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Maybe it’s my time of life or the state of geopolitics, but I find myself taking refuge in stories that avoid bad news. As far as I’m concerned there’s no safer space than articles that rate your favorite, consumer-friendly products. The world may be going up in flames but there’s still satisfaction to be taken from surveys that confirm your choices and instincts.
That happened recently when The New York Times Wirecutter — their product review section — turned their attention to toilet paper. Your choice of toilet paper says a lot about you. Are you a one-ply or two-ply person? Scented or unscented? Ultra-soft? Extra-soft? Or just soft
Let’s take the features associated with toilet paper one at a time starting with softness. Obviously, you don’t want tissue the consistency of sand paper. Nor do you desire a glossy finish. No joke. I’ve experienced dispensers, perhaps in Europe, where the sheets emerged one at a time and they were so shiny and unabsorbent that they defeated the purpose. European culture has a lot to recommend it. Sidewalk cafes, flying buttresses (on medieval cathedrals), the bidet! But advanced toilet paper technology isn’t among them.
Have you ever visited a train station in, say Marseille, and had to pay for the privilege of using the toilet only to discover your investment didn’t include a seat and sometimes not even a toilet. They’re charging you good money to squat. Point made.
Nonetheless, who needs toilet paper the texture of velvet, the Charmin bear notwithstanding? Going potty was never supposed to be an all-day affair. That’s not to say it shouldn’t be comfortable. But toughen up, man!
Ditto scented toilet roll. I’m sorry, but some chemical concoction created to mimic a spring breeze just doesn’t cut it. If a courtesy flush is required, go for it. But don’t kid yourself; you’re not fooling anybody when you go to the bathroom.
I don’t think enough credit is given to heredity when it comes to selecting a brand of toilet tissue. You’d probably discover that people tend to use the same brand they grew up with. People, admittedly, can change and so has toilet paper culture. I don’t remember there being nearly as many choices when I was a child. But in the same way that the smell of Ivory soap evokes ancient memories, your family’s default brand provides a sense of security that other contenders won’t.
I’m not going to address the issue of recycled toilet paper, though I have no doubt standup comics could probably have a field day with it and undoubtedly already have. I will say, however, that I couldn’t care less whether my toilet paper is snowy white or not. I’m happy to go with beige or even polka dot if it’ll save a few trees.
Having stated my priorities — single-ply, a generously sized roll, fragrance-free, competitively priced — there’s only one brand that meets all those requirements. And I was happy to see that the New York Times — the Gray Lady, the newspaper of record — agrees. “There’s a toilet paper calculator,” their headline on March 23 read, “that cuts through ‘Mega’ and ‘Jumbo’ Marketing Claims.’”
They were referring to the calculator’s inventor Victor Ly. The newspaper described Mr. Ly as a San Francisco social worker and hobbyist deal hunter. It goes without saying that he’s a hero to unit pricing shoppers, as well.
By the way, when the Times reached out to some of America’s best known makers of toilet tissue, Kimberly-Clark declined to comment and Proctor & Gamble didn’t even respond. That says something to this student of crisis management. They’re probably hiding something. And what they’re hiding, or rather hiding behind, is all that hooey about strength and efficiency, softness and absorbency.
The calculator graded nine mainstays of supermarket shelves and all of them got grades ranging from C to F. Only one brand rated a B. That was Angel Soft. But wait! There was a manufacturer that the calculator awarded not just an A but an A+. “The only brand to receive an A in this group,” read their conclusion, “also happened to be the most basic, frill-free TP of the bunch.”
Is the suspense killing you? If you’re half the student of home economics that I am you already know the answer. By the way, among the variables weighed was price per sheet. My go-to cost 0.05 cents per sheet. The next cheapest was 0.21 cents.
There’s the separate issue, best saved for another day, about many rolls you need and can fit into your car, let alone your home. There’s also the mortification factor. Buying merchandise in bulk is one thing. Buying toilet paper in bulk — some economy packs are the size of a Honda Fit — may suggest to the checkout clerk that you’re having intestinal issues.
In any case, the winner is … Scott One Thousand Sheets Per Roll.
I always knew it was the smart choice. I just didn’t know how smart. Perhaps it’s time to stock up again. The only question the Times didn’t answer, maybe because it’s a philosophical one, is whether there’s such thing as too much toilet paper in your basement? I don’t believe that’s possible.