I love a good conspiracy theory – but how far is too far?

What’s that? The world is run by a clandestine order of monks posing as banking magnates? Excellent. Thought so, writes Katy Brand

The question is, where do you draw the line? (Getty/iStock)

The trouble with conspiracy theories is that they often seem a lot more fun and interesting than real life. And let me put my hands up at this point and say I love a good conspiracy theory.

The world is run by a clandestine order of monks posing as banking magnates? Excellent. Thought so. And what’s this? The last descendant of Jesus Christ is living in a small Scottish hamlet, biding her time until she makes a glorious return? And the Illuminati is involved? Let me Google it.

What’s that you say? Jay-Z has Illuminati symbols all over his latest video? As a code to communicate secretly with the clandestine order of monks…sorry, I’ve lost the thread a little bit now, but don’t worry – keep talking and I’ll pick it up.

I am susceptible, is what I’m saying. And I know I am. Anyone who loves a good story with a hint of magic and mystery will be susceptible. The question is where you draw the line. How do you tell when you’ve crossed that line from curious but sane, to full tin-foil hat nutter? Will you know yourself when you have crossed that line? Or will it recede silently behind you, until it’s out of sight and you’re the only one still talking in the pub and everyone else is sitting in awkward silence?

I like to think I have the line held well in my field of vision. But there was a moment around a year ago where I felt what it must be like to want to talk about something that seems entirely logical and reasonable to you, but sounds insane to everyone else.

It was January 2021, and I was with a couple of people I did not know very well. I had become mildly interested in the theory that Covid had possibly originated in a lab and escaped to the world by accident. I was partly just trying to make conversation. The lab leak theory is slightly more acceptable now than it was back then, but still, I learned that night to keep quiet about it and not go any further over to the dark side.

There I was, a beer in front of me, saying things like, “But when you think about it, a lab down the road from the place where this whole thing started, that was experimenting with the very illness we are all now dealing with, that had already been under investigation for lax safety protocols – I mean, don’t you think it at least makes sense to look at it?”

And I glanced up to a pair of frozen faces, smiles politely in place, a small clearing of the throat and an embarrassed attempt to change the subject. “Listen, honestly,” I continued, but the damage was done. “I’m not one of the conspiracy theory nutters.” As I said it I realised everyone says that, even as with every word they confirm that they definitely are.

“I don’t usually fall for things like this,” I said, sounding a bit desperate now, nailing down my social coffin with every utterance. They were looking into their drinks, willing me to stop. “It’s just if you really research it online, you’ll see how it’s all being suppressed.” And there, the death knell sounded. Even I knew it. I could hear myself now. I drank up, paid up and wished them both goodnight. The sharp air outside stung my nostrils as I walked away, cheeks burning a little.

After that, I knew what it felt like to really believe that something might be real and to want everyone else to see it too. And when they can’t see it, what do you want to do? Find other people who see it the same way as you, because it’s a lot more fun to talk to them about it. Then you find you’re only talking to them about it, and no one else.

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There are no checks and balances anymore, no mates in the pub to say, “Katy, you’re sounding a bit strange.” Only affirmation, only confirmation, and then it takes you deeper and deeper and suddenly you’re shouting at politicians in the street about an underground network of tunnels where children are trafficked to a network of powerful paedophiles. Or threatening to destroy vaccine centres.

And I’m as angry about those people as anyone. But now I understand that when life feels both boring and also somehow chaotic, many are going to try to find underlying truths that may not exist, to create some order and offer an explanation for all this.

Because sometimes you want there to be a plan, even if it’s an evil plan. Sometimes the hardest thing to accept is there is no great conspiracy, and the world really is as random, unpredictable and crazy as it appears. And find a way to embrace that without losing yourself and your sanity.