Intro. [Recording date: September 17, 2025.]
Russ Roberts: Today is September 17th, 2025, and I have the pleasure of welcoming back Political Scientist Anthony Gill from the University of Washington. This marks Tony’s third visit to the show; his last appearance was back in November 2017, when we discussed the intricacies of tipping.
Today’s topic may seem trivial at first glance—shampoo. However, I assure you that our conversation will delve into far more profound issues, inspired by an insightful essay Tony penned for the Library of Economics and Liberty, which hosts EconTalk. You’ll find that essay linked online for your reading pleasure.
Tony, it’s great to have you back on EconTalk.
Anthony Gill: Thanks, Russ! I’m thrilled to be here, and by the way, I love shampoo. I used it just this morning.
Russ Roberts: Who would have guessed?
Russ Roberts: Your essay opens with a straightforward question that appears to have an equally straightforward answer, which you argue is misleading. The question is: Who or what enforces property rights in America? What is that seemingly simple answer?
Anthony Gill: The answer seems self-evident: it’s the government, as they establish and codify these rules, which are conveniently cataloged in books accessible to everyone. When I pose this question to my students, they invariably respond that the government defines property rights.
Russ Roberts: Naturally, they also have the police and the courts.
Anthony Gill: Exactly.
Russ Roberts: So, it appears that property rights enforcement is indeed a governmental function.
Anthony Gill: It does seem obvious. I often conduct an exercise where I place my students on a deserted island—a classic economic scenario—and ask them to create a society. Their immediate answer is that the government will dictate usage rights. But then I push back, asking, “Who constitutes the government, and how do we determine its structure? How do we decide who decides?” Furthermore, I like to challenge them: “When was the last time you actually read the regulations governing property rights? Have you ever consulted the Federal Register or local regulatory codes?” The answer, invariably, is a resounding “never.”
Russ Roberts: Indeed, never.
Anthony Gill: Precisely. So, while this answer isn’t completely incorrect—the government does play a role in defining property rights and monitoring them—it doesn’t capture the full picture.
Russ Roberts: In many situations—something we frequently discuss on this program—there exist unwritten rules, societal norms, and informal agreements that govern who can use what. This brings us back to our initial topic of shampoo. By the way, I used some today as well. My children tease me because I wash my hair twice—yes, I literally rinse and repeat. They think I’ve fallen victim to the shampoo industry, but I quite enjoy the sensation of double washing. So, how does this connect to shampoo?
Anthony Gill: Well, first of all, you should definitely lather, rinse, and repeat—after all, that’s the directive on the bottle, right? We wouldn’t want to flout any established rules.
But the puzzle I’ve contemplated for years revolves around the small shampoo bottles provided by hotels. If you’ve traveled extensively over the years, you’ve likely noticed that many hotels offer these miniature bottles for personal use, along with conditioners and sometimes even mouthwash in upscale establishments. I have a whole bin—yes, a hefty bin—filled with these tiny shampoo bottles. They’re fascinating!
However, I’ve increasingly realized that hotels have switched to wall-mounted dispensers instead of those charming little bottles, which irritates me immensely because I love collecting them. I genuinely feel I could go on forever without needing to purchase shampoo.
This realization sparked a question for me.
During a recent stay at the Stephenson Institute at Wabash University, I found myself in a hotel that still provided the small bottles, contrasting sharply with my previous stay at Liberty Fund, where the wall dispensers were the norm. While pondering this in my room, I considered: “If I’m entitled to take these little shampoo bottles home”—a question I often pose to others, to which they affirm, “Of course you can!”—the implication is clear.
Russ Roberts: Just to interject: You sometimes take them home even if you haven’t opened them, right? So, if you’ve used one and it’s nearly empty, you’d feel justified in taking it because they wouldn’t leave it for the next guest.
However, let’s take this a step further—this could be a dangerous conversation! What about the scenario where I bring my own shampoo? Implicitly, it’s included in the hotel price—it’s not free in the strictest sense. It’s bundled into the room’s cost along with various other amenities like towels and sheets.
So, taking a full, unopened shampoo bottle home seems entirely acceptable because it’s essentially a gift included in the room rate. Many hotels even advertise that if you forgot something, they have it available for you, such as toothpaste or dental floss. They might even give you a toothbrush to enhance your stay.
But your point is that once it’s sitting there in the basket, you can reasonably claim it as yours as you pack your belongings before departure.
Anthony Gill: Absolutely. I often rationalize this behavior. It’s akin to the crackers served at a restaurant; once they’re placed on the table, they’re considered contaminated and need to be discarded, so taking them home seems justifiable.
And I admit this might be a bit excessive, but at conferences, I’ve even been known to seek out bald attendees, asking, “Hey, you’re not using that shampoo—mind if I take it?” People might find this appalling.
Russ Roberts: That is somewhat appalling.
Anthony Gill: I faced a similar reaction when I raised this question during a small conference at Wabash. I asked if we could take the little shampoo bottles home, and everyone nodded affirmatively. Then I queried, “What if I wanted to take the large dispenser bottles home?” The horror on their faces was palpable. They exclaimed, “Of course not!”
One possible reason is that large bottles are often 16 ounces, which exceeds TSA limits, but I suggested I could check my bag and transport it that way. Yet, the horror persisted. I pressed them: “Why not? What’s the difference between this three-ounce bottle and a 16-ounce one? It’s merely shampoo, after all.”
Russ Roberts: A more compelling example you present in your essay is that of bringing an empty bottle and filling it from the dispenser, since you might not use your full entitlement.
Anthony Gill: Precisely.
Russ Roberts: So, I’m entitled to three ounces and, if I don’t use it all, I could fill my empty bottle. I assume that would also horrify them.
Russ Roberts: Yes.
Anthony Gill: And, I do that! My affinity for shampoo bottles is quite intense. I have an obsession with containers in general! I must confess I have a problem. I will bring empty bottles to hotels, especially knowing certain brands utilize dispensers, and I’ll fill them up if I discover a shampoo I particularly like.
People are often shocked to learn this. They ask, “How can you do that?” I respond, “Since hotels began offering small bottles for around 50 years, I believe I’m entitled to at least three ounces of shampoo and conditioner with every room.” The shock I receive is quite amusing—who would actually do that?
This reaction, though bemused, is important as it ties back to the enforcement of property rights. The question remains: what’s wrong with me taking three ounces of shampoo from the dispenser to fill my small bottle?
Russ Roberts: Or two or three small bottles.
Anthony Gill: I’ll respectfully decline to answer that question.
Russ Roberts: It reminds me of a scene from the Marx Brothers’ first film, The Cocoanuts, which, while not their best, has its charm. In it, Harpo and Chico check into a hotel, and as they carry their suitcases, one spills open. The porter exclaims, “These suitcases are empty!” To which Chico replies, “Well, they won’t be when we leave.”
Back then, it was somewhat acceptable—though not truly right—to take a towel or two. The enforcement mechanisms were not flawless. I suspect, while I’ve never personally stolen a towel, I wonder how strictly they enforce such policies. A bathrobe, yes; they make it very clear you can buy one if you want it.
It raises the fascinating question of how property rights are enforced. Many of us—perhaps not you, Tony—might say, “It’s wrong to take a towel.” Yet, if we were to take advantage of the shampoo dispenser, few would likely call us out for it.
Anthony Gill: Exactly. And upon further inquiry, I found that while many accepted the notion of taking small shampoo bottles, they were horrified by the idea of taking a larger dispenser bottle. One esteemed political economist at the conference insisted, “No, that’s illegal!” So, I challenged him: “Show me the law.”
Russ Roberts: Indeed, where’s the law?
Anthony Gill: Exactly. The assertion that it’s illegal revealed to me that this person defaults to the idea that the government defines property rights. I fully acknowledge that stealing is wrong—after all, even the Ten Commandments state, “Thou shalt not steal.” Yet, I doubt there’s a specific law governing 16-ounce shampoo bottles.
So, what differentiates three ounces from 16 ounces? Where do we draw the line? Is it acceptable if it’s five ounces? Or ten? These questions provoke interesting discussions about the definition of theft and the nature of property rights. Is it truly the government that delineates these boundaries?
Russ Roberts: We’ll explore that answer shortly, but I’d like to add another example that frequently occupies my thoughts. Retail establishments, including hotels, grapple with shoplifting—essentially theft from corporations rather than individuals. We all understand that the prices we pay incorporate a premium for shoplifting. Stores factor in some degree of loss, as monitoring theft is often too costly. Consequently, businesses build this cost into their pricing structures.
In the past, when resources were scarcer, I assume hotel towels were more likely to be stolen, necessitating a price adjustment for room rates.
Or consider the mattress example you mention in your essay. It’s quite challenging to steal a mattress discreetly.
This leads many economics students to a troubling conclusion: “Since I’m indirectly paying for shoplifting through inflated prices, I’m entitled to take a few items without paying for them.” The same logic extends to hotel towels; if some are taken, shouldn’t I be allowed to take one since I’ve already contributed to the cost?
Anthony Gill: That reasoning can become quite slippery.
Russ Roberts: Indeed, it is.
Anthony Gill: The rationale for taking shampoo or even a mattress is troubling. When someone claims, “Everyone does it, and I’m paying for it in the price,” it opens a Pandora’s box. However, I don’t subscribe to that extreme viewpoint. While you’re learning more about my quirks, I assure you I’m not so brazen as to take mattresses or even large shampoo bottles. Rest assured, I draw the line somewhere, guided by a moral compass.
There’s an internal mechanism at play here. I find this aspect particularly fascinating. It connects to themes in Adam Smith’s The Theory of Moral Sentiments. I know that while staying in a hotel, I could easily take numerous items without consequence, but I choose not to. Something holds me back.
Let me introduce another example that horrified my fellow conference attendees because of its significance.
Russ Roberts: Please do.
Anthony Gill: We were discussing shampoos when the conversation shifted to mattresses, and I posed a question: “What about toilet paper?”
Russ Roberts: A brilliant example.
Anthony Gill: Consider the halfway-used roll of toilet paper. Why can’t I take that home? It fits perfectly in my carry-on. Everyone was aghast, as if I’d suggested something utterly reprehensible. I reminded them that during the 2020 pandemic, toilet paper became a hot commodity. So, if you were traveling, why not snag an extra half-roll? It would cost about the same as a tiny shampoo bottle. Yet, the horror at the mere suggestion was palpable. I assure you, I wouldn’t do such a thing.
Russ Roberts: I’d like to mention that when people say it’s okay to shoplift—or that there are gray areas—I think of grapes. In Italy, for example, you’re not allowed to touch the fruit. You can’t squeeze a nectarine to test its ripeness. However, here in Israel, you can feel free to sample a grape. Of course, taking a bite out of a peach is a no-go, but one grape is generally accepted.
This raises a question related to our shampoo ounces: If one grape is permissible, wouldn’t a second be acceptable? Perhaps even a third? But twelve would definitely cross the line.
So, why is that? How is it that we feel aversion to the sixth grape, the toilet paper roll, or the towel, even when there’s no legal document forbidding such actions? What’s enforcing this behavior instead?
Anthony Gill: You’ve just displayed classic economic reasoning. You’ve thought through the implications: “If everyone took grapes, their prices would rise, and we wouldn’t want that.” This cost-benefit analysis is what I encourage my students to navigate in discussions about collective action problems and the tragedy of the commons. But is that the actual thought process we go through when we refrain from taking those extra grapes? I suspect not. Instead, I think it’s more about being ingrained with values from an early age—being taught not to take more than one grape, or to respect others’ belongings.
Russ Roberts: That’s a fair point.
Anthony Gill: We learn these lessons from childhood: Don’t take too many grapes or someone else’s toys. These values help regulate our behavior and establish a societal standard of propriety. This internalized understanding becomes an innate brake that encourages us to act appropriately, bolstered by civil society’s reinforcement of these norms since our formative years.
Russ Roberts: Indeed. I should clarify that Kant’s categorical imperative suggests that when making decisions, one should consider: “What if everyone acted similarly?” If the answer is unfavorable, it suggests that the action is not appropriate.
I concur; few people consciously invoke the categorical imperative. Instead, they rely on the moral norms instilled by parenting, education, and community influences—these norms originate somewhere, which is a compelling inquiry. And they differ across societies—Italy and Israel being prime examples concerning fruit handling.
Yet, these norms—where they arise and how they are enforced—are two distinct questions.
Anthony Gill: If you want me to tackle that question, I can only shrug and say, “I’m not really sure.” As for where they come from? That’s a complex topic. Our previous episode on tipping highlighted the murky origins of such practices, dating back to 16th century Britain. These norms emerge organically.
We often consider price mechanisms in economic allocation, referencing the emergent order Hayek discussed. However, the emergence of norms follows a similar trajectory, and Hayek’s writings in Law, Legislation, and Liberty touch on the evolution of social norms. We can analyze this evolution, but pinpointing their origins is challenging because they seem to evolve naturally.
Russ Roberts: These norms likely evolve through trial and error and other intricate processes. Yet, they persist because they prove effective.
Moreover, having a norm in place is crucial. It establishes expectations for appropriate behavior. Some things are acceptable, while others are not. If a hotel doesn’t provide shampoo—perhaps the norm of the 16th century in England—guests would arrive equipped with their own. As society grew wealthier, hotels could afford to include such amenities without concern.
This explains the popularity of those delightful little shampoo bottles in the 1970s, 80s, and 90s. Guests didn’t bring their own shampoo because they knew it would be provided. However, as some began to take advantage, hotels shifted to wall dispensers, realizing it was more economical to provide larger bottles for shared use. This is better for customers, but it also serves the hotel’s bottom line.
What’s absurd about these evolving norms is that if everyone exploited them—filling up their bottles from dispensers—the hotel would need to raise prices to cover the losses. In an environment lacking trust where norms are disregarded, the availability of certain products diminishes. One might even question whether hotel rooms would continue to exist if guests felt entitled to pilfer mattresses or televisions. While this sounds absurd, it’s a plausible scenario in a society devoid of moral standards.
Anthony Gill: That’s a critical point, highlighting the broader implications of my discussion. If we solely depend on the government to establish and enforce property rights, we encounter significant challenges, as regulatory oversight is often lacking. Thus, we require a robust civil society—a foundation of trust and honesty—to facilitate a functional economy. This is essential.
Returning to your question about the origins and evolution of norms, it’s a fascinating yet murky inquiry. Reflecting on shampoo, I now see myself as a norm entrepreneur, encouraging people to fill their small bottles at dispensers. If I inadvertently undermine Western civilization with this practice, I might feel a twinge of guilt.
Russ Roberts: Yes, you might be.
Anthony Gill: If hotel prices soar because I’ve convinced everyone to swipe shampoo, I’d feel rather remorseful about that.
However, I don’t think that outcome is likely. [More to come, 30:14]
