With frustration abounding, an introduction to the newfangled fundamental macroeconomic term “feeflation”…
by: Carl Scharwath
Somewhere along the way, the simple act of buying something stopped being simple. What used to be a straightforward transaction has turned into a scavenger hunt of hidden charges, surprise add-ons, and digital tip jars popping up like mushrooms after rain. This is called “feeflation” — not inflation in the traditional sense, but a slow, relentless expansion of fees that seems to multiply every time I shop, travel, or order a simple cup of coffee.
Take hotel parking for instance. Once upon a time, parking was a courtesy — a quiet understanding that if I stayed the night, my car could too. Now it’s a line item dressed up like a luxury amenity. Twenty-five dollars a night for the privilege of leaving my car on a slab of asphalt, which is akin to the cost of a lunch, minus, of course, the four dollar Diet Coke and the tip. At this price, should I expect the parking lot to offer a car wash and turndown service as well?
Then there’s the modern tip jar ecosystem. I’m a generous tipper, but the digital screens have become bold in ways no human ever would. When a cashier hands me a bottle of water, suddenly I’m staring at a glowing tablet asking if I’d like to tip 20, 25, or 30 percent. For what, exactly — the wrist motion of passing it across the counter? The existential support of being present while I hydrate? If one chooses to abstain from the overzealous tip request, you have to hunt for the “No Tip” option and eventually ask the cashier how to find it, which is its own brand of humiliation.
Even the old school tip jars have evolved. They’re everywhere now — yoga studios, hardware stores, fast food restaurants, you name it. Some have inspirational quotes taped to them, as if a handwritten “Be the Change” will convince me to fund the cashier’s next oat milk latte. And just when I think I’ve escaped, the checkout screen asks if I’d like to round up for charity. The causes are often noble, but the frequency turns generosity into a reflex rather than a choice. Sometimes, I wonder if corporations are quietly outsourcing their philanthropy to customers who are already juggling their own rising costs.
It must be noted that feeflation isn’t just about money. It’s about the erosion of clarity. It’s the sense that every transaction now comes with a surprise ending. It’s the fatigue of being constantly nudged — tip here, round up there, pay extra for the basics you assumed were included. Still, there’s a strange comfort in naming it. Once you see feeflation for what it is, you can meet it with a raised eyebrow, a little humor, and the occasional firm, confident tap on “No Tip Today.” Maybe that’s the small rebellion we’re allowed — reclaiming the simple act of paying for what we actually meant to buy, grateful at least we aren’t yet being charged a fee to calculate the service fee.
Carl Scharwath is a multidisciplinary artist whose work spans poetry, fiction, essays, plays, and photography. His writing and visual art have been published more than 200 times in journals worldwide. He is the author of five poetry collections and four photography books, and he currently serves as the art editor for Glitterati. Carl has received four Best of the Net nominations (2022–2025) and two Pushcart Prize nominations for both poetry and short fiction. He is also active in his local arts community through the Creative Happiness Institute, where he shares literary readings with assisted living residents and teaches writing workshops at area libraries.
