I ordered two P2 masks on Amazon and they were just delivered to my home. These are masks that protect from the small and dangerous particles contained in, among other things, bushfire smoke. I ordered one for me and one for my partner. It is early November and although the fire season has started, Melbourne is yet to be threatened by any major bushfires. Nonetheless, I know that the bushfire season is about to intensify, and this thought looms large as we remember last summer’s Australian bushfires.
The purchase of the P2 masks would not have occurred to me if it was not for last summer’s fires. I wouldn’t even have known what they were. Nonetheless, the smoke drifting in from nearby bushfires last year made air quality a concern. New South Wales and Sydney were especially affected by smoke from the bushfires. So were Canberra, Melbourne and various smaller towns. And this year we could read about how smoke from bushfires have haunted California residents.
Last year, during days of hazardous air quality in Melbourne, I unsuccessfully attempted to find P2 masks in pharmacies around town. Unsurprisingly, they were sold out everywhere I went. So, while maintain that I feel better having the masks stored in my closet, I cannot help by feeling like a doomsday prepper.
Preppers are people that, for a variety of reasons, prepare for ‘shit to hit the fan’, and society as we know it to collapse. The reasons for the anticipated collapse vary between artificial intelligence, climate change, failure of the economic and agricultural systems, nuclear weapons and more. Preppers seek to make decisions today that will set them up for life in a dystopian future. Preparations include secret hide-out places in the woods, canned- and pickled food and water supplies, bug out bags, sometimes weapons and other tools of survival. Research has shown that preppers tend to consider their efforts a reasonable response and people who do not prepare to be naïve and to place too much trust in governments.
I have yet to build a bunker or started pickling and storing food around the house. Although las summer I did consider storing water as I read that fires risked polluting our drinking water. Moreover, as COVID-19 hit Australia people started stockpiling food at home. Most people (including myself), I believe, got slightly freaked out as the voids in the supermarket shelves expanded. A fight over the last toilet paper in a grocery store in Sydney provides a glimpse of what might come if supplies were to seriously dwindle.
The act of prepping is increasingly featured in literature, movies, tv-shows and podcasts. Despite the common association between prepping, paranoia and minority culture, researchers have found the practise to be more rational and common than those associations would suggest. Prepping they established, is often followed by personal experiences of crisis such as economic damage, ailment or job loss, making them seek out the comforts of preparation. A notion not that dissimilar from my own experiences last year of bushfire smoke and my subsequent prepping activities.
So, am I a prepper now? Or how can we draw a line between ordinary preparedness and the prepping associated with extreme paranoia. As a prepper in the first episode of the 2011 Netflix documentary series Doomsday Preppers said: “I don’t think I’m paranoid, I just think I am well informed and prepared.” Especially, along with climate change (scientifically supported reports of a world in crisis), is the line between prepping and common-sense activities becoming increasingly blurred? I am a cautious person and I would rather buy the car insurance before I get in a crash, so to speak. And as fires rage and the effects from climate change are becoming increasingly tangible, where do we draw the line between warranted worry and overpreparation?

