This Samurai Armor-inspired Backpack might just make you the Coolest Kid in School

The Akairo Kozane-Oudoubyou-Hainou Gusoku has swagger that could make a manga protagonist jealous. No, it isn’t a specially crafted Katana by an ancient artisan, it’s a backpack. Conceived by Nagoya bag stalwart Murase Kabanko with leather artisan Noriki Okada, the backpack copies the tiered lamellae of sixteenth-century tosei-gusoku armor. Each slab of crimson leather is punched, lacquered, and stitched into position, then locked down with bulbous brass rivets that gleam like a rank of tsuba ready for battle. The result is sculpture masquerading as storage, equal parts museum piece and childhood power-up.

Empty, the pack tips the scale at roughly 2.1 kilograms, hefty yet believable given its steel-shod lineage. Price lands at ¥ 500,000, about $3,457 USD today, which feels almost fair considering the man-hours involved and the fact that every unit is built to order by a single craftsperson. Place the deposit, wait six months while Okada layers leather like a bonsai master prunes pine, then receive a tracking number that reads less like shipping info and more like an initiation scroll.

Designers: Murase Kabanko & Noriki Okada

Look closer, the “plates” are cut from off-cuts that would normally hit the scrap bin, a thrifty move that lets the studio indulge in outrageous detailing without guillotining entire hides. Those plates overlap along the lid and walls to build a scale-like shell, an echo of the laced kozane that once shrugged off arrows. Rivet heads keep the rhythm tight and provide useful contrast to the matte red topcoat. Down on the gusset, two snarling oni faces, embroidered in pitch-black silk, glare sideways as though daring anyone to steal your homework. It is maximalist, theatrical, even slightly ridiculous, and that is why it rules.

Functionally, it is sized like a classic ‘randoseru’ (or a traditional Japanese backpack), meaning an A4 notebook slides in squarely, though the brand goes out of its way to warn that this ornate variant prefers display shelves to playgrounds. Rivets can snag uniforms, the weight may outclass small shoulders, and there is no six-year repair guarantee. Still, if I could rewind to sixth grade, I would risk the detention slips. Imagine clomping into class with this crimson cuirass on your back, swapping shoes at the genkan while brass rivets twinkle under fluorescent lights. The class jock hugging his polyester duffel suddenly discovers humility, the art kid scribbles concept art of you as a rising shogun, even the homeroom teacher stops mid-roll-call to ask where you park your horse.

Beyond the schoolyard fantasy lies clever commentary on modern bag culture. Minimalism remains the default aesthetic, especially in high-end EDC, where designers chase blank facades and hidden seams. Murase Kabanko rejects that orthodoxy by shouting through form and texture. The backpack glorifies detail, turning every stitch into narrative texture and every rivet into punctuation. It reminds us that utility can coexist with theatrical presence and that heritage techniques never went out of style.

Material honesty plays a supporting role. Brass is chosen because that is exactly what battlefield fittings used, its density creating reassuring heft and a warm patina over time. Full-grain cowhide carries natural grain that breaks in like a well-oiled kote and, unlike synthetic composites, will survive decades if kept nourished. Even the decision to leave the edge paint slightly exposed mirrors the raw hems on historical sode panels. These small purist touches keep the bag from slipping into costume territory; it is cosplay with academic footnotes.

Cultural potency matters too. Japanese schoolchildren already treat the randoseru as rite of passage, a leather shell that sees them through six formative years. Grafting samurai iconography onto that symbol folds two powerful narratives together: scholastic journey and martial valor. Tourists may see an edgy souvenir, parents may worry about playground practicality, and gaming enthusiasts like me see glimpses of Gosaku’s Armor from hit PlayStation game The Ghost Of Tsushima.

Will it increase your GPA? Probably not. Will it convince the vice-principal to overlook your untucked shirt? Unlikely. But throw this backpack on your shoulders and every corridor becomes an Edo castle hallway, every chime of the period bell becomes the clang of a temple gong summoning retainers. If backpacks earn social XP, this one is a legendary drop, proof that sometimes character counts more than payload capacity.