Tiers for Fears

Hey Shoppers,

Lately, there’s been an overflow of complaints about the new Instacart tier system—and I’d like to offer a bit of my own perspective. If anything, let this give you something to chew on. God knows you’ve got the time. Looks like I do as well.

I get it. The badges, the tiers, the elusive “access” to premium batches—it all feels like some kind of dystopian loyalty program where your reward for good behavior is… more work. It’s confusing and frustrating, and if you’ve been around long enough, it starts to feel personal.

But the truth is, there’s nothing personal about it. There’s just a system designed to keep us chasing. And that system is based on behavioral science. The good news? It’s not just you. The bad news? It’s working exactly as intended.

If you get the time, look up The Dark Side of Gamification by Mong Phu (LinkedIn), or download the PDF study Gig Economy & Psychosocial Risks (ETUI review). This might open your eyes a little to what you’re being subjected to. What they did for me was gave me the ability to let it all go. I really don’t care about my ratings at all, I care about the service I provide.

If you’ve ever felt like the app was stringing you along—dangling just enough high-paying batches to keep you from logging off—you’re not wrong. That’s called variable reward scheduling, and it triggers dopamine the same way a slot machine does. They studied this. It’s not an accident.

If you’re curious to go deeper, there are a few studies and articles out there that break it all down—the use of gamification, badge systems, and unpredictable rewards to condition behavior. What we’re dealing with isn’t a glitch. It’s a business model.

One thing I’ve come to realize—and maybe you’ve felt this too—is how easy it is to shop in a constant state of doubt. Not just stress. Doubt. The kind that creeps in after something goes sideways—a refund a customer didn’t like, a bad rating, a tech issue, or something you’ll never get an explanation for.

Then you sit. Waiting. Watching the screen. No orders.

You start wondering if you’re being punished. Did I say the wrong thing? Was I too slow? Did that shopper who gave me a dirty look report me for something? Maybe the customer didn’t like my substitutions. Maybe the app thinks I’m unreliable now. Maybe I am.

That space between orders—after something negative—that’s when the fear creeps in. It starts talking. You replay every little move. You second guess that $5 order you declined. You ask yourself if taking that “zero tip” got you a bad mark.

And once that fear sets in, it follows you into the next order.

You walk into checkout, and the payment declines. It’s not your fault. You know that. But still—your stomach drops. You feel eyes on you. You feel like you’ve done something wrong. Like you’re one keystroke away from being kicked off the platform for fraud, when all you’re trying to do is check out some damn grapes.

There’s eight people in line, and you are four of them.

Same thing with glass bottle deposits. Or a store running a BOGO promo but it’s not ringing up at the register. It all creates small moments of panic. And over time, it wears on you.

Because shopping with that kind of pressure? It slows you down. Not just physically—mentally. You move with caution, not confidence. You’re focused on not getting punished instead of focused on serving well.

And the platforms? They benefit from that. An anxious shopper is a controlled shopper. The fear keeps you logged in. It keeps you checking the app. It keeps you guessing.

Metrics don’t help either. Seconds per item? Doesn’t account for the imprisoned body wash at CVS or when a cashier walks away mid-ring to reset a terminal. The on-screen timer? It’s meaningless noise designed to make you think you’re behind, even when you’re right on pace.

There’s probably some profitability metric behind the scenes that we’ll never see. Maybe they’re tracking some version of efficiency we don’t understand. But from where we stand, the fear does nothing but chip away at your confidence.

And when confidence disappears, service suffers.

I used to think I was one of the best shoppers. Then I read about the Dunning-Kruger Effect—the idea that the least competent people tend to overrate themselves, while the best people often doubt themselves. That hit home. I wasn’t the best. But I cared. And that mattered.

That’s what separates good shoppers from bad ones: self-awareness. Good shoppers catch their own mistakes. They care about accuracy, freshness, communication. And yeah, there are a lot of them out here. Quietly crushing it. They’ve got all the stars, and they understand that grocery is a service.

The bad ones? They rush the list like it’s a chore. Replacement. Refund. Refund. Replacement. Blame the store. Blame the customer. Doesn’t matter—they’re already eyeing the next order. And maybe that’s all the customer paid for. If the tip’s low, speed is the only thing that makes the job decent. And honestly? Sometimes customers get what they pay for.

I have no problem grabbing the “good enough” milk for low-tipping customers. I’ll save the freshest dates for those who value the service. That’s not unethical. If the store is selling it, it’s sellable. Just maybe not ideal. But it’s helpful to the store, and it solves the ethical and moral dilemma.

There’s no trophy for perfect bagging. No degree in cart optimization. Just a daily chance to either show up with care, or rush through like it doesn’t matter. If you’re a new shopper? Learn to bag. Seriously. Learn what makes sense. Raw chicken. Bleach. Produce. Hot foods. Heavy stuff. Ice cream. Think through what’s going where. It’s not hard. It’s just not taught.

Want to stand out? Bag with logic. That’s the one message that gets through to a customer every time—even if you never say a word.

Forget the tiers. Forget the ratings. If your service is consistent, thoughtful, and real, customers will remember. The good ones will tip better. The best ones will stick around. And platforms don’t want to lose them. Ever.

The carrot? It’s not a wholesome brand image. It’s bait. And yes, we’re the donkeys trotting along.

You don’t control the algorithm. You’re not invited to the board meetings. The only thing you control is the service you provide. And in my experience, that’s the only thing that ever makes a real difference.

The best customers are already tipping for quality. You don’t need a badge to find them. You just need to be the kind of shopper they’re hoping shows up. And you need to be prepared with understanding the type of service they expect, especially on those banger unicorns.

You’re not the dealer. You’re not the casino. You’re a player in a house that always wins.

It’s better to focus on the things you can control, and let go of the rest.