Would Newcastle have to pay back £4bn if its Wonga sponsorship was a loan?

Interest is tricky.

When Wonga announced their intention to sponsor Newcastle United FC, it generated no small amount of opprobrium. Despite the company's best attempts to generate a positive image for itself, it is still largely seen as a payday loan company, preying on the poor for a quick buck. So it was no surprise that smart a demonstration of that fact very quickly made the rounds:

Anything with over 2,000 retweets is going to get fact-checked a lot, and debates soon broke out over whether the number was accurate. Is it?

Wonga's "representative APR" is 4214 per cent. When you take out a loan with it, it decides at the beginning of the period what your interest is, and charges it to you on the total amount of capital borrowed over that period. In other words, it doesn't compound the interest - which makes sense, because it would be hard to compound anything over a loan as short month. As a result, if you were charged an annual interest rate of 4214 per cent, then at the end of a four year period you would have to pay back: 

£24,000,000 + £24,000,000 x 42.14 x 4 = £4,069,440,000.00                                 

(That's the capital, plus four years interest.) A shade over £4bn. So James Dixon is correct.

Except that the 4214 per cent APR is already compounded. As Wonga explains, industry regulations require it to present interest at an annual rate even if it doesn't make annual loans. To do this, it is required to take the amount of interest you would pay on its longest loan, a month-long one, and act as though you rolled it over, taking out larger and larger loans to pay off the interest as you go along. If we compounded Newcastle's loan similarly, then after four years it would owe:

£24,000,000 x (1+42.14)^4 = £83,125,028,034,051.84                                 

That is £83 quadrillion. It's over one hundred times world GDP, and in the ballpark for the total value of everything on earth.

But Wonga would maintain that using that interest rate is unfair. Although they are required to present their representative APR in that manner, they have never, and would never, charge it to a customer. The annual rate of interest which they actually charge is "just" 360 per cent, and the rest is made up of the compounding which they are forced to assume. If Newcastle's loan was taken out at that rate, it would have to pay back:

£24,000,000 + £24,000,000 × 3.6 x 4 = £369,600,000.00                                 

£370m is still quite a lot to pay for £24m, but it's nowhere near billions. And in actual fact, Newcastle wouldn't even pay that much. It's not a person, it's a business, and Wonga have - controversially - launched a division exclusively for lending to businesses. The largest and longest loan it offers is £15,000 for a year, which costs £19,350 to pay back, implying an APR of 29 per cent. If Newcastle borrowed £24m for four years at that rate, then if the interest compounded, it would equal:

£24,000,000 × (1+0.29)^4 = £66,461,491.44                                 

And if it was charged in one lump sum, it would equal:

£24,000,000 + £24,000,000 × 0.29 x 4 = £51,840,000.00                                 

The root of the problem is that Wonga isn't actually in the business of making multi-year, multi-million-pound loans. The assumptions we make in trying to squeeze their business model into a shape that lets us make that comparison are important, because they're the difference between paying back £52m and £83qdrn.

Front page of Wonga.com

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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Just face it, being a parent will never be cool

Traditional parenting terms are being rejected in favour of trendier versions, but it doesn't change the grunt-like nature of the work.

My children call me various things. Mummy. Mum. Poo-Head. One thing they have never called me is mama. This is only to be expected, for I am not cool.

Last year Elisa Strauss reported on the rise of white, middle-class mothers in the US using the term “mama” as “an identity marker, a phrase of distinction, and a way to label the self and designate the group.” Mamas aren’t like mummies or mums (or indeed poo-heads). They’re hip. They’re modern. They’re out there “widen[ing] the horizons of ‘mother,’ without giving up on a mother identity altogether.” And now it’s the turn of the dads.

According to the Daily Beast, the hipster fathers of Brooklyn are asking their children to refer to them as papa. According to one of those interviewed, Justin Underwood, the word “dad” is simply too “bland and drab”:

“There’s no excitement to it, and I feel like the word papa nowadays has so many meanings. We live in an age when fathers are more in touch with their feminine sides and are all right with playing dress-up and putting on makeup with their daughters.”

Underwood describes “dad” as antiquated, whereas “papa” is an “open-minded, liberal term, like dad with a twist” (but evidently not a twist so far that one might consider putting on makeup with one’s sons).

Each to their own, I suppose. Personally I always associate the word “papa” with “Smurf” or “Lazarou.” It does not sound particularly hip to me. Similarly “mama” is a word I cannot hear without thinking of “Bohemian Rhapsody”, hence never without a follow-up “ooo-oo-oo-ooh!” Then again, as a mummy I probably have no idea what I am talking about. If other people think these words are trendy, no doubt they are.

Nonetheless, I am dubious about the potential of such words to transform parenting relationships and identities. In 1975’s Of Woman Born, Adrienne Rich describes how she used to look at her own mother and think “I too shall marry, have children – but not like her. I shall find a way of doing it all differently.” It is, I think, a common sentiment. Rejecting mummy or daddy as an identity, if not as an individual, can feel much the same as rejecting the politics that surrounds gender and parenting. The papas interviewed by The Daily Beast are self-styled feminists, whose hands-on parenting style they wish to differentiate from that of their own fathers. But does a change of title really do that? And even if it does, isn’t this a rather individualistic approach to social change?

There is a part of me that can’t help wondering whether the growing popularity of mama and papa amongst privileged social groups reflects a current preference for changing titles rather than social realities, especially as far as gendered labour is concerned. When I’m changing a nappy, it doesn’t matter at all whether I’m known as Mummy, Mama or God Almighty. I’m still up to my elbows in shit (yes, my baby son is that prolific).

The desire to be known as Papa or Mama lays bare the delusions of new parents. It doesn’t even matter if these titles are cool now. They won’t be soon enough because they’ll be associated with people who do parenting. Because like it or not, parenting is not an identity. It is not something you are, but a position you occupy and a job you do.

I once considered not being called mummy. My partner and I did, briefly, look at the “just get your children to call you by your actual name” approach. On paper it seemed to make sense. If to my sons I am Victoria rather than mummy, then surely they’ll see me as an individual, right? Ha. In practice it felt cold, as though I was trying to set some kind of arbitrary distance between us. And perhaps, as far as my sons are concerned, I shouldn’t be just another person. It is my fault they came into this vale of tears. I owe them, if not anyone else, some degree of non-personhood, a willingness to do things for them that I would not do for others. What I am to them – mummy, mum, mama, whatever one calls it – is not a thing that can be rebranded. It will never be cool because the grunt work of caring never is.

It is not that I do not think we need to change the way in which we parent, but this cannot be achieved by hipster trendsetting alone. Changing how we parent involves changing our most fundamental assumptions about what care work is and how we value the people who do it. And this is change that needs to include all people, even those who go by the old-fashioned titles of mum and dad.

Ultimately, any attempt to remarket parenting as a cool identity smacks of that desperate craving for reinvention that having children instils in a person. The moment you have children you have bumped yourself up the generational ladder. You are no longer the end of your family line. You are – god forbid – at risk of turning into your own parents, the ones who fuck you up, no matter what they do. But you, too, will fuck them up, regardless of whether you do it under the name of daddy, dad or papa. Accept it. Move on (also, you are mortal. Get over it).

Parenting will never be cool. Indeed, humanity will never be cool. We’re all going to get older, more decrepit, closer to death. This is true regardless of whether you do or don’t have kids – but if you do you will always have younger people on hand to remind you of this miserable fact.

Your children might, if you are lucky, grow to respect you, but as far as they are concerned you are the past.  No amount of rebranding is going to solve that. This doesn’t mean we can’t change the way we parent. But as with so much else where gender is concerned, it’s a matter for boring old deeds, not fashionable words.

 

 

 

Glosswitch is a feminist mother of three who works in publishing.