Know how and how much to tip people who expect gratuities, even in the case of poor service.
—Marilyn Vos Savant
“Would you like to leave a tip?”
No, you wouldn’t. Nobody’s said boo to you since you walked in the door. You were greeted by a screen. You ordered your food on the screen, you’ll pick it up yourself at the counter when it’s ready, and you might even bus your own table. And now the screen wants you to pony up an additional 18, 20, or 22 percent for services not received. Of course you don’t want to leave a tip. But, as the screen knows, there’s a good chance you will, because you’re an American, and we’re the tipping-est people on Earth.
“…Japanese hospitality workers consider the notion of buying better service with a few crumpled yen notes professionally insulting.”
You’d think we’d be better at math, considering how much time we spend doing it in our heads. Forks down, thinking caps on. We figure tips for waiters, bartenders, caddies and cabana boys. Bellhops and skycaps, taxi drivers and hair stylists, baristas and blackjack dealers all expect “a little something” for their services. More recently, drive-through windows, movie theaters, convenience stores, online retailers, even bathrooms have their electronic hand out. It’s called “tip creep,” and it’s starting to wear on the national patience. Times were, 10 percent was a respectable tip. Now it’s 20 percent, and we’re no longer allowed to factor in quality of service when calculating our duty.
Of course, “tip-flation” couldn’t happen without our help. We tip because we’re used to tipping—conditioned to it. Most of us want to be a “good tipper” because that means we’re good people. And when somebody we’ve never tipped before unexpectedly puts the touch on us, we as often than not pay up simply because we’re not sure whether or not we’re actually expected to, and we’d rather take the hit than be branded a “bad tipper.” We’re a very complex people.
Less brainwork is required overseas, where tipping is not viewed as a moral imperative. Tips are not expected in the Orient, and the Japanese find them positively offensive. Imbued with the spirit of “omotenashi” (selfless hospitality), Japanese hospitality workers consider the notion of buying better service with a few crumpled yen notes professionally insulting.
In France, Italy and Spain a service charge is usually included in the tab, but guests are free to leave a small additional consideration if they feel they received “outstanding service.” Germans customarily “round up” the bill for a very modest gratuity. In Scandinavia and the UK, folks don’t tip at all. This is at once refreshing and a little galling, since the pestilent practice is very much an Old World export.
I wish I had the nerve not to tip.
—Paul Lynde
In medieval times, European lords visiting the manor of a friend with retinue in tow were expected to slip the household staff a few coins as compensation for all the extra work. The term “tipping” dates back at least to 1610, likely an evolution of the Old English word meaning “to give” or “to share.” The practice of tipping eventually spread to rural inns and country houses, but remained largely an obligation of the affluent.
“For what it’s worth, 6 percent of Americans say they never tip. They just don’t.”
Tipping sailed across the pond in the late 1800s, stuffed in the steamer trunks of well-heeled Yankees who found the custom delightfully exotic and deliciously aristocratic. Back home, many of their countrymen would have nothing to do with tipping, deeming it affectatious and contrary to egalitarian democratic principles. Resistance was so strong that the convention wouldn’t have survived the century had not Southern restaurant and hotel owners found in tipping the perfect excuse to pay recently emancipated waiters and waitresses nothing, requiring them to subsist entirely on public largesse. Realizing its own Manifest Destiny, tipping quickly established itself from sea to shining sea, helped along by energetic lobbyists of the National Restaurant Association, who since 1919 have thwarted several attempts by individual states to raise tipped employee wages to national minimums.
Officially, 2.5 percent of the American workforce gets tips, about 4 million in all, most of them working in the field of hospitality. Last year we spent about $7.8 billion on tips at restaurants alone. Of course, those figures don’t account for the recently expanded pool of workers gunning for gratuities unofficially.
According to statistics compiled by the U.S. Department of Labor, about twice as many tipped employees are women than men, and their median age is 31, compared to 41 for non-tipped employees. Roughly 30 percent are under 25, and 13 percent are teenagers. There are significantly more tipped workers west of the Mississippi than east of it, and far more tipped workers south of the Mason-Dixon Line than north of it.
Across the table, 72 percent of Americans say they’re getting fed up with relentless tip creep, complaining that it’s no longer clear who and how much they should be tipping. A solid 72 percent flat-out hate electronic tip prompts, and 57 percent hew to a strict 15 percent cap. And, despite persistent badgering to the contrary, 77 percent of Americans say they base their tips on the quality of services received. For what it’s worth, 6 percent of Americans say they never tip. They just don’t. From a high-water mark of 19.9 percent in 2021, the average full-service restaurant tip has fallen to about 19.2 percent and continues to decline.
Interestingly, about two thirds of the country maintains that tippers and tippees alike would be a lot happier if we just ditched the whole confusing business and let businesses simply tack a service charge onto the bill. They don’t mean it, though. In several studies, people claiming to prefer service fees were offered two bills, the first including a 15 percent service charge and the second requesting a 15 percent gratuity. More than 70 percent preferred the second one because the first was “too expensive.”
Yes, we’re a very complex people.
I don’t tip because society says I have to.
—Mr. Pink, in “Reservoir Dogs”
