We can thank Micuccia Prada’s covetable nylon packs for taking this trend out of the classroom and into our adult wardrobes. When I was a kid, there were only a handful of different backpack brands available in local department stores — hence the Jansport surplus at my school. I didn’t know fashion designers existed until I saw Clueless as a pre-teen. With my glasses and frizzy hair and $10 weekly allowance (half of which I had to save), I knew I was nothing like rich-girl Cher. But her clothes, and more importantly, her backpacks — the black structural one, the silver mini she wears to take her driver’s test, the fuzzy faux fur white one that Dionne drags — were, to me, the most accessible ticket into her glamorous, adult world. I wanted a designer knockoff I saw in a Delia’s catalogue ; I settled for a fuzzy teddy-bear version from Zellers. For about six months, I felt like the coolest girl in the skating arena. For the first time, I saw how an item of clothing could shape how I carried myself in the world (at least to school, soccer practice, and sleepovers). It was my introduction to the power of fashion.