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A follow up to ‘An analysis of Tufts meal plans: The math is not mathing’

Comparing how much money I spent on food without a meal plan with the cost of a meal plan.

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Dewick-MacPhie Dining Center is pictured on Sept. 5, 2024.

Last month, I wrote an article titled “An analysis of Tufts meal plans: The math is not mathing” after learning about the pricing structure of the Tufts meal plan.

Even though I’m a senior, the issue of meal swipe pricing continues to fascinate me as I watch my peers buy into the arrangement each semester. I previously aimed to write an objective piece rooted in facts and student anecdotes; however, I now feel the need to provide a brief follow-up based on my own experience with Tufts Dining meal plans.

Let’s return to my first year at Tufts, when I challenged my friends to see whether it was even possible to use all 400 swipes in a single semester. This was back when double-swiping was still allowed at Kindlevan Café, Hodgdon Food-On-the-Run and Pax et Lox. I vividly remember filling my backpack with water bottles, granola bars and chips, only to stash them away in my dorm room to collect dust until I stumbled upon them while cleaning out my drawers before winter break. I donated swipes through the “Swipe it Forward” program and guest-swiped my upperclassmen friends into the dining halls. But even as my friends and I averaged three to four swipes a day, we were still nowhere close to hitting 400 as the fall semester neared its end.

At one point, I asked a sophomore friend if they knew anyone who had actually used all their swipes. They could name only one person — someone who had attempted a similar challenge to us.

While I don’t know exactly how many swipes I had left by the end of the fall or spring semester of my first year, I know I did fairly well compared to those who weren’t actively trying to use 400 swipes.

Thus, the 400-swipe meal plan may not be worth it unless a student is actively using enough swipes to break even. The threshold depends on the specific distribution of meals a student typically consumes.

Fast forward to my junior year, when I was ecstatic to finally have access to a kitchen. I opted out of the meal plan but remained curious about the pricing. So I conducted another experiment: Could I spend less on all my food — groceries, meals out and Uber Eats — than I would have spent on the 160-swipe plan? To keep the test accurate, I made sure not to change any of my current habits. I saved all my receipts and logged every cent I spent on food from the time I returned to campus until I left for the holidays.

Here are the results:

Graphics provided by Ella Sanders

In the fall 2024 semester, I spent approximately $1,550 on food — a little more than half the cost of the 160-swipe plan. The cost of the 160-swipe plan during the 2024–25 academic year was $2,818 per semester, which I used for my calculations (though it is currently even more expensive at $2,966 per semester.) If I had purchased the 160-swipe plan, I would have effectively wasted approximately $1,270. Even in the spring semester — when I ate out more — I still only spent approximately $2,370, about 84% of the total cost of the 160-swipe plan. Over the academic year, I spent well under $4,000 total on food, rather than the whopping $5,636 the meal plan would have cost me.

Juniors and seniors who use Apple Pay or Jumboswipe their way into the dining halls save on the cost per meal and, more likely than not, still underspend compared to a full meal plan. The profit the dining facilities or vendors make per swipe only increases the more one pays per swipe.

So again, I’ll wrap up this article the same way as the last: I still believe that self-reflection is “the best benchmarker when assessing the value of [students’] decisions,” but the data points toward paying with a card or cash as the more economically sound choice.