When Versace was gunned down two weeks ago, a new generation of twenty-somethings and Generation X-ers -- most of them unable to afford his clothes -- knew they had lost an icon. The reasons why tell us a lot about why you are what you wear for so many young people today. PNS reporter Colleen O'Connor writes widely on lifestyle issues. Louis Nevaer, an author and economist, provided additional reporting for this story from Miami Beach.

SAN FRANCISCO -- His murder didn't have the immediate impact that John Lennon's had on the baby boomers in 1980. But as word spread that Gianni Versace had been gunned down, the twenty-somethings and Generation X-ers everywhere knew an icon of their world had been shattered. Even now, youthful fans adorn the sidewalks outside shuttered Versace stores with candles, fresh flowers, notes of grief. Last weekend, MTV drove the point home with an hour-long retrospective on Versace's life -- treatment reserved for major pop culture figures, not the heads of couture houses.

What hold did Versace have on young people, most of whom weren't able to afford his clothes? Answers to this question -- from the young, from culture-watchers, and from those close to the world of fashion -- tell us a lot about why what you wear has become synonymous with who you are for so many young people today.

These days, making a name for yourself is hard -- sometimes, as one sarcastic observer of the scene puts it, it's easier to buy one. And for the cosmopolitan young all over, looking to make a name, Versace was the biggest name in the lexicon of fashion.

A young hip hop DJ explained by quoting a rap song -- "When we make it, it's gonna be all Mercedes Benz and Rolex watches, and Versace clothes."

"Club kids wished they could get his clothes," says Anthony Culver, 29, a model. "Rappers aspired to them, Tupac Shakur wore Versace -- I think that influenced many. They are thinking, 'I want people to know I've done something."'

Culver himself owns a $225 pair of Versace sunglasses. "It makes you feel better," he explains. "It says, 'I'm wealthy. I can afford it. I have money."'

Versace is not, of course, the only designer line that appeals to kids. Rappers love Tommy Hilfiger, Ralph Lauren and Armani. Club kids crave Gaultier and Moschino. Even nine-year-olds sport Calvin Klein T-shirts.

But Versace's exuberance bespoke a life of a very special sort, an endless party vibrant with beautiful people, exuding style, money, joy. Unlike Calvin Klein, whose ads glamorized vacant-eyed models emulating heroin addiction and self-degradation, Versace's ads were a circus of color and youth, optimism and hope.

Indeed, Versace's wide-ranging good spirits coincided with a shift in the center of gravity in the youth fashion scene itself -- away from designer labels and toward a proliferation of "style tribes," according to Valerie Steele, chief curator of the museum at the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York City. "More and more, kids are creating their own little style cultures, based on obsessions like skateboarding or a particular kind of music, and they're happy to incorporate designer names or things they see on MTV."

"It's not trickle-down" anymore, Steele continues, but "concentric circles -- a bunch of styles all at the same time, spread by magazines, fanzines, different music groups and clubs."

In the 1960s, young people rejected the very idea of taking their cues from fashion moguls. "In those days in swinging London, anything that reeked of the bourgeoisie and labels was rejected," recalls Gladys Perint Palmer, who illustrated Versace's 1995 book "Do Not Disturb." "We thought we were young and good looking enough not to have all those props."

Society changed dramatically in the 1970s -- a soaring divorce rate, sinking church attendance, growing numbers of women in the work force -- leaving young people feeling very much left out of the picture. But fashion was one part of the adult world that seemed to take the young seriously -- indeed, seemed bent on emulating them.

"In the '60s, it wasn't hard for kids to feel important," says Farrell Doss, fashion professor at Radford University in Virginia. "Now, with dual career families and broken families, kids are seeking an identity, a place of belonging. Designer names fulfill something that's not in their lives."

Dr. Robert Butterworth, a clinical psychologist in Los Angeles, agrees. "If you don't have religious foundations, a code or a sense of yourself, you have to put those clothes on metaphorically."

Critics say the relentless focus on high-priced celebrity goods like Versace can harm young people -- especially given the culture's shallow preoccupation with "looking good." "Kids are willing to spend anything -- even kill -- for fashion," worries Doss.

If the image of John Lennon curled up in bed with Yoko Ono spoke to a generation convinced that universal love could bring peace to the world, Versace spoke to a generation desperate to believe in fun.

Versace, an Italian, came to America and saw good. "This is my home," he often said when he walked along the Lincoln Road Mill a few blocks from his mansion in Miami Beach. Only a decade ago, this was a run-down retirement community. Today, no small thanks to his presence, it teems with kids on roller blades, tourists from the world over, and young gays at outdoor cafes.

"I am relaxed here," Versace would remark as he passed by.

It is an attitude seldom seen among elitists.