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As a die-hard Office fan who’s rewatched the Scranton brilliance more times than I can count, I was fully prepared to hate The Paper.
Over the years, there’s been talk of reboots and cast reunions — but let’s be real, that would flop in today’s overly sensitive climate.
So when I heard they greenlit a spinoff set in the same universe, I rolled my eyes and thought, “Great, another lazy profit-driven reboot.”
But then… it got weirdly personal.
It was set in Toledo, Ohio — my hometown. And not just anywhere in Toledo — at a dying newspaper. I even worked at the Toledo Blade once upon a time. Suddenly, this wasn’t just another IP cash grab. This was my backyard. So I gave watching it a shot.
And honestly? I’m glad I did.
Not trying to be The Office
Let’s get one thing clear: The Paper isn’t trying to be The Office — and that’s exactly why it works.
Sure, it throws in some familiar callbacks and comfort food — the invisible camera crew, awkward interview segments, and a lovable cast of oddballs. But where The Office leaned into cringe, The Paper leans hopeful.
Set in Toledo, The Paper follows a struggling local newspaper — The Toledo Truth Teller (TTT) — now owned by the same soulless conglomerate that bought Dunder Mifflin. Except this time, the corporation (Enervate) is obsessed with toilet paper, not journalism — specifically a brand called Softees.
So while the fictional newsroom is broke, morale is nonexistent and chaos is basically the only thing running on schedule, enter Ned (Domhnall Gleeson), an overly earnest and wildly unqualified editor trying to bring the place back to life. With zero budget and even less common sense, Ned assembles a ragtag crew of misfits whose main qualification is… being available.
What follows? Cringe-worthy investigations, office politics and breaking stories on absurd products like “Man Mitts” — yes, gloves for post-bathroom cleanup. Of course, the antics turn into exactly what you’d expect when corporate America tries to revive local journalism… on a toilet paper budget.
What surprised me most is that The Paper actually cares about journalism. It doesn’t just use the decline of local news as a punchline; it reflects on it. The collapse of community trust, the rise of clickbait, the absurdity of content-for-content’s sake — it’s all baked in. Yeah, there’s satire. But there’s also heart. And that matters.
Scranton’s star, is Toledo next?
Years ago, Scranton, PA, worried that The Office would make it the butt of the joke. Instead, it became a cult destination and a tourism goldmine — murals, bars, tours, the whole nine yards. I want to make the trip someday.
So here’s the big question every Toledoan wants to know: Does The Paper represent our city well? Short answer: Yes.
The show is stacked with local Easter eggs — Mud Hens gear, Jeep nods, “You Will Do Better in Toledo” signs, and even the “Toledo Loves Love” mural in the opening credits. Tony Packo’s hot dogs? Check. Balance Grille takeout? Check.
Is Toledo depicted as a caricature? No, Toledo stepped up as a worthy backdrop and The Paper returns the favor with real love and respect for the city, its people, and its imperfections.
Will The Paper ever be as big as The Office? Probably not. But that’s not the point. It’s carving its own weird, wonderful little corner of the mockumentary universe — one filled with heart, humor, and just enough dysfunction to feel real. If you’re into character-driven workplace comedies with some soul beneath the snark, give this one a watch.
Pride for the underdog
As a Toledoan, I laughed out loud. I rooted for these weirdos. And I felt proud seeing my underdog city receive the honest, loving screen time it rarely gets.
Office fans, relax — they didn’t butcher it. Just watch it. You’ll actually be glad you did. Season 2 can’t come soon enough.
