The Back Pack

Ever since I pilfered this glorious, perfectly weathered leather backpack from my mom, my life has been better. She bought it at Green Market Square in the early 90’s, no doubt with me trailing behind her in Kacha leggings and a matching swing top, mini Docs firmly on my six year old feet.

It’s been a permanent presence in my life since then, whether slung over my mom’s shoulder, or gathering dust in the dress up cupboard with all the other 90’s has-beens. When she resurrected it last year (just in time for the double-strapped, tapestry-lined rise of the backpack) I was immediately jealous. A few months down the line I somehow convinced her to let me borrow it. That was about three months ago, and I’m still clinging to it with desperate eyes and lily-white knuckles.

When I wear it, I see eyes alight upon it in jealousy – girls and guys alike. Twice, people have plucked it from the back of a chair at my Rah-Rah Room sales, and purred ‘how much?!’ delighted that it is in their paws rather than their friends’. Sorry dear, she’s alllll mine.

Such is the self-indulgent delight of fortuitously finding yourself in possession of something that is unassumingly on-trend and, well, perfect. More perfect than any high street version, I’m afraid (revel with me).

Here are some other members of the back pack that have caught my eye along the way:

[All Alexander Wang – the tweed bow-baby is my favourite]

[Timo Weiland]




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