For those with smartphones, credit cards and bank accounts, a cashless world makes life faster and easier – less time accurately counting change at the checkout; You don't have to put crumpled banknotes in your pockets.
With the rise of tap-to-pay and digital payment apps, many people, especially wealthier Americans, now carry less cash. According to a 2022 Pew survey, about 60 percent of adults with household incomes of at least $100,000 said no purchases are paid for in cash in a typical week, compared to 24 percent of those making less than $30,000.
But in New York, that convenience can come at a price. An entire economy still relies on cash – street performers, food vendors, candy sellers, homeless people and others who are struggling.
Rob Brender is disabled and has been begging for most of the last decade. He likes to post near stores where there is a steady stream of people passing by. “I can’t handle rejection,” he said, so he doesn’t hold anyone up or scream at anyone for money.
Instead, “I'm sitting on the street with a cup of change, listening to 104.3 and rocking out,” he said, adding, “That's how I've gotten by so far.”
But even though there have been seemingly endless buyers lately, the money hasn't been flowing into his cup.
Mr. Brender, 55, who lives in a group home at Creedmoor Psychiatric Center, said his friend made him a sign with a Venmo username on it, but no one had stopped using it and he didn't even know how to access his account.
New Yorkers of all backgrounds are noticing how change is affecting their interactions.
Marty Burns, a 32-year-old architectural designer and educator, said he often forces himself to remember to take cash with him when he leaves his apartment.
“If you have cash and feel like you can, as a person traveling around New York, support a street performer or someone at Grand Central, for example, you feel less isolated from the community,” he said. “Having cash allows us to express our support for each other in small ways. It allows us to be more present.”
Riva Dhamala, a 29-year-old designer, said carrying cash made her feel more connected to people in the city. But now, with the proliferation of Apple Pay, using cash is often a problem. According to Capital One Shopping, there are an estimated 65.6 million Apple Pay users in the United States, a number that is expected to grow to over 84 million by 2030.
“It feels like the message I'm getting from the outside is: 'Be as quick as you can and bother everyone as little as possible,'” Ms. Dhamala said. “And it feels like this is possible with Apple Pay.”
Think about the person who sighs as someone writes a check at the grocery store, or the people in line who roll their eyes as they take the time to count bills from their wallet.
Digital payment methods create “closed, closed communities,” said Ursula Dalinghaus, a cultural anthropologist at Ripon College. But when you give someone cash, “you have a human connection” to money that is “not tied to a device or a specific account,” she added.
Jules Katz, 28, works at a start-up and doesn't even have a wallet with him anymore. She simply keeps her credit card and ID in her phone case, she said. When she is with her mother, who usually has cash on hand, she notices that she is able to collaborate more with the buskers in the city. On walks together in the park, “we stop and give the saxophonist a dollar,” she said. “It actually feels a little more interactive.”
Many artists have signs displaying their Zelle, Venmo or Cash App information to receive tips. But that brings with it the hassle of stopping and carefully typing usernames or scanning QR codes. And there are privacy concerns too.
Obstacles to banking
In 2020, New York City banned businesses from refusing cash payments. Many shops did not immediately follow this requirement, including the popular ice cream parlor chain Van Leeuwen, which later merged with the city.
However, with many providers the opposite is the case: they only accept cash.
Mohamed Attia, the executive director of the Street Vendor Project at the Urban Justice Center, worked as a food vendor for nearly a decade after emigrating from Egypt in 2008. He said immediate availability of cash is often necessary.
“It takes a few business days for the incoming digital transactions to reflect on the balance sheet, and that limits a provider that has to buy more supplies and replenish its business,” he said.
For several years, Mr. Attia only accepted cash. It was difficult to find time to set up an e-payment system. “It’s one person who does everything,” he said. “I have to be in the workshop at 4 a.m., prepare the cart, drive the cart to the job site, set up the cart for work, shop for the fruits and vegetables and prepare everything, do all the sales, and then take the cart back to the garage. My day would last between 14 and 16 hours, so adding more tasks would be a big problem.”
Sometimes a customer would place an order and only realize afterwards that he had no cash to pay Mr Attia. He would tell them, “I won't let you go hungry. Take the smoothie and pay me next time.”
Eventually his business grew and with other business partners, Mr. Attia operated four smoothie and halal carts in Manhattan. Around 2018, “we realized we were missing out on a lot of customers,” so they decided to install digital payment systems.
He has helped dealers across the city set up such systems.
“A lot of people have had problems, especially those who are uncomfortable with having a bank account or aren't even able to do banking because of their immigration status,” he said, pointing out that 96 percent of vendors are immigrants. “The vast majority of these financial institutions are monolingual and assume that every customer who comes in speaks English, and that is intimidating for an immigrant who is not very comfortable with English.”
Because there are so many different transaction apps, it can seem like an endless loop of downloading, logging in, and paying out for providers.
This has been a struggle for Richard Morant, who sells his artwork on the sidewalk next to the Prada store in SoHo.
A potential customer would say, 'I have PayPal,' and I said, 'Okay, I don't,' so I took PayPal,” said Mr. Morant, 41, as he stood in front of his charcoal eye drawings. “Then another would say, 'I don't have PayPal, I have Cash App.' So I had to get Cash App. Then: “I don’t have Cash App, I have Zelle.” It continued.”
He added: “We need cash.”
“Please help me, thank you”
On a Friday afternoon, Wilbert Rodriguez, 56, sat on the sidewalk across from the Aritzia store in SoHo. Behind him, a woman in a wedding dress twirled as a photographer took photos, and a flood of tourists streamed from boutique to boutique, shopping bags in hand. In all the chaos and movement, Mr. Rodriguez remained silent, holding a cup of change as he repeatedly said, “Please help me, thank you. Please help me, thank you.”
Mr. Rodriguez, who said he cannot work because of an injury, lives in a shelter in Safe Haven. He doesn't always like the food there, so he asks for change on the street until he collects $10 to $15, enough for a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich and an orange juice. It usually takes him all day to get that much. “No one has cash, what can I do?” he said. “Whoever got it got it. Time changes. I don't want to do this forever.”
In an increasingly cashless world, some New Yorkers are still finding ways to help those in need. On the No. 6 train heading downtown, a woman handed tampons to another woman who said she was homeless and needed help. Outside a restaurant on the Lower East Side, someone gave a cigarette to a man who asked him for a dollar.
In rare cases, Mr. Brender said, someone will make the effort to help him. “They'll say, 'Look, I don't have any cash, but let me buy you something at the deli,'” Mr. Brender said. “And I'll say, 'Sure, roast beef and Swiss.'”