is waif
THE ADULT BACKPACK
Hello.
I have made an observation, and I hope you enjoy it. I have nothing to say about it and everything to say about it. We are in a lecture hall. Please picture me in an oversized suit. I keep tripping over the pants. I have one of those big long metal sticks that I use to point to some data, if that’s okay. I clear my voice.
Ahem.
The briefcase is dead. Though some of you may remember the old fancy box with handles, it is long dead. The briefcase belongs in a museum or a graveyard. Which are, of course, the same thing in two different moods. That’s another presentation. I beg myself to focus. The briefcase is long dead.
Next slide, please.
My generation (the millennials, though I pray to almighty creator above each night that I may wake up tomorrow as part of Gen-Z) killed it.
Next slide, please.
We replaced it with a superior bag: the Adult Backpack.
Next slide, please.
Here is some perfect science, if you would like: The reason why they used to carry briefcases is because back then, the only things you needed to carry around were made of paper, like business papers and the newspaper. But now, we need to carry lots of other things in lots of other shapes, like big water bottles with stickers on them and Tupperware full of weird food and an extra pair of shoes in case these ones hurt later.
Next slide.
issue 12
“The reason why they used to carry briefcases is because back then, the only things you needed to carry around were made of paper, like business papers and the newspaper. But now, we need to carry lots of other things in lots of other shapes...”
For those who don’t remember the archaic accessory of yesteryear, it was a rectangular leather box, like a miniature suitcase. Bags should not be rigid. Bags should take the shape of their contents, to some degree.
The briefcase, unnatural or maybe even unholy, insisted on being stubborn and stronger than its insides. It was masculine in that way. Some clean cut types, sons of lawyers with boating licenses mostly, try to bring it back from the dead by carrying brown rectangular bags with silver buckles long crossbody straps. They call these briefcases, but rather, they are satchels in denial. A satchel is a bag on which I have no opinion but this: a satchel is not a briefcase.
Next slide.
The Adult Backpack, like everything else, is mainly about brands. As far as I can gather, here are the brands we like: Carharrt, Herschel, Fjallraven, North Face, Patagonia. I bought my Adult Backpack from Target, because I know I’ll die someday. When I was doing research for this presentation, I found an article called “15 Best Work Backpacks Under $500”, so if you notice I am vibrating in a way that’s unsettling, that is the reason why.
People who carried briefcases: characters in Mad Men, dads who fear Russia, businessmen who all go to lunch at McDonalds in their suits and ties, The Stock Market, bank robbers who stole a bunch of stacks of money. People who carry Adult Backpacks: vegetarians, guys who wear polos to weddings, entry level employees, young and unequipped parents, people who watch soccer, people named Christian, me, you, and everyone either of us will ever have sex with.
Next slide.
Places they brought briefcases: the office, the poker game, to meet with the realtor to close on the new house. Places we bring Adult Backpacks: offices, bars, movie theaters, restaurants, drag shows, meetings, parties that we call “functions”, dates, concerts when they let us, once I brought my backpack to a silent disco.
Next slide.
Briefcases were the past. Adult Backpacks are not the future, but they are the present. More on this later.
Next slide.
Briefcases made it obvious who was a big important grownup with fancy job. The Adult Backpack is the great equalizer. Justice is restored, and at last, you can’t tell who’s a kid and who’s an adult. Kids can order coffee. I can use a seesaw. Thank you, Adult Backpack.
Next slide.
There are subtle differences between the Child Backpack and the Adult Backpack. The Child Backpack opens and closes via one zipper, or two tops. The Adult Backpack is a maze of entrances and exits, like a Neil Simon play. Zippers, buckles, snaps, ties, elastic side pockets for water bottles - this Pack’s got everything. The Child Backpack is nylon and brightly colored. The Adult Backpack is typically neutral and likely made of leather (for adults who read) or canvas (for adults who run).
Next slide.
Briefcases usurp one hand. Here are the only three things you can do while holding a briefcase: sip a drink, hold a hand, smoke a cigar. Adult Backpacks free both hands. Here are all the things you can do while wearing a backpack: hug another, hold a baby, deliver a baby, play the piano, tumble, drive a car, truck, or van, knit, clip your fingernails, apply a full face of makeup, make a sandwich, hike a significant trail (people actually do this in a backpack on purpose a lot).
Next slide.
Briefcases are sneaky. Adult Backpacks are down-to-Earth.
Next slide.
It is normal and boring to see a bunch of sturdy folks in dress shoes carrying briefcases into a hotel bar to talk shop. It is silly and funny, actually, to see a bunch of twenty and thirty somethings in business casual attire wearing backpacks in a dive bar.
Next slide.
You can put a briefcase on the ground. If you’re in a car, sometimes your Adult Backpack needs its own seat.
Next slide.
Briefcases are The Music Man. Adult Backpacks are Dear Evan Hansen.
Next slide.
I try to swoon at every Adult Backpack I can. After all, it’s only a matter of time before Gen Z (myself included, should Creator answer my prayers) rises up and replaces the Backpack with their own contraption, ugly and ironic, like a neon drawstring bag. Gen Z’s workplace accessory will be a neon drawstring bag, like the type you’d get for free at a suburban street fair with information for the local dentist printed on it in black ink.
Or maybe they’ll coup us with plastic “Have A Nice Day” takeout bags. Actually, they wouldn’t use plastic. They’ll be metal, and they’ll swing them at my head if I’m in their way. I’ll have a huge red bump on my forehead. If I can’t join them, I’d like to beat by them. Billie Eilish will be playing, and they’ll tell me shut up.
Next slide.
One day, the Adult Backpack will end up in a graveyard (which is just a museum in a bad mood). All empires fall, and all heroes end up in the ground. For now, the Adult Backpack reigns, our two strapped king. I think our King’s rise represents a shift in paradigm. We are less interested than our parents were in morphing into a paper doll to transition into a professional world. The culture of our generation is so powerful that workplaces transformed to meet us where we were. Offices have beer fridges and ping pong tables. I’ve never worked at an office with a dress code that barred jeans, and neither have most of my friends. I want to be the same person at work as I am at a meal with my friends, as I am at a meeting for a creative project, as I am on a walk through my neighborhood. I want to bring my head and my heart, or else why am I doing it at all? I don’t want to waste my life somewhere where I’ve been ironed out and stretched out with my baggage checked at the door. I want to be alive.
That was all the same slide.
I turn around to model my ripped Jansport, but I knock over a globe. The globe knocks over a coffee pot (I was drinking coffee straight from the pot). I trip over my long pant leg. Remember, we’re in a lecture hall. My wig falls off. “She was wearing a wig?” you all think. My metal rod punctures the screen, so you can’t really read my long slide anymore. “Sorry,” I mutter. “Sorry.” You all laugh. That’s okay, I’ve made my point. About the backpack thing. I gather my notebooks and papers. I put my coffee pot on top. I have burns. You’re all howling. I walk out the door. You never see me again.
Thank you.