10 everyday things Americans do that Europeans find strange

Crossing the Atlantic is like stepping into a parallel universe where the coffee is bigger, the smiles are brighter, and the AC is set to Antarctic.

I’ve lived and traveled on both sides, and every time I bounce between the U.S. and Europe, I’m reminded how “normal” is just a local setting.

Let’s get into ten everyday American habits that routinely make Europeans raise an eyebrow.

1. Tipping culture

If you grew up in the States, tipping is muscle memory.

You add 18–25% for table service, drop a few bucks at the bar, and even tip for a latte if the iPad swivels your way.

To many Europeans, this feels like doing payroll at the table.

Wages are baked into menu prices across much of Europe, so the American ritual—calculating percentages, deciphering “service not included,” and worrying whether you’re being stingy—can feel like social calculus.

Personally, I remember a Parisian friend visiting Los Angeles and whispering, “So… am I subsidizing the restaurant?”

He wasn’t being snarky—just confused. That’s the thing about norms: they’re invisible until they aren’t.

2. Free refills

“England and America are two countries separated by a common language,” wrote George Bernard Shaw, and I’d add: also separated by refill policy.

Free, endless soda or coffee is a very American promise. In many European cafes, you pay for each cup—no path to bottomless anything.

For Europeans, the American server’s cheerful “Want another?” feels like a loophole in the matrix. For Americans, the European approach can feel oddly stingy.

Neither is right or wrong; they’re just consistent with different ideas about value and consumption.

3. Ice-first drinks

Order water in the U.S., and the glass often arrives 80% ice, 20% liquid.

In much of Europe, it’s the reverse—or no ice at all outside of cocktails.

I still remember the first time I asked for “extra ice” in Lisbon and got a look that said, “Are you okay?”

Part of this comes down to what we anchor on as “refreshing.” Americans associate cold with quality and hygiene; Europeans often prioritize taste and subtlety.

When you live in air-conditioned spaces, ice feels normal. When you walk more and sit outdoors, you learn to enjoy beverages at a gentler temperature.

4. Air conditioning everywhere

Speaking of AC: Americans keep it cold.

Malls, offices, hotels—bring a sweater in July. Across much of Europe, you’ll see smaller units, higher set points, or simply open windows.

This isn’t just about climate or cost; it’s cultural. The U.S. expectation is environmental predictability: same temperature year-round.

In Europe, seasonal variance is more accepted, and there’s a stronger default toward energy frugality.

I’ve mentioned this before, but the first time I worked from a Rome apartment in August, I learned the beauty of shutters, fans, and gelato “meetings.”

It wasn’t worse—just different, and honestly more human.

5. Sales tax surprises

Americans are used to prices morphing at the register: the tag says one thing, the receipt says another.

In most of Europe, tax is included in the sticker price.

To European visitors, the American approach can feel like a bait-and-switch—even if it’s not meant that way.

From a behavioral standpoint, it’s fascinating. When the final price is unknown, our brains have to spend effort forecasting the “real” cost, which adds friction. It’s a tiny tax on attention.

Europeans often prefer the cognitive relief of “What you see is what you pay.”

6. Giant portions

Let’s address the plate in the room. American portions—especially at chain restaurants—are supersized compared to many European norms.

I once took a friend from Berlin to a diner in Phoenix, and his omelet looked like a rolled sleeping bag.

He ate a third, boxed the rest, and said, “Tomorrow’s breakfast. And lunch.”

Is this good or bad? It depends on goals. Big portions can mean value and fewer grocery runs. Smaller portions can encourage variety and less waste at the table.

The friction arises when your expectation of “a normal meal” collides with a different country’s version of enough.

7. Casual dress codes

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes,” wrote Marcel Proust.

If you want new eyes, try noticing how Americans dress for everyday life: athleisure at brunch, sneakers with everything, hoodies in the office (depending on the office).

In many European cities, people seem more “put together” on average—structured coats, leather shoes, fewer gym fabrics beyond the gym.

Neither side is immune to fashion laziness or snobbery. But the baseline is different. America optimizes for comfort and speed. Europe often optimizes for polish and fit.

When my French friend wore a blazer to a U.S. birthday picnic, multiple people asked if he was coming from a wedding.

8. Driving over walking

America is vast and built for cars. Sidewalks and public transit exist, but the default in many towns and suburbs is driving—even for short trips.

Europeans—particularly those from walkable cores like Amsterdam, Barcelona, or Vienna—find the American habit of hopping in the car to get coffee… puzzling.

When I lived in a Los Angeles neighborhood with no corner store, I started tracking “incidental steps.” On days I ran errands in a European city, I’d end up with 12k steps without trying.

In the U.S., the same tasks meant three separate car trips. It’s not that Americans don’t like walking; it’s that the built environment often makes it inconvenient.

9. Flag displays

European cities have flags, of course, but the number of American flags—on porches, businesses, trucks, baseball caps—can surprise visitors.

Patriotism shows up differently in Europe, where national identity can be complicated by regional histories, the EU, and the memory of 20th-century conflicts.

For many Americans, the flag reads as community and gratitude. For some Europeans, it reads as strident or political.

Symbols carry weight, and the meaning you assign depends on the stories you grew up with.

10. Drug ads on TV

Pharmaceutical commercials during prime time?

Totally normal in the U.S., almost unheard of across Europe.

When European friends visit, they’re often stunned to see direct-to-consumer ads for prescription medications, complete with “Ask your doctor” taglines and long lists of side effects over people picnicking.

This highlights a difference in how healthcare is discussed publicly. The U.S. frame encourages consumer choice and brand awareness.

Many European systems put more emphasis on clinician gatekeeping and centralized messaging. So the TV ad hits differently—somewhere between informative and surreal.

Why this matters (beyond trivia)

It’s easy to turn these differences into memes—“Americans love ice!” “Europeans love tiny coffees!”—but the deeper lesson is about perception.

What feels natural is often just practiced. When we see “weird,” we’re usually meeting an unfamiliar solution to a common human problem: comfort, status, coordination, trust.

As a writer obsessed with the psychology of everyday choices, I try to treat these moments as data.

What assumptions am I making about service, value, or convenience? What trade-offs are hiding under the surface?

That curiosity is more than travel etiquette; it’s a habit of mind that spills into how we work, eat, and relate to each other.

A few practical takeaways if you’re crossing the pond:

• Expect friction. Budget extra attention for menus, payments, and social cues. Your mental model needs a minute to re-sync.

• Borrow the best. I’ve adopted Europe’s leisurely coffee as a ritual and kept America’s chatty warmth in queues. Culture is a buffet; you don’t have to order the combo.

• Ask, don’t assume. “Is service included?” and “What’s customary here?” are magic phrases. So is “Can you show me how locals do it?”

Travel has a way of turning our defaults into choices. Once you’ve felt both, you don’t just accept how things are—you start designing how you want them to be. And that, to me, is the whole point.

If you’re American reading this in a T-shirt under a blasting vent, drinking iced coffee with a free refill while tipping your barista, you’re not wrong—you’re local.

If you’re European savoring a small, perfectly warm espresso, you’re not right—you’re local, too.

The fun starts when we try on each other’s local.