For all the countless ways the UK has become Americanised over the past hundred years – from the embracing of undrinkable Starbucks coffees to our spiralling-out-of-control tip culture – talking about money isn’t one of them. It is still considered crass, in most circles I know of, to ask how much somebody spent on a purchase unless they offer up the information themselves (“only £7 on Vinted, can you believe it?” usually being the gist of it). Even with our closest friends, price enquiries are often couched in quintessentially British politeness: “If you don’t mind me asking, how much did you pay for your plasterer?” It’s rare for anyone to demur, but the offer is always there.
The most obvious example of this discomfort when discussing cold, hard cash is surely wages. I don’t think I know the salary of a single human being other than myself – not my sister, not my school friends, not those in my most inner of inner circles. It’s odd, when you think about it. People who’ll happily spill their guts on darkest thoughts and deepest desires after three gin and tonics remain stubbornly tight-lipped about the contents of their payslip.
It’s why the news that Labour might force employers to share workers’ salaries is, I think, wonderfully refreshing. Bridget Phillipson, minister for women and equalities, is mulling the move after tasking the Office for Equality and Opportunity to put forward plans to tackle pay discrimination. Proposed reforms include ordering firms to share salary levels, pay structures and criteria for progression with their existing staff, plus requiring companies to inform interview candidates about the pay upfront when hiring. They could also be warned off asking potential workers about their previous salaries.
Praise be! On this last point, employees have always been at a disadvantage in certain industries where salaries aren’t advertised; playing the mental poker game of deciding whether to disclose your real salary or… well, massage it a bit, just to ensure the new company won’t try to shake you down and cut the previous incumbent’s wages by 20 per cent, is an exhausting, demoralising and unfair exercise. It’s like starting the game with a loaded deck – and the employer has all the aces.
As for the rest of the suggested changes, as a woman, I can immediately see the benefits. Without further transparency, closing the gender pay gap will stay an impossible task – because you have to be able to see the gap to address it in the first place. In the UK, it remains at 7 per cent for full-time employees as of April 2024. That number has been shrinking – it stood at 27.4 per cent in 1997 and has fallen by 2.1 per cent since 2017, when the UK introduced mandatory gender pay gap reporting for all companies with 250 or more employees – but still. The problem persists.
Clearly, if a little exposure helps, a lot of exposure could help even more. After all, it’s not enough to know that overall the men in your organisation earn 20 per cent more than the women; what would really aid in fighting the good fight is knowing the specifics. If everyone could see that “Useless Darren” from marketing, say, was earning £5k more than his peer Denise, despite consistently putting in 30 per cent less effort and producing vastly inferior work, it would be near-impossible to ignore the injustice. Uncomfortable questions would be asked. Change would be demanded.
But even going beyond the obvious feminist advantages, I’ll be honest: I’m just dying to know what my colleagues earn out of sheer, unadulterated nosiness. Aren’t you? If presented with a sealed envelope containing all employees’ pay details, who among us could resist the temptation to have it ripped open and devoured within 10 seconds of receipt?
I’ve seen a fair few newspaper columnists disgruntled about the idea of sharing what they make, with one positing that it would further exacerbate Britain’s productivity crisis and lead to discontented workplaces. These sound like excuses to me – a way to justify covering up all the instances where pay discrepancies are better kept under wraps because they are inherently deeply unfair. If anger comes as a result of bringing the truth blinking awkwardly into the light, perhaps it is warranted. Anger might just be what’s needed to drive real, lasting change and a meaningful push for greater equality. If you’re looking for a real-world example, salary information in Norway is publicly accessible; the country also happens to have come third best in the World Economic Forum’s 2025 Global Gender Gap Index. It doesn’t feel like a coincidence.
The real productivity killer in offices is arguably feeling under-appreciated for your skills, talents and effort. The current opaqueness built into many industries without specific pay grades or salary bands only serves to stir up suspicion and resentment – whispers swirl and rumours abound, never confirmed or denied, about how much certain undeserving individuals are on. Secrecy becomes a breeding ground for bitterness.
Conversely, lifting the lid can actually inspire contentment. A colleague of mine shares her experience of working at a previous outfit that published all workers’ salaries: “Many of us found it hilarious and didn’t want to work harder to get a promotion if the pay bump into the next band was only about 2-3k for a lot more work. It can make people more satisfied with their lot in that way,” she recalls fondly.
So bring on the reckoning, I say. Call me curious, call me a masochist – but there’s no way I’m not opening Pandora’s moneybox.