Tipping culture is on the rise, and it's not just in restaurants anymore. From coffee shops to self-checkout kiosks, more service businesses are nudging us for a little extra.

On top of this, if it feels like the expected tip percentage is creeping up, you’re not imagining things—welcome to the new normal of tipping everywhere.

I had a hard time believing that a clinic would ask me for a tip, but here we are, dearest reader and fellow tipper. It finally happened to me.

Let’s set the scene and say, hypothetically, you’re me. You’ve been battling cystic acne issues for most of your life, and during a recent phone call with your family doctor, they advise you to visit their skin clinic for treatment.

Great, you tell yourself, I can finally say goodbye to this cyst that’s been living rent free on my face!

But after the swift injection and a hopeful glance in the mirror, the payment machine slides your way and… there it is, the dreaded question: leave a tip?

There I was, a poor, broke student, faced with my medical doctor asking me to tip them 20 percent.

I mean, how do you even tip for a medical procedure? Should I have thrown in a little extra for ‘sterile instruments’ and ‘not making me cry’? Is tipping culture so out of control that even my cyst removal is suddenly part of the service economy?

Walking out of the appointment, I had to wonder: is this the beginning of a tip-ocalypse? What stage of capitalism is it when doctors start asking for tips?

Extreme (but all too real) anecdotes aside, it is no secret that economic times are changing.

It’s easy to roll your eyes when the cashier flips the screen for a tip and you think, okay, this is getting ridiculous. But the truth is, it’s not just a sudden outbreak of greed.

What we’re really seeing is the ripple effect of deeper economic instability—a system that’s pushing workers to rely on tips just to make ends meet. 

If we trace tipping back to its origins, we find its roots tangled in, to put it lightly,  some unsavoury history. Tipping began in 18th-century England, where aristocrats—feeling generous (or perhaps just showing off)—would offer a “noblesse oblige” to top up their servants’ wages.

This practice made its way to the US thanks to American travellers who had a desire to seem worldly—because nothing screams class like outsourcing your workers’ wages to someone else’s pocket.

Tipping took off in the United States right after the Civil War, when businesses hired newly freed Black men and women but refused to pay them a fair wage which left them entirely dependent on tips from patrons. 

In other words, tipping was originally a system designed to exploit the labour of formerly enslaved people.

The Pullman Company serves as one of the most notorious examples of early tipping culture in action, as they forced the Black porters to rely on tips for most of their pay. 

Over time, tipping became ingrained in the service industry, particularly in the US, where servers are still paid below minimum wage thanks to what’s known as the ‘server wage’. 

So while tipping may seem like a quaint tradition, its history tells a much darker story about who really benefits from this practice.

In recent years, we’ve all noticed tip options popping up more often—a phenomenon now being referred to as ‘tipflation.’

Tipping is influenced by “social norms, the desire to reward service, and the intrinsic motivation to adhere to societal expectations.” As tipping becomes more ubiquitous, it also triggers a psychological dilemma for customers: the conflict between the desire to be generous and the pressure of adhering to societal norms.

The urge to tip often stems from a socially-driven guilt, influenced by societal pressures and prevailing expectations. 

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Political Studies student Sarah-Mei Lyana offers a nuanced perspective on the topic. 

“I don’t actually [feel] that the burden is on the consumer to pay for someone’s living wage,” she says, calling out the system that now expects us to step in where employers should.

What used to be a nice ‘thank you’ has, according to Lyana, turned into a moral obligation. “More and more tipping just feels like something expected and not like a form of appreciation,” she adds, noting that most people are just doing it because they’re supposed to, even when given poor service

Lyana notes that the practice has lost its integrity in many situations. When asked to tip without service involved, Lyana questions why. “I don’t even know what they’re doing,” she says.

However, when she has a more personal interaction with a service worker, she finds tipping can still be a genuine way to show gratitude.

As a server myself, there have been plenty of times when a generous tip has made me feel like my hard work has paid off. I’ll go the extra mile for a special occasion, and while this is something I do regardless as part of my job, the tip feels validating. I look forward to their gratitude and the human connection. 

For Lyana, tipping reflects a deeper issue within economics. “I don’t think it’s promoting the idea of fair wages at all.” Instead, it allows businesses to avoid paying fair wages while pushing the financial burden onto customers.

Recognizing the systemic nature of the issue, Lyana recalls moments of guilt about not tipping, only to later realize the absurdity of it.

Lyana even admits that she used to lose sleep over not tipping—like waking up in a cold sweat wondering if skipping that one dollar tip was going to haunt her forever.

She emphasizes that tipping culture perpetuates inequality by simply transferring money “from one working-class person to another,” rather than addressing the root problem of fair wages.

Still, Lyana approaches the issue with balance. While she feels tipping unfairly shifts the responsibility to consumers, she acknowledges that many workers are underpaid and she still chooses to tip when she feels it’s warranted.

Looking to the future, Lyana advocates for adopting the European model, where service workers earn a salary and tips aren’t necessary for a fair wage. It’s clear she’d like to see the end of tipping as a substitute for proper pay.

Oh, I get it. I mean, sometimes I’m the one handing over the tip machine, so trust me—I love the extra cash, and I work hard for it. But let’s be real. If I’m to encourage tipping, it’s like I’m signing off on the very capitalist trap I can’t stand. It’s that weird, ironic dance where we’re all throwing money at a system we mutually wish was different.

Dhara Kuciel, a third-year accounting student, has had enough of tipping culture. 

“It’s kind of a nonsensical notion if you think about it,” she says. “It puts the responsibility on the consumer to pay the worker’s wage.” 

Echoing a sentiment shared by Lyana, Kuciel isn’t shy about questioning the logic of a system that increasingly expects tips everywhere. “Tipping is so integrated now in everything. It’s not just your local coffee shop anymore—it’s fast food chains too.”

Kuciel thinks that the old adage, ‘don’t go out if you can’t tip,’ is unrealistic. “I don’t feel bad hitting ‘no tip’ when I don’t think it’s warranted. And if the customer service is exceptional, I have no problem tipping.”

There’s no guilt or shame involved for her. “You can ask, but I can also say no,” she says. 

For Kuciel, the issue isn’t personal—she doesn’t harbour any resentment toward those who do tip or those who rely on it. Kuciel, like Lyana and myself, views it as a systemic problem. 

“These restaurants and coffee shops are more than capable of paying their employees a reasonable wage,” she argues, pointing out that in Canada, where service workers already earn minimum wage, tipping culture feels even more unnecessary compared to the US, where wages for service workers are much lower.

Kuciel also highlights how tipping has spiralled out of control, seemingly because businesses feel pressured to keep up. 

“It’s like everyone’s jumping on the tipping bandwagon because they’d lose out if they didn’t.” She laughs, adding, “I think it’s pessimistic, but it’s also a brutally honest depiction of capitalism at work.”

Makes sense under a system which prioritizes profit, I guess. 

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Victor Trinh—former VIU student-turned-server—is living the tip-based dream (or nightmare, depending on the day). For Trinh, tips aren’t just extra—they’re the real MVP of his paycheck. 

So, let’s hear it from the guy who flips the screen to ask consumers for a tip. 

Trinh highlights that while a large part of his income comes from tips, he argues that the issue of tipping is not being paid a livable wage. 

Tips aren’t just a bonus, Trinh says, “They’re how servers survive.” Trinh emphasizes that tipping serves an important role in helping to subsidize income for those in the service industry. “It’s okay to tip if you felt like you received excellent service as a way to say thank you.”

However, Trinh is quick to draw a line when it comes to tipping in situations where it feels unnecessary or even exploitative. 

“In places where you know they make a livable wage, I think it’d be ridiculous to ask for a tip—that’s where the problem begins,” he notes, pointing to how tipping culture has expanded to places where it might not belong. 

Despite his own dependance on tips, Trinh isn’t delusional. “I’m not entitled to any of their money,” he acknowledges, highlighting the complex balance between expecting tips as income and understanding the customer’s position. 

Absolutely! Trinh and I want to make it crystal clear: if you don’t leave a tip, we’re not rushing to conclusions about your character. 

And for anyone promulgating the maxim ‘don’t go out if you can’t tip,’ please stop. People in different financial situations deserve to treat themselves without feeling responsible for subsidizing others’ income. 

Because the unfortunate reality is that in the world of tipping, it’s not just about great service—it’s about survival. And maybe a little bit of karma (at least for Trinh). 

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I think most people agree that the sentiment behind tipping culture—’welcome to my business, now pay my employees so I don’t have to’—is unjust. 

I’m anti-tip in principle, but like everyone else I still find myself forking over extra at every register—we’re in a complicated relationship, okay?

I’ve finally accepted that it’s technically okay to hit ‘no tip’ at the coffee shop, but somehow, my hand just instinctively drifts toward 18 percent. Every time.

As I’m walking out with a seven dollar latte, I’m thinking, well, being a barista is hard, and finding a sense of accomplishment in helping fund someone’s next semester textbook or that month’s rent—one oat milk latte at a time.

And, sure, complaining about a pop-up that asks you for 30 percent on a seven dollar coffee feels cathartic (we’ve all been there), but at some point we have to face it. This isn’t a ‘bad customer’ or ‘greedy employee’ problem; it’s a systemic one.

In the twilight of late-stage capitalism, no one’s getting off easy. And if we’re serious about ending tipflation, it’s time we start demanding real change, and not the kind that goes in the jar.

So, every time you face that tip jar, remember: the real weight here isn’t your loose change—it’s a system passing the buck and asking you to carry it.

And if the real tips are life lessons, here’s mine: next time, just blame capitalism—it’s free.