A Hello Kitty backpack bounces off the shoulders of a six-foot-two senior as he walks through the main hallway. Next to him, a classmate carries a glittery pink bag covered in Disney princesses, barely big enough to hold a laptop.
Down the hall, Spider-Man, dinosaurs and Paw Patrol characters create a sea of primary colors and cartoon faces that looks more like an elementary school than a high school campus.
This is senior year for students across the country, where the class of 2026 has brought childhood back to campus one tiny backpack at a time.
A student opens their eyes on the morning of the first day of school — their senior year. The year that everyone waits for their entire educational life. Top of the list. Leader of the pack. Soon after rising out of bed, they start getting their bag ready to head out the door, but something about this bag feels familiar. For seniors starting their final year, the first day arrives with familiar rituals, like picking out an outfit, setting an alarm and packing supplies. But this year, many add one more tradition: pulling out a backpack they haven’t touched in a decade.
Pink sparkles and a Hello Kitty design. A Spider-Man figure shooting webs across the front pouch. Princess Elsa smiling from a sequined bag. Either way, these backpacks serve as reminders of all the years spent in school, marking the final lap before graduation.
The tradition has now “grown up” into a nationwide phenomenon. Seniors across the country are embracing the trend as more than just a fashion statement. In an era defined by uncertainty, Gen Z is reaching back to simpler times. The backpacks represent a generation struggling with growing up faster than they wanted to find comfort in the last moments of childhood.
Senior Lucy Tait has always loved the senior backpack tradition and was excited to finally participate after seeing it year after year.
“I have always thought the senior backpacks idea was cute,” Tait said. “It’s just such a sweet thing to see everyone walking around with backpacks referencing media from their childhood.”
This tradition began as a TikTok trend that took off right after the covid-19 restrictions were lifted and students returned to in-person school in 2021.
Instead of heading for the dull, neutral-toned adult section for their back-to-school shopping, teenagers raided the kids’ aisle at Target, picking from a rainbow of cartoonish, light-up backpacks and lunchboxes.
A quick scroll through the hashtag #seniorbackpacks on TikTok reveals hours of content from over 10,000 different tiktoks under the hashtag, showing soon-to-be graduates turning the camera on, proudly donning their final high school bag with a spin in the hallway.
But these backpacks can be more than just cute accessories. They’re also a daily reminder that one chapter of life is closing, the only one students have ever known: being a kid.
For some seniors, that reminder of adulthood feels daunting. For others, it’s exhilarating. The future looms like a real-life choose-your-own-adventure book, full of new paths and unknowns.
Senior Ellika LeSage from Harvard-Westlake High School reflects on these mixed emotions.
“When I think about it, sure, I think it’s a reminder that childhood’s ending,” LeSage said. “But at the same time, I kind of think that I’ll carry some sort of remembrance of childhood throughout my life. Like, there’s always times to be childish or goofy and fun, and it’s a representation of that.”
LeSage proudly carries her dinosaur backpack. The grassy-green body of the beast and its softened spikes are like her protective sidekicks as she takes on multiple AP classes and senior activities. Ultimately, they are a symbol of that balance between childhood naivety and adult commitments.
The hallways of high schools across the country now look like a collision between childhood and adulthood. Spider-Man is crammed with calculus textbooks while Hello Kitty is holding college applications.
These tiny backpacks may barely fit a Chromebook, but they carry something bigger: a generation’s attempt to hold onto joy even as they step into an uncertain future. The class of 2026 knows they’re growing up. They just want to bring a little bit of childhood along for the ride.
This article originally appeared in the Fall 2025 print edition.
