Taarof: the Money and Paying Issue

Updated: 8 July 2019

Taarof is a kind of social behavior embedded in Iranian culture. On a very basic level, it’s a form of politeness or polite refusal. It’s the often maddening going back and forth of meaningless banter in which the person never reveals his or her true feelings. Sometimes it also shows social rank. And while there are subtle variations of taarof and taarof-ing, there is one that stands out the most (especially to foreigners): taarof and matters of money and paying.

Taarof and the battle of the bill

If you have Iranian friends, you may notice that they nearly come to blows over who is going to pay the bill. It’s quite a scene that attracts the attention of confused Americans (or any other nationality) nearby wondering why anyone would argue with someone trying to pay for them. But that’s how we do it. We often swear on our own or a dear one’s life: “I’ll pay! Joone man, I won’t let you pay!” And that’s when you know you’ve lost the battle.

But it’s not the end of the world. You can always make it up. Buy them a small gift or foot the bill next time. Foreigners in Iran have to deal with a bigger issue, one that is a mystery. What on earth do you do when you hear…

The two magic words: ghâbel nadâre

I’m talking about when you are buying something, say a piece of jewelry, and you ask the price and instead hear ghâbel nadâre (it’s nothing/you don’t owe me anything). They are trying to imply that you are so important that the jewelry is not worthy of you. Ghâbel nadâre is said almost as a reflex to the question “How much is it?” And the salesman or (more frequently) the taxi driver won’t even think about taking your money before he says ghâbel nadâre (sometimes in the same breath as the price).

For example, you are at a restaurant with your friend (before you come to blows), and you ask the waiter for the bill. Ghâbel nadâre. You’re in a taxi and arrive at your destination and ask how much the fare is. Ghâbel nadâre. Now, unless it’s an extreme circumstance in which you actually know the person because you saved their child from a life threatening illness, and they truly want to somehow return the favor and absolutely refuse payment, you always pay.

Ghâbel nadâre and gift giving

Gift giving is similar. When Iranians give gifts, they usually say, “This is something nâghâbel (unworthy; This is a gift unworthy of you.) And it’s something you can say, too, to sound native when you give a gift.

Just be careful about what you compliment because Iranians will force you to take it saying ghâbel nadâre. For example, if you tell your aunt that you like her antique ring (or painting or decorative item or anything else for that matter), she will respond ghâbel nadâre. She’ll insist that you take it, that she has no use for it, that it looks SO great on you- better than it ever did on her. I also know many Iranians who have lost something precious to a foreign guest who thought the taarof was sincere.

My reaction in Iran when someone compliments something of mine is just to say thank you. It feels weird to leave them hanging, and although I know they would never take it if I said ghâbel nadâre, it just feels too insincere to fake. So I don’t. 

Why ghâbel nadâre?

Receiving money for your services is quite standard throughout the world. Can you imagine the reaction if the next time you asked for the bill at a restaurant in the U.S. the waiter said, “Oh, don’t worry about it!” For Iranians, though, it’s as if they feel it’s incredibly rude to name the price right off the bat. Of course, if you were to just say thank you and walk away, there would be hell to pay. But that would never happen. It’s an unwritten rule. You say ghâbel nadâre, but you know that no Iranian would ever even conceive of accepting. And that’s why I think it’s a risk to say this to foreign tourists.

A Confused Iranian-American in Iran

I admit that I’ve been vocal about not taarofing with foreigners in Iran. Tourism is a business, and when tourists come to Iran, they contribute to the economy. So I’m against all taarofing with foreigners and think that Iranians shouldn’t ever say ghâbel nadâre to them or offer to pay (which they always do). Yes, yes, I know it’s the culture and it’s one of the best memories tourists take back from Iran. But like I said- tourism is a business. And in all honesty, it just leaves the tourists confused.

And evidently, it leaves the Iranian-American (i.e., me) confused, too.

My best friend was visiting me, so I was playing tour guide and took her to Sa’ad Abad Palace (one of the residences of the Shah). It was a cold, rainy day, and the ticket vendor was nowhere in sight. So I used the kiosk to buy tickets. Meanwhile, I heard two tourists speaking Spanish. They didn’t know how to buy tickets, so I offered to buy them tickets with my card, and they accepted. The four of us chatted for a few minutes and then they tried to pay me back. And what did I say? Ghâbel nadâre, or more accurately, “the Spanish version”, invito yo.

I’m not even sure why I did it. There was no logical reason why I should have paid for them. Had the ticket vendor been there, I never would have offered. But it was partly the Spanish connection and partly the fact that it just felt wrong not to. And though I meant it sincerely, it was their third visit to Iran, so they were on top of it and paid me back. They probably thought it was taarof anyway.

Ghâbel nadâre in the US

But does this unwritten code also exist outside the borders of Iran? It seems as though the Iranian can’t help but transfer this habit into foreign lands as well. A few years back, I was on a kebab strike for about a full year because I had had too much in a short time. Later, I couldn’t seem to stay away from it and found myself at a kebabi for the fourth time in a span of two weeks. As I went to pay, in true Iranian fashion, I heard ghâbel nadâre. Perhaps it was because they had been seeing so much of me, and this was their idea of “buy three kebabs, get the fourth one free”. I was a little taken aback, though, hearing this phrase used outside of its habitat. I simply replied khâhesh mikonam (please, I insist), and my credit card was swiped.

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