A castle made of toilet paper
Let’s talk about the great unraveling—literally and figuratively—that occurs every time disaster looms, whether it’s a snowstorm, a pandemic, or a news anchor saying the word “supply chain” with that furrowed brow. I’m talking about the unspoken, irrational urge that sends millions sprinting toward the paper goods aisle like it’s the last chopper out of Saigon.
Toilet. Paper.
Not canned beans. Not medicine. Not even toothpaste. Nope. We collectively lose our minds and go full Mad Max over two-ply.
Now, before we get too judge-y, let’s consider the psychology behind this peculiar phenomenon. Somewhere deep in our lizard brains, there’s a fragile little voice whispering: “As long as I can wipe, I’m still in control.” And that, my friends, is the real story behind the Charmin conspiracy.
Why Toilet Paper?
Toilet paper is the preparedness comfort blanket. It’s fluffy, it’s familiar, and it doesn’t require electricity or instructions. There’s no expiration date, no complicated storage technique, and it stacks like soft little clouds of emotional reassurance.
Plus, let’s be honest—there’s a primal fear of being stuck with the ol’ corn cob and Sears catalog combo our grandparents endured. We’ve evolved… or so we tell ourselves while hoarding a Costco-sized bale of the good stuff.
Meanwhile, in Aisle Five…
Toothpaste. Deodorant. Feminine hygiene. All still there. In fact, during the Great 2020 Panic-Buying Palooza™, you could’ve snagged a lifetime supply of floss and still had room in your cart for logic and reason.
Why? Because toothpaste doesn’t hit that same panic nerve. We assume we can live without it temporarily. You can MacGyver clean teeth with baking soda and a prayer, but there’s no obvious substitute for Charmin unless you’re prepared to sacrifice a perfectly good sock and some dignity.
And don’t get me started on folks who stockpile 47 frozen pizzas but not a single bottle of ibuprofen. Because apparently, comfort food is vital, but functioning joints? Optional.
The Psychology of Panic-Buying: It’s Not Just About Survival
Panic-buying is rarely rational. It’s about regaining a sense of control in a world that suddenly feels like it’s spinning off its axis. And the products we reach for tell us more about our psychological soft spots than our survival needs.
Toilet paper = control.
Batteries = safety.
Wine/Coffee/Dr. Pepper = coping mechanism.
Canned sardines = questionable judgment.
Preparedness, when done right, isn’t about hoarding. It’s about planning. It’s about recognizing what you actually need versus what makes you feel like you’re doing something. There’s a difference between “I’ve got six months of shelf-stable food” and “I’ve got 96 rolls of TP and three jars of olives I panic-bought in 2016.”
So What Do You Actually Need?
Toilet paper avalanche
Here’s a radical thought: how about prepping like you’re planning to live—not just survive? That means toothpaste, a first aid kit that isn’t just Band-Aids and expired Neosporin, and maybe learning how to cook something more complex than “boil water, insert ramen.”
If the idea of a power outage makes you panic—not because you’ll miss a Zoom meeting, but because your electric can opener won’t work—it’s time to reassess.
Stock what you use regularly. Rotate it. Learn how to use your supplies before you need them. Don’t let your sense of security hinge on how plush your toilet paper is. (Although yes, single-ply is a crime against humanity.)
Final Wipe—er, Thought:
Toilet paper may be comforting, but true preparedness is about capability. It’s about being able to face the unexpected with confidence, not cartloads of Charmin. So the next time a crisis looms, skip the stampede. Make a list, breathe deeply, and for heaven’s sake—grab some toothpaste too.
Because when the dust settles and the TP pyramid has collapsed in your hallway, it’ll be your calm mind and capable hands—not your quilted stash—that see you through.
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