American tipping culture has spiralled out of control

On a recent trip across the United States, I was routinely expected to tip as much as 25 per cent, even for items like a takeaway coffee

Over the next month, ahead of the US election, Simon Parker – who recently completed a coast-to-coast bike ride across the States – will be diving into the most divisive aspects of American holidays. This week he enters the awkward world of gratuities. 
Within an hour of touching down on American soil, I was faced with an iPad demanding a tip. The options? 18 per cent. 20 per cent. 25 per cent. No tip. 
Should I really have to pay such an enormous gratuity for the pile of bland, beige mush I’d just been served, I wondered. I could have done with more time to ruminate, but the server loomed over me, with one eye on my bemused expression, and another on the long line of customers snaking around the block.
Jetlagged and discombobulated, I fumbled at the screen. No tip would be far too churlish, even by my Limey standards. So, I settled on a penny-pinching 18 percent. But for the next 10 minutes, I ate soggy French fries with a sour taste in my mouth, wondering if I’d ever been given an 18 percent bonus for simply doing my job. Or if I could recoup a few measly cents via an extra dollop of “complimentary” ketchup.
I’m used to adding around 10 per cent to the bill at British pubs and restaurants, for great food and/or service. I also have no issue if a 12.5 percent service charge, the standard figure in the UK, is added to the balance – it can always be removed if the meal is a car crash. 
Likewise, I sometimes drop a pound coin into the jar at my local coffee shop, and always round up a taxi fare to the nearest fiver. But was this “gratuity” really at my discretion? And what might have happened if I’d decided to refrain?
I’ve heard horror stories about tourists facing the wrath of waiters and bartenders. In March 2023, a disgruntled employee took to Twitter to shame a group of Europeans for leaving what was deemed a miserly 10 per cent tip ($70/£53) on their $700 bill. And then in August 2024, reports surfaced of a male server confronting a lone female in her car, when she chose to leave no tip at all. 
But let’s just be 100 per cent clear: my transaction didn’t take place in a cosy diner, where I’d exchanged a “How are you?” and a “Have a nice day” with a smiley waitress in a pink pinnie carrying a steaming jug of coffee. No. This was at a fish-and-chip kiosk at Seattle’s Waterfront. No chairs, no tables, no chit-chat. Just a paper carton of fried potatoes, handed to me from behind a counter, with barely a word. 
At the very start of a 4,000-mile journey through pre-election USA, I had to remind myself to stop being so damn British – for fear of taking the shine off an otherwise epic adventure through a beautiful and surprising country. But even in the five-year interim since my last visit, America’s tipping culture had spiralled out of control. 
As I cycled across the country, relying on gas stations and convenience stores for sustenance, I was flabbergasted to see that tips are (in some places) even being added to hardware, electronics and groceries. And that’s on top of a sales tax, which adds anywhere between 2.9 and 7.25 per cent at the cash register, depending on the state. 
Nevertheless, within a few hundred miles I had decided to suck it up and toe the line. Because with 70 days’ cycling ahead of me, I had bigger chips to fry. 
The age-old defence of the US tipping system goes something like: servers are (for some arcane reason) paid below minimum wage, therefore, they rely on tips to make up the shortfall. But why does this charge fall upon the consumer and not the employer? It’s not like the US is cheap any more, either. You’d be hard-pressed to find breakfast and coffee for less than $20 these days – and that’s before you add taxes and tips. 
One independent restaurateur told me that she couldn’t afford to operate her business if she paid her staff the national minimum wage of $7.25 (£5.53) per hour. I found it impossible to believe. If this is the meagre profit margin of one of the planet’s most successful economies, then maybe we need to rethink our idea of wealth and prosperity. 
But you know what really took the biscuit? Being prompted to pay a 25 per cent “tip” on an already grossly overpriced cup of “coffee” at a Starbucks in Oklahoma. Yes, that Starbucks. The global mega brand, worth £110bn, which has faced intense scrutiny over its own tax arrangements in the past. 
What next? Picking up the postage and packaging for Jeff Bezos’s Amazon deliveries? Or maybe we should all chip in and top up Elon Musk’s Lithium Ion-powered runaround?
You might think that tipping has the unwavering support of all Americans. It’s as ubiquitous in the land of stars and stripes as country music and the John Deere baseball cap. Think again. 
According to a 2023 survey by the American personal finance website, Bankrate, two thirds of Americans have reached a tipping point, believing that the US approach to gratuities is spiralling out of control.
“We are a culture that is experiencing tipping fatigue,” says Diane Gottsman, National Etiquette Expert at The Protocol School of Texas. “We as a whole are feeling upset, frustrated, anxious, when we walk up to the counter and pay for a cup of coffee and then they turn the app around and they suggest tips that are almost equal to the cup of coffee.”
Gottsman believes that most Americans feel just as embarrassed about these new “tips” as many Britons will do on their next US holiday. 
“That tip is supposed to be discretionary, but it puts pressure on the consumer. We as consumers need to understand that we shouldn’t feel that pressure. The people behind us in the line are feeling that pressure and the people behind the counter feel the same pressure when they go buy a coffee or a bagel.”
So, what will I do on my next US holiday? In a diner, bar, or restaurant, I’ve decided to swallow my pride and cough up 20 per cent – “the sweet spot,” according to Gottsman. But when it comes to these new stealth tips, where my British instinct is telling me a gratuity is ridiculous, I’ll hold my nerve, tap, and run.
Simon Parker’s new book, A Ride Across America: A 4,000-mile adventure through the small towns and big issues of the USA, is available at The Telegraph Bookshop.