Whee…shteesh…shtup. Whee…shtesh…shtup. It’s the constant refrain from the corner of every office in Australia and (I hazard a guess) the world. Another sheet of paper. Another drain, however small, on our precious resources. But why? Didn’t the advent of the personal computer signal the demise of our reliance on paper in the office? I’m sure we were told it was so.

I wistfully remember my first lecture at art school after the delivery of our first Apple Macintosh. Our excited but clearly sceptical typography lecturer, Ernie Carr (a great man: I’m sure I’ll mention his name in future entries) trying desperately to expound the virtues of the new technology against his better judgment. For him, it flew in the face of 35 years in the printing industry. His fear of the death of our craft, the end of an era (one that had lasted four hundred years) was palpable. We, however, saw possibilities: instantly witnessing our thoughts become reality, and the freedom new technology would bring us. How exciting!

That was twenty years ago. During that period, leaps in technology and environmental awareness have ensured that paper is now a historical curiosity. Haven’t they?

Put your hand up if you’ve ever pressed print needlessly. Yep, thought so (and believe me, both my hands are firmly in the air). I have realised that I press print a lot – to the point that the command and P keys on my keyboard lost their identity long ago. Don’t get me wrong; I can justify it – to myself at least. As a designer, I pride myself on understanding typography. I need to see how that word looks. How it reads best, particularly as a headline.

Why? Haven’t I just spent a long time squinting at my enormous LCD screen making sure I have the spacing right between each and every letterform? The technology – far more accurate than my middle-aged eyes – tells me I have cracked it. Spot on. Yet I still need to make sure.

Am I desperate to see the fruits of my learning and labours in a physical form? Do I just love the feel of a piece of paper?

The short answer to those questions is yes. And while I only speak in respect of my own shortcomings within a creative agency, the impression I’ve gained of industries outside my own is that I am not alone in thinking this way. People seem to like having tangible evidence of their genius (or at least proof of their endeavours).

Hasn’t technology reached a point where we no longer need to have this kind of validation? Aren’t back-ups and systems capable of saving or holding to account (depending on your level of cynicism) everything we do? For the most part, in my experience anyway, yes they are. I don’t distrust technology, and I can count on one hand the times it has failed me in 20 years in the industry.

So is it a generational thing, perhaps? I am Gen X – and am living, breathing proof of the profile. And I, like my baby boomer boss, take nothing for granted. I believe I have embraced new technology as openly as any Gen Y or iPodder (if that is the correct moniker), but I still like a paper trail. I love my iPod, iPhone, iLife©®™ (and I don’t need to ask anyone how to use them), yet I need the paper proof, as it were. And, from what I’ve seen, so do the younger ‘uns. Are they following us, trying to impress us? Is it a vicious circle? I guess we’ll see.

It seems, in my case anyway, that the journey to a paperless office is as much an emotional one as a green one. I’ve heard loads of tips for going paperless – buy a scanner, read from the screen, sign up to an electronic fax service – but no one seems to be able to tell me how to get over my emotional attachment to paper. My sentimentality is betraying our workplace sustainability measures as much as my colleagues’ ignorance, laziness and bad habits. So does anyone have any tips for treating my addiction or any battles with green initiatives of their own they’d like to share to make me feel better?

P.S. While you’re busy doing that, I think I’ll just print a copy of this for my files. Whee…shteesh…shtup.

Chris Raybould is an Art Director at WellmarkPerspexa who is slowly realising that award-winning work doesn’t just look good on paper.

Where do you stand?

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