How We Decide (12 page)

If people were perfectly rational—if they made decisions solely by crunching the numbers—then subjects would always choose to invest, since the expected overall value on each round is higher if one invests ($1.25, or $2.50 multiplied by the 50 percent chance of getting tails on the coin toss) than if one does not ($1). In fact, if a person invests on each and every round, there is a mere 13 percent chance that he'll wind up with less than twenty dollars, which is the amount a player would have if he didn't invest in any of the rounds.

So what did the subjects in Damasio's study do? Those with intact emotional brains invested only about 60 percent of the time. Because human beings are wired to dislike potential losses, most people were perfectly content to sacrifice profit for security, just like investors choosing low-yield bonds. Furthermore, the willingness of a person to invest plummeted immediately after he or she had lost a gamble—the pain of losing was too fresh.

These results are entirely predictable; loss aversion makes us irrational when it comes to evaluating risky gambles. But Damasio and Loewenstein didn't stop there. They also played the investing game with neurologically impaired patients who could no longer experience emotion. If it was the feeling of loss aversion that caused these bad investing decisions, then these patients should perform
better
than their healthy peers.

That's exactly what happened. The emotionless patients chose to invest 83.7 percent of the time and gained significantly more money than normal subjects. They also proved much more resistant to the misleading effects of loss aversion, and they gambled 85.2 percent of the time after a lost coin toss. In other words, losing money made them
more
likely to invest as they realized that investing was the best way to recoup their losses. In this investing situation, having no emotions was a crucial advantage.

And then there is
Deal or No Deal,
which turns out to be a case study in loss aversion. Imagine you are Frank. Less than a minute ago, you turned down the Banker's offer of €102,006. But now you've picked the worst possible briefcase, and the offer has declined to €2,508. In other words, you've lost a cool hundred grand. Should you accept the current deal? The first thing your mind does is make a list of the options under consideration. However, instead of evaluating those options in terms of arithmetic—which would be the rational thing to do—you use your emotions as a shortcut to judgment. You simulate the various scenarios and see how each makes you feel. When you imagine accepting the offer of €2,508, you experience a sharply negative emotion, even though it's a perfectly fair offer. The problem is that your emotional brain interprets the offer as a dramatic loss, since it's automatically compared to the much larger amount of money that had been on offer just a few moments earlier. This resulting feeling serves as a signal that accepting the deal is a bad idea; you should reject the offer and open another briefcase. In this situation, loss aversion makes you risk seeking.

But now that you've imagined rejecting the offer, you fixate on the highest monetary amount now possible. This is the potential gain you measure everything against, what economists call the reference point. (For Frank, the potential gain during the final rounds was €10,000. For the physicians being quizzed about that unusual Asian disease, the potential gain was saving all six hundred people.) When you think about this optimistic possibility, you experience, however briefly, a pleasurable feeling. You contemplate the upside of risk and envision a check with lots of zeros. You might not be able to get back the €100,000 offer, but at least you won't leave empty-handed.

The upshot of all this is that you badly miscalculate the risk. You keep on chasing after the possibility of a big gain because you can't accept the prospect of a loss. Your emotions have sabotaged common sense.

Loss aversion is an innate flaw. Everyone who experiences emotion is vulnerable to its effects. It's part of a larger psychological phenomenon known as negativity bias, which means that, for the human mind,
bad is stronger than good.
This is why in marital interactions, it generally takes at least five kind comments to compensate for one critical comment. As Jonathan Haidt points out in his book
The Happiness Hypothesis,
people believe that a person who's been convicted of murder must perform at least twenty-five acts of "life-saving heroism" in order to make up for his or her one crime. There's no rational reason for us to treat gains and losses or compliments and criticisms so differently. But we do. The only way to avoid loss aversion is to know about the concept.

"The credit card is my enemy," Herman Palmer says. Herman is a very friendly guy, with sympathetic eyes and a wide smile that fills his face, but when he starts to talk about credit cards, his demeanor abruptly darkens. He furrows his brow, lowers his voice, and leans forward in his chair. "Every day, I see lots of smart people who have the same problem: Visa and MasterCard. Their problem is all those plastic cards they've got in their wallet." Then he shakes his head in dismay and lets out a resigned sigh.

Herman is a financial counselor in the Bronx. He has spent the last nine years working for GreenPath, a nonprofit organization that helps people deal with their debt problems. His small office is a minimalist affair, with a desk so clean that it looks as if no one has ever used it. The only thing on the desk is a large glass candy jar, but this jar isn't stuffed with M&M's or jelly beans or miniature candy bars. It's filled with the cut-up shards of hundreds of credit cards. The plastic pieces make for a pretty collage—the iridescent security stickers glitter in the light—but Herman doesn't keep the jar around for aesthetic reasons. "I use it as a kind of shock treatment," he says. "I'll ask a client for their cards and just cut them up right in front of them. And then I just add the cards to the jar. I want people to see that they are not alone, that so many people have the exact same problem." Once the jar in his office is completely filled—and that only takes a few months—Herman empties it into the big glass vase in the waiting room. "That's our flower display," he jokes.

According to Herman, the jar of credit cards captures the essence of his job. "I teach people how
not
to spend money," he says. "And it's damn near impossible to not spend money if you've still got all these cards, which is why I always cut them up." The first time I visited the GreenPath office was a few weeks after Christmas, and the waiting room was full of anxious-looking people trying to pass the time with old issues of celebrity magazines. Every chair was taken. "January is our busiest time of year," Herman says. "People always overspend during the holidays, but they don't realize how much they've overspent until the credit card bills arrive in the mail. That's when they come see us."

For the most part, Herman's clients are from the neighborhood, a working-class area of row houses that were once single-family dwellings but are now apartment buildings, with numerous buzzers and mailboxes grafted onto the front doors. Many of the homes have fallen into disrepair, with peeling siding and graffiti. There aren't any supermarkets nearby, but there are plenty of bodegas and liquor stores. A little farther down the block, there are two pawnshops and three check-cashing operations. Every few minutes, another number 6 subway train rumbles directly overhead, shrieking to a stop near the GreenPath office. It's the last stop on the line.

Nearly half of Herman's clients are single mothers. Many of these women work full-time but still struggle to pay their bills. Herman estimates that his clients spend, on average, around 40 percent of their income on housing, even though the neighborhood has some of the cheapest real estate in New York City. "It's easy to judge people," Herman says. "It's easy to think, 'I would never have gotten into so much debt,' or to think that just because someone needs financial help, then they must be irresponsible. But a lot of the people I see are just trying to make ends meet. The other day I had a mother come in who just broke my heart. She was working two jobs. Her credit card bill was all daycare charges for her kid. What am I supposed to tell her? That her kid can't go to daycare?"

This ability to help his clients without judging them, to understand what they're going through, is what makes Herman such a good financial counselor. (He has an unusually high success rate, with more than 65 percent of his clients completing their debt-elimination plans.) It would be easy for Herman to play the scold, to chastise his clients for letting their spending get out of control. But he does just the opposite. Instead of lecturing his clients, he listens to them. After Herman destroys their credit cards at the initial meeting—he almost always gets out his scissors within the first five minutes—he will spend the next several hours poring over their bills and bank statements, trying to understand what's gone wrong with their finances. Is their rent too expensive? Are they spending too much money on clothes or cell phones or cable television? "I always tell my clients that they are going to leave my office with a practical plan," Herman says. "And charging it to Mr. MasterCard is not a plan."

When Herman talks about the people who have been helped by his financial advice, his face takes on the glow of a proud parent. There's the plumber from Co-op City who lost his job and started paying rent with his credit card. After a few months, his interest rate was above 30 percent. Herman helped him consolidate his debt and get his expenses under control. There's that single mother who couldn't afford daycare. "We helped her find other ways to save money," he says. "We cut her expenses by enough so that she didn't have to charge everything. The trick is to notice whenever you're spending money. All that little stuff? Guess what: it adds up." There's the schoolteacher who racked up debt on ten different credit cards and paid hundreds of dollars every month in late fees alone. It took five years of careful discipline, but now the teacher is debt free. "I know the client is going to be okay when they start telling me about the sweater or CD they really wanted but they didn't buy," Herman says. "That's when I know they are starting to make better decisions."

Most of the people who come to see Herman tell the same basic story. One day, a person gets a credit card offer in the mail. (Credit card companies sent out 5.3 billion solicitations in 2007, which means the average American adult got fifteen offers.) The card seems like such a good deal. In big bold print it advertises a low introductory rate along with something about getting cash back or frequent-flier miles or free movie tickets. And so the person signs up. He fills out the one-page form and then, a few weeks later, gets a new credit card in the mail. At first, he doesn't use it much. Then one day he forgets to get cash, and so he uses the new credit card to pay for food at the supermarket. Or maybe the refrigerator breaks, and he needs a little help buying a new one. For the first few months, he always manages to pay off the full bill. "Almost nobody gets a credit card and says, 'I'm going to use this to buy things I can't afford,'" Herman says. "But it rarely stays like that for long."

According to Herman, the big problem with credit cards—the reason he enjoys cutting them up so much—is that they cause people to make stupid financial choices. They make it harder to resist temptation, so people spend money they don't have. "I've seen it happen to the most intelligent people," Herman says. "I'll look at their credit card bill and I'll see a charge for fifty dollars at a department store. I'll ask them what they bought. They'll say, 'It was a pair of shoes, Herman, but it was on sale.' Or they'll tell me that they bought another pair of jeans but the jeans were fifty percent off. It was such a good deal that it would have been dumb
not
to buy it. I always laugh when I hear that one. I then have them add up all the interest they are going to pay on those jeans or that pair of shoes. For a lot of these people, it will be around twenty-five percent a month. And you know what? Then it's not such a good deal anymore."

These people aren't in denial. They know they have serious debt problems and that they're paying a lot of interest on their debts. That's why they're visiting a financial adviser. And yet, they
still
bought the jeans and the pair of shoes on sale. Herman is all too familiar with the problem: "I always ask people, 'Would you have bought the item if you had to pay cash? If you had to go to an ATM and feel the money in your hands and then hand it over?' Most of the time, they think about it for a minute and then they say no."

Herman's observations capture an important reality about credit cards. Paying with plastic fundamentally changes the way we spend money, altering the calculus of our financial decisions. When you buy something with cash, the purchase involves an actual loss—your wallet is literally lighter. Credit cards, however, make the transaction abstract, so that you don't really feel the downside of spending money. Brain-imaging experiments suggest that paying with credit cards actually reduces activity in the insula, a brain region associated with negative feelings. As George Loewenstein, a neuroeconomist at Carnegie Mellon, says, "The nature of credit cards ensures that your brain is anesthetized against the pain of payment." Spending money doesn't feel bad, so you spend more money.

Consider this experiment: Drazen Prelec and Duncan Simester, two business professors at MIT, organized a real-life, sealed-bid auction for tickets to a Boston Celtics game. Half the participants in the auction were informed that they had to pay with cash; the other half were told they had to pay with credit cards. Prelec and Simester then averaged the bids for the two different groups. Lo and behold, the average credit card bid was
twice
as high as the average cash bid. When people used their Visas and MasterCards, their bids were much more reckless. They no longer felt the need to contain their expenses, and so they spent way beyond their means.

This is what's happened to the American consumer over the past few decades. The statistics are bleak: the average household currently owes more than nine thousand dollars in credit card debt, and the average number of credit cards per person is 8.5. (More than 115 million Americans carry month-to-month balances on their credit cards.) In 2006, consumers spent more than seventeen billion dollars in penalty fees alone on their credit cards. Since 2002, Americans have had a negative savings rate, which means that we've spent more than we've earned. The Federal Reserve recently concluded that this negative savings rate was largely a consequence of credit card debt. We spend so much money on interest payments that we can't save for retirement.