But for most of us, the bag remains the same,” Andy Fallshaw, a cofounder of Carryology, a bag-review website that is funded by an Australian bag-and-wallet company, said in an email. Backpacks bridge the distance between school and home, shuttling homework and lunchboxes and beloved toys for show-and-tell in between the two most important places in a kid’s life. At school, kids have other opportunities to personalize their learning space, by decorating cubbies or lockers, but backpacks travel with them-to sports practice and after-school tutoring and on the school bus. Unlike workbooks and crayon boxes, which have a lifespan of just a single school year, a backpack often travels with a kid from grade to grade, sometimes parting ways with its owner only after she decides it’s no longer her style or after its foam straps have disintegrated and its wax-coated canvas is riddled with holes. Backpacks are one of the most ubiquitous and constant material items in a kid’s life. It’s little wonder people feel such an emotional connection to their old backpacks. Popular colors included lime green, eggplant, and blue camouflage. About half of the roughly 100 respondents to my unscientific poll said “yes,” while the other half said “no” only 1 percent said they didn’t remember. Bean backpack when they were kids, I got many similar nostalgic responses from young adults who were in school in the late ’80s and ’90s. When I asked on Twitter last week whether people had an L.L. It was, Reisner admitted, also her go-to bag simply because her mom would hand her the catalog and say “choose.” She typically opted for a pink one with both her monogrammed name and an extra butterfly patch. Like how a is a bandaid,” Abby Reisner, a 25-year-old New York City-based food writer, explained in a tweet. “That's just what I understood a backpack to be. Bean backpacks weren’t just cool in Japan, where the company had long enjoyed a cult following, but in American schools as well. This is how backpacks look around the world Now a 46-year-old human-resources director who lives in Cleveland, he still remembers their excitement. So Ushiroda got the school to purchase a bunch more-in red, navy, and black-for his students. Little did he know that his seventh-through-ninth-graders would instantly become infatuated with it-something about the shiny reflective strip, the monogram, and the polyester material made it inherently cool in the ’90s. He also bought the “ Original Book Pack,” and, naturally, got his name monogrammed on it. So he ordered some thermal underwear and fleece jackets from L.L. Mail-order catalogs were the easiest way for him to get what he needed, living in a rural town. A recent graduate of the University of Hawaii who’d applied for the teaching job as part of an exchange program, Ushiroda didn’t own winter clothing. When Eric Ushiroda moved to a tiny Japanese village in the mid-1990s to work as a teacher, there was one thing he learned almost immediately: His middle-school students in this chilly, forested town were obsessed with L.L.
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