Following up on our dive into the 1900–1909 ledger, it is time to turn the page to the next chapter. If the 1900s were the settled, opulent Edwardian era, the 1910s were a harsh reality check. This decade started with tea dresses and motor cars and violently crashed into the rationing, blockades, and inflation of the First World War. Looking at 1910 vs My spending is an exercise in profound contrast.
We often romanticise the past as a “simpler time.” In many ways, before the digital noise and hyper-consumerism, it was.
But financially? It was a decade of basic survival. Every penny was assigned a job, and the margins for error were razor-thin.
Comparing my modern, minimalist-in-progress budget to a typical household from the 1910s is a humbling experience. It highlights exactly where my modern privileges lie, and interestingly, where a few century-old habits still hold their own.
Here is how the numbers stack up.
The Century Ledger
| Category | Typical 1910 UK Household | My Current Spending |
| Housing | 17.0% | 12.5% |
| Food | 44.0% | 10.0% |
| Transport | 3.0% | 3.0% |
| Clothing | 6.0% | 2.0% |
| Utilities | 11.0% | 8.0% |
| Household Goods | 5.0% | 1.0% |
| Leisure & Recreation | 11.0% | 15.5% |
| Savings / Investments | 0.0% | 39.0% |
| Other | 3.0% | 9.0% |
The Great Food Shift (And The Secret to My Savings)
Looking at the table above, the most glaring difference is staring right at us from the dinner plate. In 1910, a staggering 44% of a household’s income went purely towards feeding themselves. Today, my food budget sits quietly at 10%.
That 34% drop in survival costs is the quiet, unsung hero of my Financial Independence journey.
It is entirely what funds my 39% savings and investment rate. Obviously, my ledger does not reflect the average modern UK household—many are struggling with rising grocery bills—but for my specific setup, this shift is the bedrock of my financial stability.
Back in the 1910s, especially during the war years, zero food waste wasn’t an eco-friendly trend; it was mandated by law and necessity. Bones became broth, scraps fed the pigs, and nothing went in the bin.
I try to emulate a modern, slightly less exhausting version of this. We waste perhaps £10 max of food per month, which feels like a quiet victory compared to the estimated £1,000 the average UK household throws away annually.
My secret weapon here isn’t a wartime rationing book; it’s a very unromantic chest freezer.
- Batch cooking: We cook in bulk and freeze the results.
- Time-saving: It stops the 6 PM “I’m too tired to cook, let’s get a takeaway” panic.
- Longevity: Ingredients simply don’t have the chance to go off in the fridge.
Speaking of takeaways, I am currently running a personal challenge: no spending on junk food. Any time I slip up and buy rubbish, I have to pay a £10 penalty into our family holiday account. It turns a moment of weakness into a deposit for the beach, which feels like a very fair trade.
“1910 vs My” Transport Costs: The 3% Coincidence
Transport is the one category that has remained frozen in time. In 1910, an average household spent 3% of their income on getting around, mostly relying on trams, trains, or simply their own two feet.
Today, my transport costs are exactly the same: 3%.
If I were an average British commuter driving a financed car to an office five days a week, that number would be sitting closer to 13%. But by intentionally opting out of car ownership, my transport budget is wonderfully boring.
It covers travelling into the office just once a week and the occasional weekend train journey. By working from home and walking when possible, I’ve accidentally recreated the hyper-local geography of a 1910s worker.
Opting Out of Fast Fashion
In the 1910s, clothing and household goods took up 11% of the budget. Before the era of cheap, synthetic fabrics, clothes were genuine investments. They were built to last, tailored to fit, and repaired endlessly.
Today, I spend roughly 3% across both categories combined.
Modern consumerism practically begs us to treat clothing as disposable. I have entirely opted out of that cycle. As a minimalist, I prefer to buy a few high-quality items and wear them until they are well and truly worn out.
I wear the same trusty suit to every wedding. If a jumper gets a small hole, I will sit down and sew it up rather than binning it. The “make do and mend” mentality of the 1910s had it right; there is a quiet satisfaction in maintaining what you own rather than constantly chasing the new.
Leisure, Pubs, and Life Before the Screen
Leisure is a category where I happily outspend my 1910 counterparts (15.5% versus their 11%).
For me, any time “pre-TV” feels fundamentally simpler. Before screens took over our living rooms, entertainment was inherently social. It meant gathering with family, walking to the local pub, or actually talking to your neighbours.
I direct my leisure budget heavily towards social time. I spend money on going out to see friends every quarter, taking holidays with my little family, and gathering with extended relatives.
What I don’t spend money on anymore is digital clutter.
We recently cut out our Amazon Prime membership, and honestly? It feels fantastic. It removes the temptation for idle, one-click shopping and frees up cash for actual experiences.
Why We Save Now (The Luxury of Living Longer)
In the 1910s, the concept of a savings rate was practically science fiction for the working class. You worked until you couldn’t, pensions were rudimentary at best, and every spare shilling went towards keeping the coal fire burning.
The fact that I can save 39% of my income is an incredible privilege.
But it is also a modern necessity. We are living far longer than our Edwardian ancestors. We need a nest egg because we actually have decades of retirement to fund.
My budget also includes things the 1910s simply didn’t account for—like modern childcare. No one in my house wants the “traditional” 1910s family setup where one person is entirely bound to the domestic sphere. We pay for childcare so we can both work, save, and maintain our independence.
Comparing our ledgers to a century ago doesn’t mean we have to romanticise the struggles of the past. But it does show us that when we strip away the modern fluff, the basics of a good life—good food, durable clothes, and time with people we love—haven’t really changed at all.
Gentle Questions for the Road
Looking back at a decade defined by global upheaval and strict rationing makes our modern financial worries feel a little different. It is easy to get caught up in the minutiae of savings rates and investment yields, forgetting that the mere ability to save for the future is a luxury our ancestors rarely possessed.
Building a simpler life today doesn’t require churning our own butter by candlelight. It often just means placing a quiet boundary between what society tells us to buy and what actually brings us peace. Whether that’s a chest freezer full of batch-cooked meals, a cancelled subscription, or a darned jumper, the peace is found in the intentionality of the choice.
- When you look at your own spending, which category feels the most aligned with your actual values, and which feels like “modern clutter”?
- Is there a habit from a “simpler time” (like mending clothes or reducing food waste) that you could integrate into your week without it feeling like a chore?
- If you stripped away all digital subscriptions for a month, how might you choose to spend your reclaimed social time?