My backpack has been an extension of me for years. I don’t think there exists anyone who knows me and have never seen it. All the countries I have been in, it has been there, too. Yet when no suitcase would do, where no suitcase would go, there is my backpack. It may seem an insane obsession, but it’s just pragmatism.
Obviously, when I was a kid I needed it for the school. Who would carry the books in their hands? Would them tie the books with a string? What’s this, Back to Future?
During the university period, where you mainly take notes, many forget the comfortable carrying method to show smugly the folder which credits them as a being superior to the ordinary people (a sad and real explanation I have been given sometimes). I prefer to have my hands ordinarily free to do ordinary things — …
Moreover, I suffer the monitor effect, because the hiker habit makes you need a backpack. Even if you spend two months in a hostel and you are not going to move from the house, you take your backpack because you know you will go out once a week.
And when you gain pseudo-independence — because you can’t do it completely nowadays —, you know that you will be carrying things up and down at weekends. I don’t carry the dirty laundry stupidly. If you have a washing machine at home, you have to be very silly to drag a suitcase every week. I carry food from my mother’s place to mine. It’s for her own good, because they are two people at home and she still buys like they were five. And I don’t want the food to turn bad. There’s nothing nicer and altruistic as a son with a backpack.