How Tipping Translates across the Pacific

The whole thing seems to have started way back in the Middle Ages. Imagine a feudal lord, feeling rather pleased with a servant who’d gone above and beyond – perhaps rescued the prize-winning pig or something – and so, a few extra coins would change hands. A pat on the head and a bit of silver. By the time the 16th and 17th centuries rolled around in dear old England, you’d find little pots in coffee houses, sometimes cheekily labelled "To Insure Promptitude". T.I.P. – you see? Drop in a coin, and your lukewarm beverage might just arrive before the next Ice Age.

Now, when this custom packed its bags and headed to the United States in the 1800s, mainly with those aspiring to a bit of European chic, it didn’t quite get the same reception. Some Yanks thought it all a bit un-American, a tad too reminiscent of the class divides they’d supposedly left behind. But then, in a rather less savory twist, post-Civil War, tipping became a handy excuse for some employers, especially those hiring newly freed Black individuals, to pay absolutely abysmal wages. The theory was that tips would make up the shortfall. The Pullman porters, for example, almost exclusively Black men, often found their actual wages were just a tiny fraction of what they needed, the rest hopefully coming from the pockets of passengers. A rather sobering thought, that.

So, why do people tip? Economists sometimes peer at tipping through their spectacles and declare it "irrational". The reasons, it seems, are as varied as the toppings on a pizza. We don’t want to feel like cheapskates, it’s just what’s done, we’re genuinely pleased with the service, or we know that the person serving us probably needs it to pay the gas bill. Sometimes, it’s a bit of an investment for good service next time, or maybe, just maybe, to stop the waiter muttering dark things about us as we walk out the door. And then, of course, there are those lovely little touch screens that swivel round at the checkout, you know the feeling, right? Boldly suggesting you add 20%, 25%, or even a rather hopeful 30%, all while the next person in the queue is having a good old look. "Guilt tipping" they call it. Splendid.

And speaking of those screens, welcome to the age of Tipflation. The recent global unpleasantness – the pandemic, you remember – gave it a bit of a shove. We were all feeling for the frontline workers, and rightly so, and perhaps our wallets opened a little wider. At the same time, those clever point-of-sale machines, with their oh-so-easy tip prompts, spread like wildfire. Suddenly, you’re being asked to tip when you pick up your own takeaway, or for a vendor-supplied sandwich that winked at you from the grab-and-go deli case. There was even a report of a self-serve kiosk asking for a tip, which does make one wonder, "Who am I tipping, myself?". This "tip creep", as it’s been dubbed, has led to a fair bit of "tipping fatigue". One survey from 2023 found that a whopping 66% of Americans are now giving tipping a bit of a side-eye.

In the US, things are particularly, shall we say, unique. The federal minimum wage for an employee who gets tips is a rather eye-watering $2.13 an hour. Yes, you read that right. Wipe your eyes again. Been that way since 1991. The magic behind this is something called a "tip credit", which allows employers to count the tips their staff receive towards meeting the full federal minimum wage, currently $7.25. If tips plus that $2.13 don't add up, the employer is meant to top it up. One imagines that’s a conversation that doesn’t always go smoothly.

It’s perhaps no great surprise that poverty rates for tipped workers in America are more than double those of their non-tipped colleagues. And in those states heroically sticking to the $2.13 federal rate, it's even worse. Now, many states have decided to do their own thing, setting higher minimums. And some, like California and Guam, insist that employers pay the full state minimum wage before any tips are even considered.

Naturally, when things get this knotty, the politicians get involved. The latest brainwave is to make tips tax-free. Sounds rather appealing, doesn't it? No Tax on Tips! But, like a cheap suit, the initial attraction fades when you look a bit closer. Experts suggest it might not actually help the poorest workers all that much, could blow a rather large hole in the national budget – we’re talking $150 to $250 billion over ten years, if some estimates are to be believed – and might just encourage some rather inventive book-keeping. Some are even suggesting getting rid of that subminimum wage entirely, which would certainly shake things up a notch.

Now, if you find yourself in the sunnier climes of Australia, Aotearoa, or the idyllic islands of the South Pacific, you’ll discover that the approach to tipping can be quite refreshing. It's often a case of "thanks, but no thanks".

In Australia and New Zealand, tipping there hasn't traditionally been the done thing, primarily because staff in cafes and restaurants are generally assumed to be earning a proper living wage to start with. While the pandemic did see a slight shift, particularly in big cities like Melbourne, many Kiwis and Aussies still view tipping with suspicion, seeing it as something that could undermine workers' rights – even calling it "un-Australian" or "un-Kiwi". You might genuinely find a server politely declining your offer, yes. So, if you’re in a country pub or a cafe where you order at the counter, save your coins. Splashing out in a fancy city restaurant with attentive table service? Well, then a 10-15% tip for excellent service would be appreciated, but not demanded. And those surcharges you see on bills on weekends and public holidays? They’re often there because staff are being paid higher "penalty rates" for working those less sociable hours.

Now head further northeast into the South Pacific islands, and tipping is even less of a concern because, quite simply, it's not part of many of our Indigenous cultures. Staying in a hotel in Sāmoa? On your first visit, you're an honored guest ; come back a second time, and you're family. And one doesn’t usually tip family, right? No, Faʻalavelave is something else. We’re talking Tupe Totogi Faʻasili. If you feel absolutely compelled to show your financial appreciation, do it directly, face-to-face, or it might not be accepted. This is particularly true for housekeeping staff. And a very sensible piece of advice: Try tipping in the local currency. Those US dollars can be more trouble than they're worth for locals to exchange and can disrupt the local economy, or even raise suspicion on how they were acquired. Taxi drivers? Generally no tip expected, though rounding up the fare is a common courtesy.

In the islands of Tahiti – think Moʻorea, Pora Pora – the culture is much like France and most of Europe. Tipping is neither required nor generally expected. Most bills won't even have a line to add one, unless perhaps you're at a large international resort. Not even. You’re unlikely to see locals tip. That said, if you’ve had truly exceptional service and want to show your appreciation, a cash tip will be gratefully received. If you order food through one of those delivery apps, there is an option to tip, although you will have to set your tip in advance while ordering, as the banking system does not seem to allow withholding the transaction as a pre-auth so as to adjust the final cost by adding the tip later. One traveller mentioned leaving a 1000 XPF banknote (about $9 USD) for fantastic service in Tahiti, and it wasn't chased down the street.

Since 2007, service charges are often automatically included in hotel bills in French Polynesia, this to ensure staff are adequately paid without relying on discretionary tips. These charges are then often distributed to staff as bonuses at the end of the year. Even at the swankiest Pora Pora or Tetiʻaroa resorts with personal butlers, while a tip isn't expected, one might feel inclined for impeccable service. If you do tip, cash is king, and it's best to use the local Colonial Franc, as US dollars aren't widely accepted. A couple of hundred US dollars' worth of XPF per week should see you right for such occasions and for smaller local vendors.

Even in the U.S. territories, local rules apply. In Guam, the law is crystal clear: "Wage" does not include tips. Employers there have to pay the full minimum wage irrespective of tips. American Sāmoa operates with industry-specific minimum wages, so a worker in, say, fish canning will have a set minimum, and that's their wage before any gratuities are considered.

It really does highlight how a little local knowledge can go an awfully long way, doesn't it? Knowing your XPF from your WST, your Māuruuru from your Faʻafetai and when a friendly smile is thanks enough. It’s precisely these sorts of cultural subtleties where having the right people who truly understand the local script – if you’ll pardon the expression – can save a world of awkwardness. (Just a little nod to those of us in the business of translating such linguistic and cultural gaps, you understand.)

For, it's a bit of a muddle, this tipping lark. For some who rely on them, tips are the difference between making rent and not, albeit an unpredictable one. For others, the system feels like a throwback. Businesses say it helps keep prices down and staff on their toes. Customers? Well, many are just plain confused or, increasingly, a bit fed up.

The long and short of it is, the very idea of tipping seems to be having a bit of a moment. Technology is changing the game, and there’s a growing rumble about fair wages in this worldwide inflationary context. Will we all be tipping our child’s maths tutor or the nice chap who fixes the broadband in a few years? Or will common sense prevail, and we’ll find a way to make sure everyone gets a fair day's pay without all this end-of-transaction guesswork? One can only ponder. And perhaps order another coffee while we think about it. Hōʻē taofe nāʻu!