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A few years ago, I planned to leave a generous tip for the waiter after my first meal at a restaurant in Italy. I had found the service first-rate. But my companion said, “Nobody tips here.”
“What!” I exclaimed. “Why?”
She immediately explained that in Italy, as indeed throughout most of Europe, tipping in a restaurant is neither mandatory nor expected. Restaurant economics are different. Waiters are paid at least the minimum wage and service fees are reflected in the bill. As a result, tips are seldom dispensed, and then only for the most exceptional service. This cultural custom prevails with cab drivers, too.
Now I live in Italy year-round. And luckily enough, I appear to have left the U.S. just in time when it comes to the socioeconomic pressure to tip. Tips for both goods and services are requested and expected more frequently than ever before. The share of remote transactions that offered the availability of online tipping grew from 43.4% in February 2020 to 74.5% in February this year, according to Square.
Further, tips are getting bigger and bigger. The typical 10% tip of the 1950s swelled to 15% in the 1970s and 1980s and currently ranges from 15% to 25%. A Creditcards.com survey last year found the average consumer tipped 21% last year. Some dubbed this phenomenon “tipflation.”
Tipping evidently originated in Europe in the 17th century, most likely in the taverns of Tudor England. Shortly after the Civil War, wealthy Americans traveling abroad then imported the practice to the United States.
Today, some American visitors might feel relieved at learning they can save a few euros. They can also conserve the energy otherwise expended in calculating a percentage of the bill suitable to leave behind.
Conversely, I found this revelation downright disappointing. I’m certifiably pro-tipping. A tip grants me a means for self-expression and the exercise of consumer discretion. I get the opportunity to evaluate the service, assign an economic value to the results, and reward the provider accordingly. Tipping, especially tipping big, still makes me feel like a big shot, all the more so given soaring inflation and how the hospitality industry is still reeling from the pandemic.
Eating out in the United States, mostly in New York City, I closely monitored restaurant service. Was the waiter at least marginally friendly? Was the order delivered correctly? Did he ask mid-meal about our level of satisfaction? After a meal with family, friends, or colleagues, I relished the debates about tipping that ensue around the table. Has the waiter earned 10%, 15% or 20%? Or should we stiff him?
I don’t pinch pennies to signal my displeasure when it comes to gratuities. Rather, my inclination is always to tip well. If the service is excellent but my fellow diners tender a tip that comes up short by my standards, I occasionally sneaked back to the table to lay out another few bucks. One likes to see justice done.
Living in Italy now, I miss the opportunity to tip in a restaurant that I’ve long accepted as a given. More broadly, I worry that waiters and waitresses are being robbed of the financial incentive to excel. The whole business feels vaguely anti-entrepreneurial, even anti-free enterprise.
The other night, I dined out in the province of Puglia, where I live, and received exemplary service. I’m still an American, so certain habits die hard. Oddly enough, a life without tipping would make me feel not only homesick but also somehow shortchanged.
So I left a tip. After all, it was nobody’s business but mine.
Bob Brody is a consultant, essayist, and the author of the memoir Playing Catch with Strangers: A Family Guy (Reluctantly) Comes of Age.
The opinions expressed in Fortune.com commentary pieces are solely the views of their authors and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and beliefs of Fortune.
