On April 28, 1930, roughly four generations ago, the first three Nancy Drew Mystery Stories were published. The Secret of the Old Clock, The Hidden Staircase and The Bungalow Mystery were all outlined and edited by publisher Edward Stratemeyer and written by Mildred Augustine Wirt Benson under the pseudonym Carolyn Keene, which would be used by many, many authors following Benson.

I don’t remember exactly where or when I picked up my first Nancy Drew book, if it was something I came across at a school book fair, a suggestion made by my parents or if I was drawn to the yellow hardback spines by chance. Either way, when I was 9-years-old, I read as many of them as I could. Alongside the occasional Lemony Snicket or Harry Potter book, I read the series almost exclusively — so much so that an observant boy in my class thought to buy a vintage Nancy Drew for me as a Valentine’s gift. I filled reading logs in class with the name Carolyn Keene. I brought the books along with me everywhere. I still remember reading The Secret of the Old Clock for the first time in bed, in the school cafeteria, in my elementary school auditorium, everywhere, thinking that someday I would grow up to be just like Nancy Drew.

This didn’t mean that I started begging my parents for a cute blue convertible or even attempting to solve mysteries. The best thing about reading Nancy Drew was living vicariously through her adventures. Nancy did it all and had it all. She had infinite hobbies and talents, a hot-shot college boyfriend, a convertible, cool friends, determination and what seemed like total self-sufficiency.

In the prime of my Nancy Drew reading phase, from 4th to 5th grade, I got straight As. I spent my time ice skating in the mornings and doing ballet once a week. During school recess, I started a “Writer’s Club” and worked as an official kindergarten monitor and mediator (the closest I ever got to solving crimes). During my time off, I took a course in babysitter’s training at the American Red Cross and learned how to perform CPR. I even dressed as Nancy Drew for Halloween, wearing my mom’s old trench coat. Nobody got the costume, which wasn’t very well-executed, but that didn’t matter. It was cool just to be Nancy.

These days, Nancy Drew is known for her influence on women. In 2007, Diane Sawyer was quoted saying: "I discovered that all around me, among my friends, are Nancy Drew fans. … Back in the '50s, back in the '60s, in the world of Donna Reed and then Barbie dolls, there was an intrepid young woman who inspired women like this."

The series demanded a sort of perfectionism. I didn’t think much about Nancy’s contradictions, how believable she was or wasn’t as a character. The side of Nancy that inspired a new generation of capable, confident, smart, can-do women came juxtaposed to the ultra-feminine Nancy: the skinny, pretty, popular girl, who was able to throw on a pastel-colored dress at a moment's notice. Nancy’s versatility is unbelievable, troubling even, but she makes up for it. She’s always there to save the day for the men in her life, for her friends, for the local mailman, everyone and anyone. It’s hard not to admire her perfection, her calm and collected disposure in the most anxious of situations: catching thieves, sneaking alongside a creepy cult called “The Black Snake Colony,” solving mysteries in haunted houses. As a heroine, her troubles come from the situations around her, from villians. It’s like any superhero story — who wouldn’t want to believe that someone like Nancy could actually exist?