Dear Economist,
You may be surprised to receive a question from a 13-year-old reader of the FT, but I always steal the weekend paper from my father, who is an economics professor.

Everyone in my family is well educated, which is why simple dinner chit-chat usually segues into an exuberant discussion chock full of sarcasm, wit and the occasional clash of opinions. Being the youngest gives me some leeway if I happen to be misinformed. But it also makes it hard to express my opinion on the topics being discussed.

Is there any way I could let myself be heard without having to throw a teenage tantrum?

Abisha Dowla

Dear Abisha,

Dinner sounds wonderful: a privilege to witness, if not so easy to get a word in edgeways. It is much like my life at the FT where I share a corridor with Martin Wolf, Gideon Rachman and Philip Stephens. Perhaps you should simply accept the situation – which could be worse – and soak up the insight. This is what I try to do at the FT. (When I do open my mouth I usually regret it.)

Yet I understand your difficulty. I suspect that your father has been trying to figure out whether you’re worth listening to using an old approach that we economists call “adaptive expectations”. You are 13, but he cannot quite clear his mind of your 12-year-old and even four-year-old predecessors. Still, you might point out to him that he is using an obsolete modelling technique.

An alternative is to recall Charles Caleb Colton’s remark that “the greatest fool may ask more than the wisest man can answer” and phrase your interjections as questions. Begin by asking your father if we will have a double-dip recession, and make a show of taking note of his answer for future reference. He may insist that you do the talking in future.

Also published at ft.com.

Dear Economist,

My daily journey requires a change of train at Mumbai station, which is extremely crowded. One day I was in a hurry and jumped into first class without a ticket.

As luck would have it, the inspector arrived. I admitted I did not have a ticket and paid Rs258 (£3.60) as a fine – hefty compared with an Rs8 one-way ticket.

I have always been a risk taker – I’m an economics student – and now I do not fear the inspector or the fine. I decided I would travel ticket-less for a further 15 days, by which time I would have received all the journeys which I could have bought for Rs258. Should I continue to travel in this way? Do fines work as a deterrent?

Ela Bodas

Dear Ela,

You are channelling the spirit of Gary Becker, winner of the Nobel memorial prize in economics for his application of economic reasoning to non-financial questions. One of Becker’s moments of inspiration came when running late to examine a doctoral student. He realised that he could save time if he parked illegally, quickly estimated the chances and consequences of being caught, and did the deed. His first question to the student was to ask him to sketch a theory of rational crime and punishment. The student passed, and Becker did not get a ticket.

Ethics aside, your actions do seem rational. You save time in queues and receive personal attention from inspectors instead. You save money, and the uncertainty of when you must pay a fine seems not to disturb you. You will make a good economist, if not a good citizen.

I interviewed Gary Becker some years ago, and his first act was to park in a 15-minute space for a two-hour lunch – on the grounds that nobody checked very carefully. You are following in august footsteps.

Also published at ft.com.

Dear Economist,

For the past year I’ve been looking for a new job in banking. No matter what I did or to whom I talked, there were no opportunities and I received nothing but rejections.

One month ago, it began to turn. As of this week, I have five job offers – as well as one internal opportunity. How could this happen? Yes, the economic situation has improved, but can that explain the leap from zero to six offers? If so, aren’t employers completely irrational in their hiring policies? As my supply is completely inelastic, their increased demand means that they now have to pay a significant mark-up compared with six months ago. Are employers just bad at planning or is there another reason why my dry spell has come to such a sudden and inflationary end?

In Demand

Dear In Demand,

Congratulations, but I think you’re making a common mistake, which is to confuse your own situation with that of the economy in general. (As the old joke goes: a recession is when my neighbour loses his job, but a depression is when I lose mine.) For example, data from Lindsey Macmillan at Bristol University shows that at the end of the British recession of the early 1990s, many households were richer than at its beginning. Others were much poorer. The variation between households was far greater than the difference between booms and recessions. Your experience is unique.

Many jobs are all about finding a good match between the job and the person who fills it. An applicant who is well matched – or can talk as if she is – will succeed. So my guess is that you have simply become a polished interviewee. My only concern is that you may have learnt to fake professionalism so well that you land up with a job that is too much for your abilities. But you’re in banking, so at least you’d have company.

Also published at ft.com.

Dear Economist,

I announce the General Theory of Affection Monopoly, and, like Keynes, I place the emphasis on the prefix “general”. Individual producers can collude and earn monopoly profits; Opec is the popular example. On a microeconomic level, individuals can collude to enhance “profits”. The General Theory of Affection Monopoly explains that women collude in an attempt to maximise profits.

In a monopoly, the producer restricts supply to maximise profit. By far, women in aggregate are the largest producers of affection for men. Therefore, women collude and restrict the supply of their affection to extract profit.

Are men hopeless consumers, like the western world with its oil requirement? How do we engage in a productive counter-policy to mitigate this threat?

Mike, New York

Dear Mike,

You may be right. This would certainly help to explain why women who flout this tacit agreement tend to be popular with men and unpopular with women. Some of them even enjoy financial rewards in exchange for their generous supplies of “affection”. Imagine!

However, your general theory is missing a key element: this is a bilateral monopoly. Women may be the largest producers of affection for men but men are also the largest producers of affection for women. You need an explanation for the undeniable fact that men seem to be on the financially disadvantageous end of this market. As an example: economist Lena Edlund has found that young women tend to live disproportionately in areas of Sweden where average male incomes are highest.

As for countering the cartel … Move to Alaska? Drill in protected wetlands? I’m not sure I wish to contemplate any further parallels. I suggest instead that you find a renewable source of affection: buy a tortoise.

Also published at ft.com.

Dear Economist,

With yet another one of my relationships in the toilet, I find myself back on the internet dating websites. I have long been confused by the strategy of women on these sites. As a man, I am seeking to convey, modestly, that I have a good, stable job and that I am not a weirdo.

I have no idea what most of the women are on about on the site – most of them have paragraphs of drivel, punctuated with statements such as: “I like going to the theatre and for walks in museums” or “I want a creative man”.

Do the women not realise that most men look at their photos and get in touch with the fit ones? I have a reasonable level of success, so I must be on to something. Why do they waste so much time with their reams of gibberish?

Digital Lover

Dear DL,

Game theorists describe this as a “cheap talk” game because anyone can claim anything online. The question is whether the cheap talk can help people to find a good match.

Saying “let’s meet at Kaffeine at noon” helps to co-ordinate a successful date. “I like going to the theatre” could also serve that purpose, but only if men respond honestly, instead of, like you, saying, “yeah whatever, I like that, too” then hoping to get lucky.

Sadly, women bear much of the cost of your scattergun approach so I can hardly expect you to change it. But perhaps you should, because what you gain in the number of dates secured you may lose later because you have nothing in common. You say that “yet another one” of your relationships is “in the toilet”. Quite.

The psychologist Dan Ariely, with three colleagues, studied internet dating and discovered that people spend 12 hours a week searching and e-mailing, but only two hours a week on dates. Dan Ariely blames the dating websites for being poorly designed. I blame you.

Also published at ft.com.

Dear Economist,
I am a diligent worker and an avid reader of your column. I have, however, become a victim of imperfect information. I am about to do my first-year exams and have just found out that not only should I have been reading your articles, but the whole of the FT and The Economist as well. I may not have substituted enough leisure for work and fear I am about to pay the price. What should I do? And would it be right for a journalist of high calibre to use his perfect information to suggest articles on macro and micro economics over the past year?
Will, Cambridge

Dear Will,

Nice try, but your story doesn’t stack up.

The Financial Times and The Economist are invaluable sources of information about the real world. You, on the other hand, are about to sit economics exams at Cambridge. If you have not yet learnt to appreciate the difference between reality and Cambridge economics, I really am worried about you.

This is especially true if your ignorance has survived your professed diligence. But I rather doubt that you have worked as carefully as you claim. You say that you are a victim of imperfect information, but surely previous exam papers are available for all to see.

A more likely interpretation is that you’re a victim of hyperbolic discounting, where you irrationally regard revision as a chore that fails any cost-benefit test, right up to the last few days before your exam. It’s a subject you may encounter in your third year, if you get there.

It’s not too late. Memorise your Taylor series and a couple of variants of the prisoner’s dilemma, and you’ll be fine. As for articles, I’m proud of a column I wrote for this magazine on November 6 last year on the economics of Jamie Oliver. It won’t get you through your exams but at least you’ll be able to whip up a fresh garden salad for summer.

Also published at ft.com.

Dear Economist,
I am an Indian but my country never qualifies for the World Cup. I usually support the Netherlands because I am a fan of Dutch football. But this year is different, because I work in England, pay my taxes here and feel that if England wins the World Cup it will lead to positive externalities for me. My boss may go easy on me, the general mood of the country will lift and even the looming spending cuts may feel more bearable. But should I sacrifice my love of Dutch football for the sake of my stake in the British economy?
Deepan Banati, London

Dear Deepan,

I am glad to see you are taking the beautiful game seriously, but puzzled that you are so determined to impale yourself upon the horns of an imaginary dilemma. You seem to think that supporting England and supporting the Netherlands are substitutes with sharply decreasing returns – in other words, you can only afford to support one or the other. I do not really understand why this should be true.

Until the two teams actually meet, you can support both. This has many merits. You have a real interest in twice as many matches, for example, and are more likely to have some wins to celebrate. If the teams do meet, the situation will be slightly more difficult. But this cannot happen until the semi-finals at the earliest. And it may not happen at all: neither England nor the Netherlands are exactly permanent fixtures in the World Cup’s last four.

In the unlikely event that your divided loyalties are tested, find a Dutch pub and cheer the Dutch with abandon. At work the next day, resume the demeanour of an England fan, whether celebrating victory or heroic failure in a penalty shoot-out.

Economists always assume that people may hide their true preferences; this is one assumption to which you should adhere.

Also published at ft.com.

Dear Economist,

I consider myself a good documentary photographer, but my full-time job is in another field. I want to start a career in wedding photography, so I need to build a portfolio. But how?

I tried to offer a cut-rate service that basically covers the production cost. No luck.

My theory is: this is a glamorous business, like Hollywood. If you are the client, you probably won’t worry about cost unless you’re on a shoestring. You won’t trust a new start-up on a unique event. If you are on a shoestring, you probably won’t look at a professional photographer’s price list.

I have considered offering myself as a free assistant or second shooter. But as you may notice, wedding photographers are like plumbers – they have quite a local base. I doubt they would want to help out a competitor in their own back yard. So how do I get started?

Camera for hire

Dear Camera for hire,

Actually, your business is more like hedge fund management or heart surgery. Nobody goes for a cut-price heart surgeon.

You really have two options. One is to take photographs at friends’ weddings. You don’t need permission from a rival photographer, you just need permission from a friend.

But I have a more radical suggestion. To win business you need to demonstrate confidence in your expertise. Tell prospective clients that you will pay them for the privilege of taking photos at their wedding, and that you’re confident you’ll make money anyway because they will want to buy your prints. Not only does this scheme give them some compensation if you prove to be an amateurish snapper, but more importantly it sends a signal of your self-confidence. A true incompetent would never be able to afford such a deal. I only hope you are as good as you say you are.

Also published at ft.com.

Dear Economist,
While on a brief break in Devon, I was sitting in a coffee shop that provides free wireless internet access. As the lunch hour approached, the proprietor asked me to vacate the table for four because he wanted it to be free for a lunch party. This made me feel as though he didn’t really appreciate my being there – even as a paying customer.

Should the coffee shop offer wireless internet access if it isn’t willing to accept the opportunity cost associated with it?

Jon Upton, Paris, France

Dear Jon,

As a man whose espresso is rarely complete without a laptop alongside it, I sympathise with your plight. But I also sympathise with the difficulties of the café owner. The café, like many businesses, offers free goods and services bundled together with the products it sells. You are charged for your coffee, but not for the use of a cup and saucer. Sugar is free.

The trouble is that sometimes these services can be very costly to provide. At lunchtime the opportunity cost of letting you take up a table for four is substantial. Sometimes restaurants cope with this by charging high premiums for products that go hand in hand with long sittings – wine, starters and desserts. At other times they are forced to be more direct.

The wireless access, cheap to provide at any time, is a side-issue. The difficulty is that people like you take it as an invitation worth abusing. Perhaps the proprietor should switch it off at lunchtime. Perhaps he should forewarn customers with a little sign.

But should that be necessary? There are tacit agreements governing the fair use of these “free” resources. If you had walked off with your cup and saucer, or half a kilo of sugar, the owner would have challenged you, sign or no sign. Would you then have felt unwelcome? You would have been unwelcome for a reason.

Also published at ft.com.

Dear Economist,
My ironing lady – housebound and bored – has taken to phoning me up and begging me to bring round my bed linen for ironing. As I return to pick it up again, proffering a pair of crisp £20 notes, I quip: “But Sheila, aren’t I providing occupational therapy and shouldn’t you be paying me?” She laughs, pocketing the banknotes, and glows with satisfaction as I take my pile of pillowslips. It is my social duty to continue this relationship, but why do I feel I am the one being flattened?
Flora Fortis, London

Dear Ms Fortis,

You are indeed providing great satisfaction to a vulnerable woman. But don’t feel too smug. You seem to be imagining that you could demand free ironing, or even charge your ironing lady for the loan of sheets that she wants to iron. I rather doubt this.

Naive game theory suggests that since Sheila enjoys ironing so much, you can threaten to withhold your custom and she will agree to iron for nothing. But to analyse the situation properly you must consider Sheila’s outside options. There are many dirty sheets in London, and she will not find it hard to secure other customers. You, on the other hand, will have to travel a long way before you find another ironing lady so cheerful.

Sheila’s satisfaction with her job is surely not unique. I know we talk of work as a terrible chore, something we do only for cash. Yet in reality, many people enjoy their jobs and get paid to do them. The leisure time “enjoyed” by the unemployed is not enjoyable at all. It is a crushing experience, especially on top of the loss of income.

In a world where rumpled linen is in plentiful supply, Sheila’s enjoyment of ironing is simply her good fortune. It is not something you will be able to parlay into cheap laundry services.

Also published at ft.com.