Beyond the Jinx: How TWICE Rewrote the K-pop Longevity Playbook

Photo Cr. JYPE

In the world of K-pop, the “7-year jinx” has never really been about superstition; it’s about the friction of growing up. For a decade, we’ve watched a recurring pattern: contracts expire, burnout peaks, and the person the idol has become starts to clash with the concept they debuted with. Historically, this is where the story ends a quiet disbandment or a slow fade into nostalgia.

But as I sit here in early 2026, watching TWICE command their “THIS IS FOR” World Tour, it’s clear we are witnessing something that shouldn’t, statistically, exist. A nine-member group that didn’t just survive the ten-year mark, but found a way to make stability feel like the most radical thing in the industry.

The Structural Trap: When the Mask No Longer Fits

The “jinx” usually claims groups because of a mismatch between aging and identity. Most groups are built on a “moment” a specific trend or a youthful energy that is difficult to sustain as the artists enter their late 20s.

As an analyst, I call this the Stagnation Trap. If a group stays the same, they become a caricature of their younger selves. If they change too fast, they alienate the fans who built them. TWICE’s peers often fell into this gap, unable to negotiate a future that felt both authentic to the members and profitable for the agency. The “jinx” isn’t a curse; it’s what happens when an industry doesn’t know how to let its icons grow up.

Controlled Evolution: Growing Up in Public

TWICE’s early image was bright, playful, and hyper-accessible a “Color Pop” energy that critics thought would age poorly. But TWICE didn’t escape the jinx by resisting change; they escaped it by changing at the speed of life.

They practiced what I call “Incremental Maturation.” They didn’t wake up one morning and pivot to a dark, aggressive concept to prove they were “adults.” Instead, they softened their brightness. They moved from the viral “shy shy shy” energy of Cheer Up into the synth-wave sophistication of I Can’t Stop Me, and eventually into the reflective, stadium-filling sound of 2026.

By mirroring the members’ real aging process in their music, they allowed the fans (ONCE) to grow with them. They didn’t kill their past; they just let it evolve.

The “Shared Success” Model: Individual Agency as a Group Strength

For years, the industry feared solo activities. The logic was simple: if a member becomes a star on their own, the group becomes a burden. TWICE destroyed this logic.

Through 2024 and 2025, we saw a flurry of individual “brand extensions” Nayeon’s solo dominance, the chic Japanese sub-unit MISAMO, and Tzuyu’s abouTZU. In the old model, this would be the beginning of the end. In TWICE’s 2026 model, this is Parallel Branding.

Each solo project served as a new “on-ramp” for the group. Instead of competing for the center spot, the members began to occupy distinct but non-competitive spaces. By allowing each woman to find her own voice, JYP Entertainment didn’t pull the group apart they gave each member a reason to stay. They proved that a group can be an ecosystem of individuals, not just a single, rigid unit.

The 2026 Legacy Phase: Why Stability is Revolutionary

In an era of 4th and 5th Generation groups where lineups shift and comebacks happen at a breakneck pace, TWICE’s “OT9” consistency has become a premium commodity.

Their current tour features a 360-degree stage, a design that I believe is the ultimate metaphor for their career. It removes the “backstage,” making a massive stadium feel like an intimate, shared space. This “intimacy at scale” is only possible because of the trust built over a decade.

TWICE did not outpace the industry; they outlasted its worst habits. They’ve entered the “Legacy Phase” a stage where they no longer have to chase the charts because they own the culture. Their success isn’t loud or controversial; it’s durable. In a world that constantly demands the “next big thing,” TWICE is a reminder that there is immense power in just staying together.

Author Bio

Yash Kurhe is the Lead Analyst at OffScript Studio, where he dissects the intersection of digital identity and K-pop business. He focuses on the structural shifts that allow artists to navigate the global landscape of 2026.

Connect with OffScript Studio:

Website: [https://offscriptstudio.site/]

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