At the time I got intensely interested in the tarot, I was in my mid-20s and living in Washington, DC, at Dupont Circle, which at the time was more or less the gay ghetto. My friends were mostly either serious political types or struggling artist/writer/musician bohemians. I never felt that any of them particularly shared my spiritual interests or proclivities, so I more or less reconciled myself to pursuing these matters in a solitary manner, while remaining quite sociable generally.
I cloaked my tarot reading in a couple of layers of irony and humor. I developed sort of a party act called the Mystic Wasp. (This was a play on my own reputation at the time of being a slightly quaint, tweedy Episcopalian type.) I would pull out my tarot deck and various supporting paraphernalia -- an indigo silk spread sheet embroidered with golden stars, a small crystal ball, an incense holder -- and announce that the Mystic Wasp was now going to reveal certain timeless and timely truths. Usually I only did one or two readings, for people that (for whatever reason) seemed to want or need one at the moment. I was quite serious about all this, inwardly, and I found that (oddly, perhaps) all the Gypsy carnival routine actually turned out to be helpful to me as well as entertaining to the spectators.
Now the funny thing was, all these people who would never have DREAMED of admitting to any sort of belief in the tarot or the supernatural -- and who in fact were mostly too cool and sophisticated to betray any interest in spirituality at large -- could not WAIT to have their cards read. They couldn't seem to decide how seriously to take the whole thing, perhaps because they couldn't figure out whether *I* was serious or not. But I just went ahead with the act and tried to give the most meaningful readings I could, and most of the time I did genuinely have that feeling of being "plugged in" to the cards. Sometimes, much later, people would refer to readings I had done for them -- usually to comment that they wished they had been paying better attention, in light of subsequent developments.
I have no idea whether any of this might have any resonance with your own situation. But I suppose I would say that it *is* possible to remain hip among hipsters, and suitably ironic among the worldly and sophisticated, without abandoning your own inner quest for spiritual growth -- or for anything else -- and without having to get into fruitless and awkward debates over whether the whole thing is just air-headed New Age mumbo-jumbo. If somebody really wants to talk, then you can talk. But if they just want to "debunk" you, then screw that. Laugh it off, or pat their hands and apologize for having rattled their comfy little worldview. Hardened materialists are, after all, among the most fervid and easily upset of fundamentalists.