I believe AKB48’s "Koisuru Fortune Cookie" is an exceptionally well-crafted song.

At first glance, it is a bright idol pop song. A song about unrequited love, a song about a girl lacking a little self-confidence. Yet, it is somehow forward-looking, danceable, and easy for everyone to hum along to. However, what makes this song intriguing is not simply that it is "bright." Rather, upon closer listening, a subtle sense of anxiety resides within. There is someone you love. But you might not be chosen. They might love someone else. You might not be attractive enough. Yet, even so, the future remains uncertain.

This sense of "the future being uncertain" is encapsulated in the metaphor of the fortune cookie. You do not know what is inside a fortune cookie until you crack it open. Before breaking it apart, you cannot tell if the words written inside will be positive or negative, meaningful or just a joke. The future is much the same. You cannot know yet if the one you love will return your feelings. You cannot know yet how life will unfold. Perhaps, things will not go as badly as you fear.

This song does not impose hope. It does not proclaim, "Everything will definitely be fine." It does not assert, "Dreams come true." Nor does it lecture that "effort is always rewarded." It simply states that, like a fortune cookie, you do not know the future until you crack it open. That is its grace.

Furthermore, the true strength of this song did not lie solely in its lyrics or melody. It lay in the choreography. Crucially, one did not need to dance perfectly. This, I think, is essential. It was not a routine designed for professional dancers. It was not something only idols could perform. Employees at corporations, local government workers, school students, shopkeepers in local districts, and people overseas could all manage the steps after a brief practice. Even without perfection, they could participate.

This quality of "participation" was highly significant for a pop song in the 2010s. Music shifted from something to be listened to, to something to be participated in through movement. Of course, the relationship between music and physical movement has existed since ancient times. Festivals, Bon Odori, Japanese pop ballads, idols, and dance music are all inseparable from the body. However, "Koisuru Fortune Cookie" felt like a song that re-established that connection for the age of the internet and web videos.

Someone dances. They record it. They share it. Someone else watches. They dance too, creating another video. The song propagates through the physical body. It was not merely a viral trend. At the very least, that song possessed an open margin, a space where everyone could participate in small increments. It did not matter if you were not a skilled dancer. It was fine to look a little bashful. It could be in a corporate meeting room, a city hall lobby, a school gymnasium, a local shopping street, or on a street corner abroad. Unbound by location, it drew people in.

In that sense, "Koisuru Fortune Cookie" may have been the Bon Odori of the 2010s. Bon Odori is not a dance for professionals. Some are skilled, others are awkward. Children participate alongside the elderly. Some join the circle simply by mimicking those around them. While there seems to be a center, that center is not held by a single individual. A circle forms, and bodies align to the same rhythm. Being present in that space becomes far more important than performing the dance flawlessly.

"Koisuru Fortune Cookie" shared a similar essence. Despite being a song by the idol group AKB48, it did not remain confined to the physical bodies of the idols, nor did it belong solely to their fans. It migrated to other bodies in various corners of society. That is what makes it fascinating.

AKB48 shifts the concept of idols from something to "be viewed" to something to "be participated in" through handshakes, general elections, theaters, performances, voting, and support. Fans do not simply watch stars from a distance; they participate in the narrative in some shape or form. The choreography of "Koisuru Fortune Cookie" existed as an extension of this. Yet, in the case of this song, participants were not limited to fans. Office workers, students, civil servants, and ordinary citizens danced. In other words, idol pop temporarily diffused into the collective body of society.

Here, we find a modern folkloric quality. When we think of folklore, we might imagine old, regional, or traditional things. Yet, folklore does not reside solely in the past. People sharing the same song, committing the same movements to physical memory, and moving their bodies in unison—recording this, sharing it with one another, and repeating it in different spaces—feels very much like a contemporary form of folklore. "Koisuru Fortune Cookie" was an idol song, a piece of participatory content in the video age, and, at the same time, a quiet festival.

Naturally, marketing, promotion, and commercial design were all at play. Yet, there was something beyond what those terms can explain. Why did so many people choose to dance? Perhaps because perfection was not required. And because the future remained unknown.

Though it is a song about unrequited love, it felt as though it also absorbed a fraction of society's collective anxiety. Will I be chosen? Will things go well from here? Is the future open to me? Will my efforts be rewarded? Will my turn eventually come? Yet, the song does not let those questions become too heavy. Like cracking a fortune cookie, one smiles slightly. One dances a little. It serves as a physical confirmation that the future is not yet decided. That was the quiet strength of the song.

It is not heavy. Yet, it is not too light. It is cheerful, but not with a cheerfulness that is ignorant of anxiety. It is danceable, but not in a way that simply masks reality. Rather, by dancing, one releases a fraction of that anxiety outside the body.

This closely resembles Bon Odori. Bon Odori is also a dance for the departed. On summer nights, people gather in a circle to dance. There, one finds not only joy, but also the presence of those who return, those who depart, and the quiet arrival of the season\'s end. "Koisuru Fortune Cookie" is certainly not a song for the dead. Yet, in the way people aligned to the same rhythm, danced the same steps, and temporarily transformed their anxieties about the future into a festive space, it was remarkably close to Bon Odori.

A modern Bon Odori. It occurred not around a physical festival scaffold, but within YouTube. It took place not only in local shopping districts, but also inside corporations, schools, and city halls. It was danced not in yukata, but in school uniforms, business suits, and work clothes. Yet, the physical body was undeniably present.

Music only becomes a memory once the body has passed through it. "Koisuru Fortune Cookie" was precisely a song that the physical body passed through. It is less a song that was heard, and more a song that was danced. Less a song that was watched, and more a song that was participated in. That is why, I believe, so many still remember it today.

You cannot know the contents of a fortune cookie until you crack it open. The future is the same. Yet, while remaining in the dark, we can still dance a little. Even if imperfectly, we can join the circle. We can still smile amidst the uncertainty. In the midst of the 2010s, this song taught us that. Wearing the guise of idol pop, a song of unrequited love, and a modest festival, "Koisuru Fortune Cookie" was our contemporary Bon Odori.

© SHIRO & Co.

First published: 2026-06-02