tory/Reclaim/Independent MP Andrew Bridgen, whose speech flitted across edited and editorialised highlights of his backbench career.
Joining Bridgen from the benches of Tory party evictees and refugees were two former MEPs, Ben Habib and Godfrey Bloom, the latter of whom spent the duration of his speech talking up the importance of buying gold, never quite making clear that the gold dealers he cited as being reasonable and reliable pay him an affiliate fee for the privilege. One might ask what it is about opaque precious metals promotion that prominent UKIP figures find so appealing – after all, Nigel Farage spent much of the last ten years pimping bullion while fronting the “Fortune and Freedom” investment business, and recently was forced to reveal that he made £189k last year from similar gold-promotion schemes.
Common Law
However, the presence of so many figures from the corridor next to the corridors of power did little to dissuade the rest of the line-up from veering deep into the weeds of conspiracy claims, perhaps chief among which was Gary Fraughen – pronounced “frown” – who talked about Common Law.
Gary was introduced by organiser Liz Phillips as a prolific writer on common law, whom she has interviewed many times on her YouTube channel. It was genuinely fascinating to see someone who has spent so long engaged with (admittedly reactionary right-wing) politics as Liz has, praising the importance of what are clearly pseudo-legal Sovereign Citizen ideas:
This is something that people are coming back to, and we’ve all got to do this, the legal system and the law system is something we need to know much more about
After the briefest of introductions, Gary was soon into the good stuff, asking the audience: “Anybody here married? Because you’ve been through a horse breeding ceremony”. At first blush, this may have seemed like a judgement of the largely-rural audience, but Gary had brought the receipts, explaining, “What do you need to control a horse? You need a groom.”
Clearly, the suggestion here was that a ‘groom’ as in ‘bride and groom’ is the same as a ‘groom’ who tends to a horse, therefore marriages are an animal husbandry ritual about tending to livestock. Which sounds possible (if not plausible or reasonable), if you spend no time at all investigating the origin and meaning of words. A groom was simply the 12th-century name for a youth or young man; when he was a young man who worked in the stables, he was the horse groom; when he’s a young man about to get married to a bride, he’s the bridegroom.
Gary continued: “And the mare is looked after by the groom and controlled with headgear – it’s called bridalry, where you get bridal wear.” Again, the connections here are purely superficial. ‘Bridle’ for horses is comes from the old English word, bridle, meaning “a restraint”, which was related to the word ‘bregdan’, meaning to move quickly. So, to bredgan your horse, you’d pull the bridle. Whereas when it comes to your nuptials, ‘bridalry’ isn’t the name for a bride’s headgear, it’s a general term for clothing worn by a bride. But the bride will indeed be wearing bridal gear, from the old English word ‘bryd’, which is a betrothed or newly married woman. There is suggestion from some scholars that bridal as an extension term came from the old English ‘brydealo’, meaning ‘marriage feast’ – or, literally, ‘bride ale’. Nothing horse-related at all.
Gary carries on:“If the horse becomes uncontrollable, she’s a nightmare.” This even less relevant than any of the bride chat. A nightmare is just a bad dream at night, and it stemmed from people seeing demons on their chest when they were half awake in the middle of the night. People have back-filled that to suggest that the demons ride in on a dark horse – a night mare. But it’s actually that a ‘mare’ or ‘mara’ is the old English folkloric name for a type of demon, which came from the Proto-Germanic ‘maron’, meaning Goblin.
That ‘mare’ happens to be a homonym for the word for a female horse – a mare – but the latter came via the Old Englise ‘meare’, from the Proto-Germanic ‘marhijo’, which all meant female horse, as do derivations in Old Saxon, Old Norse, Old Frisian, Dutch, Old High German and German.
Two equine friends playing in their paddock, with bridles on their heads. By Alexas_Fotos, via Pixabay
Next, Gary makes the link to pregnancy: “If the three trimesters don’t happen and there’s nothing in the carriage, it’s a miscarriage”. Here, he’s clearly reaching, because the word ‘miscarriage’ is just the noun form of the very to ‘miscarry’, and it’s pretty obvious why ‘mis-carry’ would be the term used for when a pregnancy doesn’t carry all the way to term. Equally, it’s just as obvious why a cart pulled by a horse can be called a ‘carriage’, because it carries you.
Further, Fraughen: “At weddings it’s all horseshoes – nothing to do with luck, it’s to do with animal Husbandry”. Despite Gary’s protestations, horseshoes are a sign of luck – they’re made of iron, which was said to ward off evil spirits, and they’re held in place by seven nails, with seven being seen as a lucky number (in English culture at least). But we still need to deal with the elephant in the room: ‘husband’. As in animal husbandry! And a married man is a husband! Is Gary the Sovereign Citizen finally backing a winner here?
Well, no. The word ‘husband’ comes from the Old English ‘husbonda’, meaning ‘the male head of a household, master of a house, householder’. In return, that likely comes from the Old Norse ‘husbondi’, roughly translated as ‘master of the house’, because ‘hus’ means ‘house’ and ‘bondi’ is the past tense of the verb ‘bua’ meaning ‘to dwell’. So, literally ‘house-dweller’, but it would usually be used to mean the person who was in charge of that house… and if they’re in charge of the house, they would also get the say over what to do with the animals, hence animal ‘hus-bond-ry’. How does this link to marriage? Well, the man marrying your young daughter would be in charge of her too, he’d be her ‘hus-bond’. Thank you very much, centuries of patriarchy.
Speaking of patriarchy, Gary went on to explain how gendered titles work:
It’s like the word Mister. Years ago we had master, the young master was the young male in the house. Mister (Mr) comes from the word Mariner, admiralty maritime law, from the first and the last letter of the lowest form of individual working on a vessel. So you had Mister, you had Mrs but it really reads, Mister’s (Mr’s) – he owns her, she’s his property. And with a young female, she’s not owned by an another male yet, so we miss her out.
Unsurprisingly, ‘Mister’, as ‘Mr’, is not derived from the first and last letters of the word ‘mariner’ as the lowest rank of individual working on a vessel. ‘Mister’ is a derivation of the word ‘master’, which started as a word meaning a man who has control or authority over a place, from the Latin ‘magister’, which is where we also get ‘magistrate’, and via French where we get ‘maître d’. Ironically enough, ‘master’ is actually the highest rank on board a shipping vessel, because it’s a synonym for captain… which would have helped Gary out to know, because ‘mariner’ isn’t actually the lowest rank on the ship, it’s not a rank at all, it’s just the name for someone who works on a shipping vessel – mariner, from the Latin ‘marinus’ meaning ‘of the sea’.
As for ‘Mrs’, is that actually a silent possessive apostrophe, and is the word actually short for ‘master’s’ (or, I suppose, ‘mariner’s’)? Well, no. ‘Mrs’ isn’t to be read as ‘Mr’s’, but as an abbreviation for a longer word – just as we abbreviate doctor to ‘dr’, the word ‘mrs’ is an abbreviation of ‘mistress’. And when it comes to ‘Miss’, contrary to what Gary believes the term doesn’t mean ‘we miss her out’ because she’s not yet owned. That would make no sense – in that society the young girl would have been owned by her father prior to her husband, as there wasn’t a time young women were self-owned. The title ‘miss’ is also just a contraction of ‘mistress’ – essentially, like a mistress, but small – while the verb to miss something out comes from the Old English ‘missan’ – meaning to fail to hit what you were aiming at, or to escape someone else’s notice.
We are just three minutes into Gary’s talk by this point. I won’t carry on in that level of detail, but as an exercise it is worth doing, because it illustrates the magical thinking behind Common Law and Sovereign Citizen claims, and how they immediately fall apart with even a moment of scrutiny. These kind of ideas require a failure to look into what words actually mean, instead relying on the acceptance of superficial similarities as being indicative of deeper connections. But words don’t work that way – there is no real link between the ‘mare’ that means horse and the ‘mare’ that means demon, but there’s no such thing as a homonym to the common law believer, and any similarity must be indicative of a greater hidden meaning that can and must be decoded.
Gary’s search for meaning wasn’t restricted to marriage rituals – he turned his same brand of pattern-spotting to the aqueous nature of the banking system:
with Capital ships, all vessels were things that delivered the product. Yesterday it wasn’t there, today it has appeared, so it has manifested… so a ship’s manifest has delivered a product. That’s why women go to the dock, where a ship is kept. And the baby is birthed – not born – because it’s a ship thing. All banking is based on shipping words – a legal tender is a small boat that feeds another vessel. The bank really means the River Bank, because the currency – current – delivers and withdraws flotsam and jetsam to the river bank. And then the income stream diversifies into other areas of water. Everything’s about water with banking.
Again, it would be easy to run through each of these terms and point out that it’s just a coincidence that ‘birth’ a baby and ‘berth’ of a ship are homophones, and that a bank is not related to a river bank, and also that sometimes words are derived from something in a metaphorical rather than literal way.
Legal hot water
It may all feel like silly semantics around definitions, and ultimately therefore harmlessness, but the pernicious aspect of the Sovereign Citizen mode of thinking is that it opens up the door to unreason, and can lead people into real trouble. One woman during his Q&A asked him:
Can you explain all caps name meaning you’re a corporation… so for instance when I got a speeding ticket, it’s like capital letters so, I’ve incorporated myself with a company’s house as a limited company, so when they write to me I send them that information, and I send an invoice as well because they are harassing me.
For his part, Gary seemed happy enough to go along with this, pointing out that it really does work, and that this lady’s weird attempt to dodge a speeding fine is proof of that. He’s wrong. What that audience member claimed to be doing is illegal, and could land her with a criminal charge of driving without valid insurance or a license. All she might be illustrating is that there’s a backlog in enforcement, but that’s not the same thing as one weird trick, and eventually she might find herself in serious hot water.
This is how common law beliefs and sovereign citizen ideas harm – not directly, but indirectly. They lead people into legal trouble, and when they’re in that legal trouble, they offer them magic bullet solutions that unfailingly turn out to be blanks. At the same time, they reinforce people’s journey off the path of reason and into the weeds, undermining their grasp on reality.
Most shocking of all is watching an audience get coached in this kind of idea just several feet from people who were actively involved in how parliament and lawmaking actually works, who absolutely ought to know this is complete nonsense, but were apparently either too fond of the adoration of the crowd, or too ignorant of the careers they spent their lives in, to point out that this isn’t how any of it works.
