🧻 The Toilet Paper Panic Buying During Various Pandemics: How a Mundane Household Item Became a Symbol of Global Anxiety

Part I: A Curious Phenomenon — Panic in the Aisles

In the early months of the COVID-19 pandemic, a peculiar sight became common across the globe: barren supermarket shelves where once stood neat stacks of toilet paper. This wasn’t an isolated event. From Tokyo to Toronto, from Milan to Melbourne, scenes emerged of people rushing into stores, carts overflowing with bulky packs of toilet rolls, sometimes wrestling them away from fellow shoppers in desperate attempts to “stock up.” The rush on toilet paper became one of the most vivid, surreal images of the global health crisis, replayed in countless news reports and social media posts. As viral as the virus itself, these panic-buying frenzies turned toilet paper — a soft, white, everyday necessity — into a symbol of a world unmoored by fear.

Why toilet paper? Why not rice or soap or batteries? The images of consumers hoarding this seemingly mundane item sparked fascination, ridicule, and even philosophical debate. Across cultures and continents, people responded similarly: they began to hoard toilet paper with a zeal that baffled economists and amused historians. Though often treated as a humorous anecdote amid the pandemic’s tragedies, the toilet paper panic was no laughing matter for those who went without or for store employees dealing with angry customers and supply shortages.

Yet, this wasn’t the first time toilet paper became the star of global anxiety. Though 2020’s panic-buying reached unprecedented proportions, similar scenes unfolded during earlier crises — regional outbreaks, supply chain disruptions, political unrest, and even false rumors. From the United States to Japan, episodes of toilet paper hoarding have flared up over decades, often sparked by nothing more than a misinterpreted headline or a celebrity’s offhand remark.

What is it about this unassuming product that triggers such primal consumer behavior in times of uncertainty? The answer lies in the intersection of psychology, sociology, and cultural symbolism. Toilet paper may be physically soft and quiet, but its disappearance sends a loud, jarring signal to our collective sense of normalcy. It represents more than hygiene; it represents order, control, and the comforting regularity of daily life.

As the COVID-19 pandemic revealed, when that order is threatened, people don’t just seek to protect themselves from disease. They seek to preserve dignity, comfort, and the illusion of preparedness. And in that emotional calculus, toilet paper ranks surprisingly high. This article unpacks the curious psychology, sociology, and historical context behind the toilet paper panic. It investigates not just what happened, but why it happened — and why it keeps happening.

Part II: A Brief History of Toilet Paper — From Luxury to Necessity

Toilet paper, though seemingly modern and utilitarian, has a surprisingly rich and winding history. In ancient civilizations, hygiene took many forms depending on geography, availability of materials, and social norms. The Greeks used smooth stones or broken shards of pottery called “pessoi”; the Romans famously used communal sponges attached to sticks, soaked in vinegar and rinsed in shared buckets. In East Asia, early use of paper for hygienic purposes has been recorded as far back as the Tang Dynasty (7th century), with large sheets reportedly reserved for the imperial family.

Despite these innovations, most of the world relied on a range of organic materials well into the 18th and 19th centuries: corncobs, leaves, moss, rags, and even newspaper. In rural America, catalogues like the Sears-Roebuck often served a dual purpose. While effective to varying degrees, these solutions lacked consistency, comfort, and sanitation. The concept of paper designed specifically for personal hygiene was not widespread until industrialization made cheap paper widely available.

It wasn’t until the mid-19th century that toilet paper became commercially available in the Western world. Joseph Gayetty, an American inventor, is credited with producing the first packaged toilet paper in 1857. His product, infused with aloe and marketed as a medical good, was sold as individual sheets in boxes. However, early reception was lukewarm. The idea of buying paper specifically for toilet use was still novel, and many people continued to rely on improvised alternatives.

By the late 1800s, companies such as Scott Paper began producing perforated rolls for easier use. The shift from individual sheets to rolls was a major breakthrough, and by the early 20th century, toilet paper had begun to enter the mainstream. Improved plumbing systems demanded flushable solutions, and the rolls we recognize today became the industry standard. In the 1920s and ’30s, companies competed not just on softness, but on hygiene. The rise of advertising helped frame toilet paper as a vital, even luxurious, part of modern life.

World War II interrupted production in some areas due to paper shortages, but by the postwar boom of the 1950s and 1960s, toilet paper had become a staple of middle-class comfort. It was no longer a luxury or novelty. It was a given — an assumed part of modern civilization.

By the late 20th century, innovations like multi-ply paper, scented varieties, and even quilted textures transformed the product into a mini-industry. Brands competed on absorbency, softness, strength, and eco-friendliness. Environmental concerns led to the development of recycled paper versions, while consumer preferences continued to drive diversification. In many parts of the world, toilet paper became a household expectation — an item so routine that its sudden disappearance, as seen during pandemics and supply chain failures, triggers genuine panic.

This evolution from a niche product to a daily necessity explains in part why its absence creates such deep discomfort in consumers. Toilet paper isn’t just about cleaning oneself — it’s about maintaining the rhythm of daily life, the feeling of control over one’s personal environment. In societies where indoor plumbing, privacy, and hygiene are normalized, toilet paper acts as a proxy for all three. Its sudden scarcity feels like a breakdown not just of supply chains, but of civilization itself.

Part III: The COVID-19 Case Study — Scarcity, Psychology, and Social Contagion

During the early weeks of the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020, the images of empty toilet paper shelves took over news cycles and social media feeds. But why toilet paper, specifically?

1. The Scarcity Principle: Behavioral psychologists have long studied how perceived scarcity increases demand. When consumers believe a product may soon be unavailable, they are more likely to buy it — in larger quantities than necessary. This self-fulfilling prophecy accelerates shortages, as one person’s “reasonable” overbuying prompts others to follow suit.

2. The Illusion of Control: In times of crisis, people seek tangible actions to regain a sense of agency. Buying toilet paper — large, visible, and associated with daily survival — becomes a symbolic gesture of preparedness, much like filling bathtubs before hurricanes.

3. Herd Mentality: Social contagion theory suggests that people mimic the behaviors of others, especially under stress. Seeing others buy toilet paper triggers the subconscious belief that “they must know something I don’t.” With one viral photo of an empty shelf, panic spreads — much like the virus itself.

4. Bulk = Safety: Toilet paper’s physical size contributes to the panic. Large packs give an illusion of abundance and security. People don’t typically buy just one roll — they buy 12 or 24. This makes shelves look emptier faster, which in turn drives further panic.

5. Media Amplification: The media’s obsession with showing footage of empty shelves and hoarding customers further reinforced the panic. With 24/7 coverage, toilet paper became the symbolic shorthand for “society in crisis.”

The irony? COVID-19 is a respiratory virus. It does not, in most cases, cause gastrointestinal distress. Yet people were more concerned about toilet paper than masks, soap, or thermometers.

Part IV: Historical Echoes — Other Moments of Panic and Absurdity

Though COVID-19 is the most dramatic example, there have been prior toilet paper panics worth examining.

1. The Great Toilet Paper Scare of 1973 (USA)

One of the earliest and most bizarre examples of panic buying in modern history came not from war or disease — but from a joke. In December 1973, amid genuine shortages of oil and consumer goods due to the energy crisis, Johnny Carson, the legendary host of The Tonight Show, made an offhand comment: “There’s a shortage of toilet paper.”

The result was pandemonium. Millions of viewers took him seriously, storming stores and clearing shelves within days. Manufacturers had to increase production, and it took weeks to stabilize the supply chain. The panic began with a joke — and ended in genuine shortages.

2. Hong Kong, 2020

Before the Western world fully realized the threat of COVID-19, Hong Kong residents, already skeptical of government transparency due to the protests of 2019, began hoarding essentials — including toilet paper. A rumor spread that toilet paper would be diverted to mainland China. It culminated in one of the most absurd moments of the pandemic: a gang of knife-wielding thieves hijacking a delivery truck to steal… toilet paper.

The incident made international headlines and was treated with both amusement and alarm. It revealed how quickly urban legend can become criminal enterprise when panic is left unchecked.

3. Japan, 2011

Following the devastating Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami, Japan suffered a run on many essentials — batteries, bottled water, and, unsurprisingly, toilet paper. The shortages mirrored panic from the 1973 oil crisis when Japanese citizens feared price hikes and supply disruptions. In 2011, the memory of that prior panic drove a new one, even though the supply chain remained mostly intact.

Part V: The Sociological Symbolism — Why Toilet Paper Became an Emotional Anchor

Why not toothpaste? Or socks? Or cereal? Why has toilet paper — above all other basic commodities — become the object of obsessive stockpiling?

1. Intimacy and Vulnerability: Toilet paper is linked to a private, deeply human need. Losing access to it feels like a regression in civilization — a fall from modern grace to primitive discomfort. It threatens a baseline of dignity people take for granted.

2. Comfort and Cleanliness: In Western cultures especially, cleanliness is psychologically tied to emotional well-being. Stocking up on hygiene products feels like securing comfort, even safety. Toilet paper represents control in a world unraveling.

3. Visibility and Status: A shopping cart full of toilet paper communicates something socially — “I’m prepared,” “I’m responsible,” “I care for my family.” In the pandemic, those images also became memes, satire, and performance art.

4. The Domestic Fortress: As lockdowns turned homes into bunkers, toilet paper became a visible representation of preparedness. It’s soft, white, voluminous, and uncontroversial — the ultimate symbol of non-perishable safety.

5. A Self-Amplifying Symbol: Once toilet paper shortages made headlines, the object itself gained a cultural status far beyond its utility. It became meme material, parody fodder, even black-market currency in some circles. Like tulips in 1637, its symbolic value outstripped its practical one — if only temporarily.

The toilet paper panic of 2020 — and its earlier counterparts — reveal far more than consumer quirks. They expose how fragile our social fabric can be in the face of fear, how rapidly rationality can be replaced by rumor, and how even the most mundane object can carry extraordinary weight when society is on edge.

Toilet paper isn’t just a convenience — it’s a mirror. In times of calm, it’s ignored. But in times of crisis, it reflects our desperation to control the uncontrollable, our need for comfort amid chaos, and our willingness to act irrationally in the name of security.

The next time someone laughs about the absurdity of hoarding bathroom tissue, they might pause to consider what that frenzy really meant: not just the need to wipe, but the need to survive, to feel clean in a dirty world, and to grasp a shred of softness in a moment of hard uncertainty.