BACK TO SCHOOL: 1975 vs. 2025
Back-to-school season: that timeless tradition where young people prepare to reenter the academic arena—and parents prepare to spend $86 on pens and somehow $340 on shoes. But what exactly has changed since 1975? Let’s break it down for Gen Z readers who’ve heard the stories and survived the TikToks.
The Bag Situation
1975: You didn’t have a “backpack.” You had a book bag—a lumpy, soft-sided rectangle with one zipper, no compartments, and two sad handles that frayed like old shoelaces. You carried it like a bowling ball, usually in one hand, which slowly stretched your arm to orangutan length by mid-October. Bonus points if the zipper got stuck halfway and you had to walk home gripping a science book to your chest like a war hero.
2025: You have a sleek, ergonomic backpack with ten compartments, a laptop sleeve, an anti-theft pocket, a built-in USB port, and a tiny carabiner you’ll never actually use. It still weighs 42 pounds because you refuse to clean it out, but at least your arms match in length.
Shopping for Clothes
1975: Your mom drove you to Sears. This was a sacred ritual—by which we mean a three-hour ordeal under fluorescent lighting while she dug through discount racks muttering, “You’ll grow into it.” You left with stiff jeans that could stand up on their own, possibly a corduroy vest, and an itchy shirt with a collar wide enough to receive satellite signals. Fashion was pain.
2025: Your parents send you a Venmo and say, “Please don’t embarrass us.” You shop online at 2 a.m. after falling down a Pinterest rabbit hole called “Back to School Core.” You’re aiming for casual but confident but sustainable but expressive but not like you’re trying too hard, which is exactly why you’ll change outfits three times before the first day.
Shoes
1975: Your new shoes came from Kinney’s, Thom McAn, or Buster Brown. They were practical, possibly made of wood, and felt like they’d been designed by someone who’d never met a child. The “cool” options were Earth Shoes or sneakers with Velcro—just so long as you weren’t old enough to tie your own shoes, because then it became humiliating.
2025: Your shoes are your entire personality. You research them. You track drops. You clean them with a toothbrush. You debate arch support with the intensity of a courtroom drama. And if they crease on day one, your social year is over.
Lockers
1975: Lockers were your home base, your secret stash, and the place you taped up a photo of Shaun Cassidy or Farrah Fawcett. You remembered your combo because you used it 12 times a day.
2025: You might not even use your locker. Everything’s digital. Your backpack is your locker. Some schools have digital lockers that you unlock with an app, facial recognition, or your GPA. There are seniors in 2025 who still don’t know where their locker actually is.
Tech & Learning Tools
1975: The cutting-edge classroom technology was a chalkboard, a pull-down map, and a filmstrip projector that jammed right when the narrator said, “And now we observe… the mating ritual.” Your math homework lived in a folder. Your folder lived in your book bag. And if your dog ate it, that was a valid excuse.
2025: Your school is BYOD (bring your own device), your assignments live in six different platforms, and your science textbook gets software updates. Your excuse now is “The Wi-Fi glitched” or “My Chromebook crashed,” which is just 2025 for “my dog ate it.”
Lunch
1975: Lunch came in a tin lunchbox featuring The Six Million Dollar Man, Scooby-Doo, or Hong Kong Phooey. (Accompanying Thermos always shattered within the first few weeks.) Inside: PB&J, an apple, a cookie, and milk that tasted like it came from a metallic yak.
2025: You carry a bento box with seven temperature-controlled compartments. It includes sushi, freeze-dried mango, and something labeled “plant-based energy bites.” You drink oat milk and spend the entire lunch period trying to find a working outlet for your phone.
Photos
1975: Your mom gave you a home haircut the night before. You showed up in your best shirt. The photographer tilted your chin so far you looked like a taxidermied meerkat. The result was printed on grainy paper and lived forever in a dusty yearbook.
2025: School photos now come with filters, retouching, digital download options, and an app where your grandma can order a mug, mousepad, or puzzle of your smile. You still hate how you look. Tradition lives on.
The Commute
1975: The school bus was a noisy, fume-filled metal tube. No A/C. No seatbelts. A driver named Gertrude who smoked Winstons and ran a tighter ship than the U.S. Navy. Getting a seat in the back meant you were cool—and concussed.
2025: Somehow, still the same bus. Still no seatbelts. Now it has a GPS tracker and your mom gets notifications if you’re 90 seconds late getting off. Also, you’re not allowed to vape. (You shouldn’t be vaping anyway. Gertrude would not approve.)
Sure, the styles have changed, the gear’s fancier, and the lunch is Instagrammable now. But the back-to-school experience—nerves, excitement, awkward outfits, and a creeping dread that summer’s truly over—is eternal.
So whether you’re rocking a busted book bag in 1975 or a sleek backpack in 2025, here’s to carrying too much stuff, hoping for a cool homeroom, and surviving the wild ride that is another school year.
Dan Miller is the co-publisher of this magazine and fondly remembers brown paper bag text book covers, the exhilarating smell of brand new supplies, and traipsing through the mall with his mother trying to find the perfect shade of brown Earth Shoes.
The Bag Situation
1975: You didn’t have a “backpack.” You had a book bag—a lumpy, soft-sided rectangle with one zipper, no compartments, and two sad handles that frayed like old shoelaces. You carried it like a bowling ball, usually in one hand, which slowly stretched your arm to orangutan length by mid-October. Bonus points if the zipper got stuck halfway and you had to walk home gripping a science book to your chest like a war hero.
2025: You have a sleek, ergonomic backpack with ten compartments, a laptop sleeve, an anti-theft pocket, a built-in USB port, and a tiny carabiner you’ll never actually use. It still weighs 42 pounds because you refuse to clean it out, but at least your arms match in length.
Shopping for Clothes
1975: Your mom drove you to Sears. This was a sacred ritual—by which we mean a three-hour ordeal under fluorescent lighting while she dug through discount racks muttering, “You’ll grow into it.” You left with stiff jeans that could stand up on their own, possibly a corduroy vest, and an itchy shirt with a collar wide enough to receive satellite signals. Fashion was pain.
2025: Your parents send you a Venmo and say, “Please don’t embarrass us.” You shop online at 2 a.m. after falling down a Pinterest rabbit hole called “Back to School Core.” You’re aiming for casual but confident but sustainable but expressive but not like you’re trying too hard, which is exactly why you’ll change outfits three times before the first day.
Shoes
1975: Your new shoes came from Kinney’s, Thom McAn, or Buster Brown. They were practical, possibly made of wood, and felt like they’d been designed by someone who’d never met a child. The “cool” options were Earth Shoes or sneakers with Velcro—just so long as you weren’t old enough to tie your own shoes, because then it became humiliating.
2025: Your shoes are your entire personality. You research them. You track drops. You clean them with a toothbrush. You debate arch support with the intensity of a courtroom drama. And if they crease on day one, your social year is over.
Lockers
1975: Lockers were your home base, your secret stash, and the place you taped up a photo of Shaun Cassidy or Farrah Fawcett. You remembered your combo because you used it 12 times a day.
2025: You might not even use your locker. Everything’s digital. Your backpack is your locker. Some schools have digital lockers that you unlock with an app, facial recognition, or your GPA. There are seniors in 2025 who still don’t know where their locker actually is.
Tech & Learning Tools
1975: The cutting-edge classroom technology was a chalkboard, a pull-down map, and a filmstrip projector that jammed right when the narrator said, “And now we observe… the mating ritual.” Your math homework lived in a folder. Your folder lived in your book bag. And if your dog ate it, that was a valid excuse.
2025: Your school is BYOD (bring your own device), your assignments live in six different platforms, and your science textbook gets software updates. Your excuse now is “The Wi-Fi glitched” or “My Chromebook crashed,” which is just 2025 for “my dog ate it.”
Lunch
1975: Lunch came in a tin lunchbox featuring The Six Million Dollar Man, Scooby-Doo, or Hong Kong Phooey. (Accompanying Thermos always shattered within the first few weeks.) Inside: PB&J, an apple, a cookie, and milk that tasted like it came from a metallic yak.
2025: You carry a bento box with seven temperature-controlled compartments. It includes sushi, freeze-dried mango, and something labeled “plant-based energy bites.” You drink oat milk and spend the entire lunch period trying to find a working outlet for your phone.
Photos
1975: Your mom gave you a home haircut the night before. You showed up in your best shirt. The photographer tilted your chin so far you looked like a taxidermied meerkat. The result was printed on grainy paper and lived forever in a dusty yearbook.
2025: School photos now come with filters, retouching, digital download options, and an app where your grandma can order a mug, mousepad, or puzzle of your smile. You still hate how you look. Tradition lives on.
The Commute
1975: The school bus was a noisy, fume-filled metal tube. No A/C. No seatbelts. A driver named Gertrude who smoked Winstons and ran a tighter ship than the U.S. Navy. Getting a seat in the back meant you were cool—and concussed.
2025: Somehow, still the same bus. Still no seatbelts. Now it has a GPS tracker and your mom gets notifications if you’re 90 seconds late getting off. Also, you’re not allowed to vape. (You shouldn’t be vaping anyway. Gertrude would not approve.)
Sure, the styles have changed, the gear’s fancier, and the lunch is Instagrammable now. But the back-to-school experience—nerves, excitement, awkward outfits, and a creeping dread that summer’s truly over—is eternal.
So whether you’re rocking a busted book bag in 1975 or a sleek backpack in 2025, here’s to carrying too much stuff, hoping for a cool homeroom, and surviving the wild ride that is another school year.
Dan Miller is the co-publisher of this magazine and fondly remembers brown paper bag text book covers, the exhilarating smell of brand new supplies, and traipsing through the mall with his mother trying to find the perfect shade of brown Earth Shoes.