Acartohygieiophobia literally translates from Greek as 'an absence of paper for hygiene purposes, fear of'. File photo / Nicola Topping
Acartohygieiophobia literally translates from Greek as 'an absence of paper for hygiene purposes, fear of'. File photo / Nicola Topping
Editorial
EDITORIAL
The woman's eyes dart around, avian alert, for movement anywhere near her as she shoves her overloaded shopping trolley through the narrowest aisle in the supermarket. A front wheel skids and lurches on a loose patch of linoleum and a bundle of eight rolls of toilet paper topples fromthe trolley to the floor.
A man wielding bottles of wine stops and reaches for the floored item, but the woman uses her shoulder to get between the loo rolls and the man, clutching her reclaimed prize to her chest, she glares in defiance. He was only going to assist the well-dressed woman but her steely gaze, flickering panic, sees him shrug and wander away.
In these days of novel coronavirus, this sight has almost become the norm, along with shelves emptied of toilet tissue, signs urging shoppers to limit their purchases, and stand-offs between customers over the four-ply.
But, there's no need. None at all. Even if the woman found herself in self-isolation and ran short, she could order a home delivery online - or by telephone, if she was also caught short of a smartphone or computer.
When it comes to pulping wood for toilet paper, we're tearaway world-beaters. New Zealand produces more per capita than almost any nation in the world. We have two giant pulp and paper plants at Kawerau and Kinleith heaving the stuff.
But panic doesn't hold any truck with facts. Panic buying is a thing, a mass psychological phenomenon, which has been well documented and studied by psychologists and economists.
Firstly, people can resort to extremes when they hear conflicting messages. Clinical psychologist Steven Taylor with the Department of Psychiatry at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver says the coronavirus scares people because it is new and they may have heard conflicting advice on what to do.
Doing something, even buying bulk toilet paper, feels better than doing nothing. Doing something extreme can feel even better.
Reports of quarantine or forced isolation also ramps up the panic reflex. People fear entire suburbs or cities will be locked down and their movements restricted. Doing this errand, pointless as it may be, becomes all the more pressing.
Then comes the compounding element of imitation. Shared images of empty shelves on social media or TV bulletins reinforces the rising urge to do likewise, while we can. Then, what started as perceived scarcity becomes actual scarcity, Taylor says.
Media cover the panic buying events because they are happening, and are an increasing trend, but social media plays a larger role where misinformation is more readily spread.
It is instinctive to prepare when we perceive danger. Overcompensating is better than being caught underprepared. Taylor calls it "anticipatory anxiety" and acting on it can give a person some solace that they are reclaiming some control during an out-of-control situation.
So why bog rolls? It's explained in the principle known as Maslow's hierarchy of needs. In a flush of panic, we reach for the most basic and fundamental need - something we pay little attention to when times are good.
