Why Sensō-ji hands out so many bad fortunes

Sooner or later someone at Sensō-ji draws a kyō. You pay the small fee, shake the metal canister until a thin stick slides out of the hole in the top, match the number on the stick to a numbered drawer and pull out a slip printed in Japanese and English. If the verdict is kyō, the bad-luck grade, the answers beneath it can read as discouraging on topics such as a wish, a person you are waiting for or a journey.

That is not a rare event. Sensō-ji is known across Tokyo as the temple where bad fortunes come up often, and the temple itself acknowledges the reputation. Of its 100 fortunes, about 30 are widely reported to be kyō, though the temple does not publish a count. At many other shrines and temples the share is said to be lower, and some visitors go years without seeing a kyō. At Sensō-ji it helps to arrive expecting that a bad draw is possible and knowing what the temple asks you to do with it.

Omikuji are drawn at shrines and temples all over Japan, but they are not all the same. Many places use slips printed by specialist suppliers, with short prose fortunes. Sensō-ji's omikuji is called Kannon Hyakusen, the Kannon hundred lots, after the deity the temple is devoted to. It is a fixed set of 100 lots.

The temple's FAQ explains where the tradition comes from. It says omikuji were spread widely in Japan by the monk Ryōgen of Enryaku-ji on Mount Hiei, who is also known as Jie Daishi or Ganzan Daishi, and that the practice was handed down to Sensō-ji. Ryōgen was a Tendai monk of the 10th century.

Because the set is fixed, so are the odds. The same FAQ answers the question directly: it says people often say that Sensō-ji's omikuji contain many kyō, that these are the old lots exactly as they have always been, and that someone who draws kyō should not be afraid, because patience and sincerity can turn it to kichi. The roughly 30% figure is repeated so often, in guidebooks and online, that it has become part of the temple's reputation. The temple does not publish a count, so treat the number as a well-known approximation rather than an audited fact.

The slip is small but dense. At the top are the number and the verdict. Grades vary a little from place to place, but the common ladder runs from dai-kichi, great blessing, through kichi, chū-kichi and shō-kichi, down to kyō. The distinctions in the middle are subtle, and a modest grade is not a bad one.

Below the verdict, omikuji of this kind typically list short answers on the questions people bring to a temple: whether a wish will be granted, how an illness will go, whether a lost item will turn up, whether the person you are waiting for will come, and whether it is a good time to travel, move or marry. Sensō-ji's slips come with an English translation, as the Tokyo tourism site GoTokyo notes, so you can read the whole slip even if you do not read Japanese. On a kyō slip most of the answers are discouraging. On a dai-kichi slip most are encouraging, sometimes with a warning not to become careless.

Read the specific lines before you react to the verdict. A kichi can still carry a clear warning about travel or money, and a kyō slip is often more useful than a good one, because it tells you what to be careful about. That is the sensible way to read them: as advice for the months ahead, not as a verdict on your life.

The temple's guidance is specific. If you draw kyō, it asks you not to fear it, to pray for Kannon's protection, and to tie the slip at a designated place in the precincts, which it describes as forming a connection with Kannon. In practice the idea is that the bad luck stays at the temple, in the care of Kannon, instead of going home with you. Tie the slip only at the designated places, not on trees or fences, and fold it first so it stays put.

People add their own variations. Some keep a bad fortune instead, as a reminder to be careful, and tie it up only when the year feels as if it has turned. Others decide to pay again and draw again. Nothing in the temple's FAQ says you must not, but the spirit of the practice runs the other way: the point of a bad fortune is to take the warning seriously, not to shop for a better result.

The temple's guidance covers bad fortunes. For a good one, many visitors simply fold it into a wallet or a phone case and carry it for the year. Tying a good fortune to the rack so that the good luck stays with the temple is also a custom, just a less common one.

Put the fee in the box at the fortune counter, pick up a canister, and shake it gently while you think of your question until a stick slides out of the hole. The number on the stick may be written in kanji, and the drawers are labeled the same way, so match the characters rather than looking for Arabic numerals. The temple's FAQ asks you to return the stick to the canister, so put it back before you take one slip from the matching drawer.

Step to one side to read it, because counters at popular temples are narrow and there is usually someone waiting behind you. If you decide to leave the slip, fold it into a thin strip and tie it at one of the designated places. If you keep it, fold it small and put it somewhere you will see it again, which is the point of keeping it at all.

If you want to read the slip properly without a queue, go early or on a weekday morning. The Sensō-ji guide has the opening hours and the rest of the complex, and Asakusa at dawn is a 2-hour walk that starts at the temple before the crowds.

Drawing an omikuji suits most visitors, and it takes a minute. It suits you if you are curious about the custom, if you are traveling with children who like a small ritual, or if you want a souvenir that is also a story. Bring a coin so you are not hunting for change at the counter, and check the posted price.

Skip it if you know a kyō would genuinely ruin your day. Some travelers take a bad draw harder than they expected, and there is no obligation to take part. The slip is a custom, not a prediction, and nobody at the temple will think less of you for watching instead. A draw takes only a minute, so it also fits into a rainy visit between other sights.

It is tempting to see Sensō-ji's reputation for kyō as a quirk, or as a marketing gimmick that sends tourists home with a story. The more interesting reading is that it keeps the fortunes honest. If nine draws in ten were good, a good fortune would mean very little. At Sensō-ji a dai-kichi feels earned, and a kyō is common enough that few people take it as a disaster.

Ending the visit on a bad draw is part of the tradition. You tie the slip, leave the warning at the temple, and walk back through Hōzōmon with the advice but not the bad luck. If you want a second try, the next morning is a perfectly good time, and the racks will take that slip too.