Two coffees at the weekend. Add it to the tab. Spontaneous mid-week shop for Weetabix and strawberries. Add it to the tab. A re-order of the needlessly fancy pet food that our dog has guilt-tripped us into buying, lest she go on hunger strike. Add it to the tab.
Since we started dating nearly a decade ago, my husband and I have had this same financial setup. If we’re out together and someone picks up the bill, or a shared item is bought by one person, then it gets added to a rolling tab. We use the ‘Split’ option on our Monzo bank accounts, but it works the same as Splitwise or any other cost-sharing app. Essentially, it keeps a running total of what we’re spending and who owes what.
There are no financial demands or angry letters if one person’s debt starts to pile a little higher, we just make a conscious effort to readjust. Next weekend, he buys the flat whites.
To us, this makes sense. But for others, the fact that we have lived together since 2018, paid a joint mortgage for years, own a car, a Border Terrier, and a dodgy boiler, makes this system odd. We are legally married, so for all intents and purposes are entitled to each other’s cash anyway.
At the beginning, this was a product of two single people coming together and trying to (broadly) share the cost of dates. It can be hard to keep track manually, but it was important that one of us wasn’t shouldering way more financial responsibility. Of course, there are nice treats or special occasions, but equal sharing is a foundational pillar for us.
As time has gone on, we acquired a joint account for major expenses – the mortgage, council tax, water, etc, which we split equitably (ie. he earns slightly more so pays slightly more; we both pay the same proportion of our wage). We pay a fixed lump sum into that account once a month. After bills are paid, there is a buffer left over for big expenses.
But the little drip, drip, drip of spending in daily life? The unpredictable costs that ebb and flow each month? The money for that remains in our separate bank accounts. With some separate savings and separate credit cards.
Both of us – mainly me, in fact totally me – longed to maintain financial independence. I don’t want all of my money going into one giant pot; I like making decisions about what I’m spending my money on, and not having to explain that to anyone else. If I want to spend £100 on new shoes, that’s my call. If I want to invest my life savings in icebergs, then I should probably take some financial advice, but it would be up to me. If it was a totally pooled resource, I’d feel like I had to justify any expenses to my co-investor (not that he would ask).
Compared to a fully joint account, this setup has the benefit of preserving that independence but does mean that when we buy items together there is a little bit of admin to make sure we’re equally sharing the cost. It’s imperfect, but it works for us.
We aren’t the only ones. A report published last year found that 44 per cent of those in long-term relationships think totally joint bank accounts are old-fashioned. The research, by wealth managers MoneyFarm, found the reasons given were that some partners were spendthrifts (20 per cent) or had terrible debt (13 per cent) but like me, many (a third) want to be financially independent where possible. (There is a suggestion that this is also about being secretive with money: my husband is more than welcome to look at my bank statements.)
Hundreds of discussion boards on Reddit and Mumsnet ponder this same question: are joint bank accounts an essential tool or an outdated concept? Historically, of course, many women would not have been the earners in a heterosexual relationship – or at least would not have been earning enough to be the breadwinner – so contributing equally from financial standpoint would have been hard to achieve. Not to mention women couldn’t even open their own bank accounts without their husband or father’s approval before 1975. Those women deserved equal access to that envelope of earnings at the end of the week.
But today, many couples are made up of two earners – whether part-time or full-time – as a result, both parties are coming to relationships with broader financial foundations. More to contribute, but also more to protect. One in six women in the UK has experienced financial abuse in a current or former relationship, according to a 2020 report. And Home Office data shows a correlation between economically disenfranchised women and risk: women who can’t find £100 at short notice are three and a half times more likely to experience domestic abuse.
I believe that whoever you are with, for women, it is financially prudent to not pour every penny into a joint kitty. In the future, I know that our earning power will become more imbalanced, with considerations like maternity leave and my loss of earnings, and we will cross that bridge when we get to it. But I intend to keep a personal ring-fenced account, for better or for worse.
I know some people loathe this kind of money-counting – seeing it as, at best, unspontaneous and laborious, and at worst, tight and penny-pinching. Many a friendship have been soured by the unequal splitting of a restaurant bill (I didn’t even have a starter!). But for us, it’s a system that works. Just don’t look at how much we’re spending on coffee.
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