The Tyranny of the Star Rating
The Competition & Markets Authority (CMA) estimates that online reviews influence £23 billion of UK spending every year. 90% of consumers say they read them before deciding where to eat.
The tyranny is real. One bad night, one impatient customer, or one malicious stranger can drag a 4.8 to a 4.3 — and data shows that restaurants below this magic number get buried in search results, regardless of actual quality. (Harvard Business Review, 2022).
Even delivering consistent brilliant quality is no insurance against bad reviews. Our Countertalk community member DJ Smokey points out: "Unlike professional critics who evaluate food based on technique, balance and creativity, amateur reviewers fixate on Irrelevant things like "The chairs were uncomfortable!" at a 30-minute ramen bar or personal grudges "The waiter 'looked at me funny' – 1 star!" Or moral grandstanding "This place is gentrifying the area!" as if the chef controls London's rent prices." Eater London points out that Brat (Shoreditch) was review-bombed by vegans angry about their whole-turbot concept. Most admitted they'd never even eaten there. "
Lily Simpson, GM of Ace Pizza and an experienced restaurant manager with many years at Rochelle Canteen among others, told us she’s seen it all: “Ninety per cent of the time, a negative review will pop up without any attempt from the guest to let you know directly or to solve it. I’ve seen personal vendettas, reviews where the person clearly hasn’t even been, and complaints that have been edited after you’ve responded. You can invite someone to get in touch, but they almost never do — so there’s no chance to fix it.”
Lily’s right. What started as a democratic idea — giving everyone a voice — now feels like mob rule. A single star rating, stripped of context or compassion, has the power to outweigh years of training, craft, and care.
Everyone’s a Critic. They Shouldn’t Be
Google loves to tell users that their voice matters. It does. But the kind of empowerment that the platform promotes isn’t healthy — it’s flattening nuance into a single, reactive moment.
Post-Covid, diners came back to restaurants in raptures. They were patient, joyful, grateful, and there was new awareness of how fragile the system was, with the staff shortages, supply issues and the chaos of furlough and Tronc. The public saw it all and, for a moment, understood.
Fast forward a few years and that empathy has vanished. The context has changed. Diners still expect the same level of perfection, but they forget that hospitality is a unique environment in that perfection is often a two-way street - diners themselves have to come to the table open and willing to experience something wonderful. But what happens when the restaurant's costs are higher and margins are thinner, and the diner's tempers are shorter and purse strings are tighter - and they've already read someone else's unfavourable online review?
Robyn Filepp of Becoming, a positive psychology coach who works closely with hospitality teams, believes that a recent shift in attitude is rooted in scarcity and stress. “In the cost-of-living crisis, people feel like every penny has to count,” she says. “Even a minor imperfection feels magnified because people’s tolerance is reduced. It’s not that your business is bad — it’s that the customer’s nervous system is primed to protect them from ‘wasting’ money." In other words, then people feel stretched, they’re quicker to defend their choices. Combine that with social media’s illusion of expertise — everyone with an iPhone thinks they’re Grace Dent — and you’ve got a perfect storm.
Reviews are no longer about food or service. They’re about emotion, identity, and self-validation. We post when we’re triggered, not when we’re content. Online anonymity removes the natural empathy that comes with face-to-face feedback. And thanks to Google’s “leave a review” nudge, it’s easier than ever to vent before you’ve even left the table.
The World Is Changing
This isn’t just about bad manners — it’s about psychology, amplified by technology. Robyn describes it as the collision of two forces: the personal and the systemic. On the micro level, we’re all running hotter — stretched finances, sensory overload, constant digital feedback loops. On the macro level, we’ve lost the slow, local rhythms that once governed how reputations were built.
There was a time when word-of-mouth carried weight. A regular might tell their friends, “It’s usually brilliant, but last night they were short-staffed.” That’s balance. Now, one person’s irritation can live forever online, stripped of context and multiplied by algorithms.
The owner of a high-profile, recently opened restaurant told us that a rival establishment across the street persists in sending friends and family to dine with the express aim of causing trouble — kicking up a fuss and refusing to pay the bill. After finishing their meals, the same diners cross the road to sit outside the rival restaurant, drinking and staring menacingly. This rather quaintly analogue behaviour has always existed in hospitality. What’s new is the public stage. The difference now is that it doesn’t end when the doors close; what once spread by word of mouth now spreads by algorithm — and where once you could roll your eyes at the silliness of it all, this makes the damage bigger, faster, and harder to contain.
Negativity Sells - And Google Profits
Let’s be clear. Google doesn’t just host reviews — it profits from them. Every comment, every argument, every managerial response, every click-through - that's content, and content means engagement. Engagement means data, dwell time, ad revenue, and power. Negativity sells — not because people love conflict, but because the platform does.
When customers leave emotional or combative reviews, the platform hums with activity. For Google, that’s gold dust. For small businesses, it’s a disaster. Under mounting pressure from regulators, the company insists it’s tackling the problem. In January 2025, following a major investigation by the UK’s Competition & Markets Authority (CMA), Google agreed to tighten its policing of fake and incentivised reviews. The CMA estimated that £23 billion of UK spending is influenced by online ratings every year — and warned that fake or misleading reviews were a serious consumer-protection issue.
Under the new Digital Markets, Competition and Consumers Act 2024, Google is legally required to take “reasonable and proportionate steps” to stop fraudulent or manipulative content. In response, it promised to block suspicious activity, remove reviews from repeat offenders, and flag businesses caught using fake testimonials. On paper that sounds decisive. But in practice, many independents say little has changed. Google claims it blocks “millions of fake reviews annually — often before they’re ever published,” yet when false or malicious posts do make it through, they can linger on a profile for months, causing untold damage. The process for removal is opaque and painfully slow.
Gregg Tuvey, founder of the high-end events company Cater, knows this too well. “We were contacted out of the blue by a scammer demanding money in exchange for not posting one-star reviews,” he told us. “We refused to pay — and within days, dozens of fake reviews appeared, all from spam accounts that had never used us. In spite of our efforts, Google hasn’t responded or removed them.”
His experience mirrors a wider pattern. Earlier this year, The Times reported that several UK restaurants had been blackmailed in the same way — “send £2,000 or we’ll say you have rats.” For a trillion-dollar tech company, these attacks are a rounding error. For small independents, they can be existential.
The Human Cost
It’s easy to talk about algorithms, but the real damage is human. Hospitality is an industry built on emotional labour — constant smiles, invisible patience, and a deep sense of pride in pleasing others. When that effort is reduced to an angry paragraph online, it hits differently.
Emily Chia, former Head Chef at St. JOHN Marylebone and soon to open Dockley Road restaurant, says she used to monitor reviews compulsively. “I used to obsess about it,” she admits. “Check it like it was part of my KPIs for validation." That obsession isn’t unusual. Psychologists call it externalisation — when external feedback becomes entwined with self-worth. One angry stranger online can unravel weeks of momentum and confidence.
And this happens against an already grim mental-health backdrop. Research shows that nearly 70% of UK hospitality workers have experienced mental-health issues during their career, with 45% taking time off due to stress. Burnout is endemic. Staff shortages, cost of living crisis and low wages mean that most teams are operating in permanent crisis mode — and now they also have to perform for an increasingly judgmental audience.
Robyn advises teams to use “psychological distancing” — to see reviews as data, not personal attacks — but she’s clear that this requires leadership. “You have to build psychological safety,” she says. “If people fear making mistakes, they’ll hide them instead of learning. And when staff absorb harsh reviews as proof of their inadequacy, it drains their energy and morale.”
A Call for Kindness
Behind every bad review is not just a customer with opinions, but a person on the other side, doing their best. Hospitality is an industry that attracts people who thrive on human connection — people who feed, comfort, and care for others for a living. That same sensitivity that makes them great at their jobs also makes them vulnerable. So when their best efforts, and sometimes years of hard-won relationships, are diminished and reduced to a couple of crushing lines online, it hurts more deeply than most outsiders can imagine.
This is an industry where validation comes not (only) from spreadsheets but from a guest who lingers for dessert, from the regular who knows your team's names, who returns to you to celebrate birthdays and anniversaries, introduce family and lovers, share life's ups and downs, reaching out for comfort or commiseration. When that relationship is turned against you, the sting is personal.
One well-known independent restaurateur told us: “We had a regular who used to dine with us almost weekly, and was a big wine buff. He would always spend big on wine, and we knew his tastes so used to look after him - not only with special finds on the wine list, but we would always send him little bits from the kitchen. This went on for years, a great relationship. Then one day, he misread the bill and thought that he'd been overcharged. Not only did he send us a disgracefully belligerent and combative email, but he left 1* reviews on Google. With some regret for the income we were losing, we had to send him a polite email saying that he wouldn't be welcome back - our staff simply wouldn't be comfortable serving him knowing that he'd effectively accused them of theft"
A Call for Empathy
That restaurateur's story says it all. Years of generosity, trust, and familiarity — undone by a misunderstanding and the ease of a single click. Reviews have turned what was once a two-way relationship into a transaction, and when a transaction disappoints, some customers now reach for punishment instead of perspective.
The unspoken truth is that restaurants are fragile ecosystems. Every plate involves a dozen people and countless moving parts, each one vulnerable to human error, bad timing, or sheer exhaustion. To reduce all that to a star rating is to strip away its humanity.
And still, hospitality keeps showing up. Even as expectations rise and empathy declines, people in this industry continue to serve, smile, and make it look effortless. That deserves recognition, not retribution. A little empathy — a pause before posting, a moment of curiosity instead of condemnation — could save a lot more than someone’s feelings. It could save a culture built on generosity from being eroded by judgment.
So How Should You Complain?
We’re not saying diners shouldn’t complain. If something’s wrong, you have every right to speak up. But there’s a way to do it that helps everyone — and a way that does real harm.
Start by speaking up in the moment. Most issues are fixable if you give staff the chance. “We’d love to know what you think while you’re here,” says Robyn. “Encouraging open conversation in person reduces the likelihood that the only people leaving reviews are the angry ones.” And diners who don't care to consider the impact on the people and the business could view it as a selfish act - addressing it at the time means that it can be immediately rectified, which should be what everyone wants?
If you can’t say it face-to-face, send a direct message or email before you post. Lily’s rule is simple: “If you’ve had a bad experience and got no reply when you reached out, fair enough — post it. But give the place a chance first.”
And if you do decide to write a review, make it balanced. Include the positives. Be specific. A good review isn’t just an outlet; it’s a form of feedback that helps a business grow. Because here’s the truth: most people in hospitality want to fix things. They just need you to tell them how — not torch them in public for the clicks.
What Can Change?
We’ve heard plenty of ideas: a verified-review system linked to booking platforms (interesting in light of the testimonials from operators who tell us how much more balanced and useful they find the reviews on Opentable, Seven Rooms etc), or the ability for businesses to flag obviously false posts (and - crucially - for action to then be taken), in a bid to curb Google’s wild west. Lily suggests, “Even a tick showing the person has checked in would help. Or the option to link your reservation data to reviews, so we can see what really happened. Right now, we have no recourse."
Robyn adds that internal culture matters just as much as external tech fixes. “Celebrate good feedback, share the bad without shame, and keep everyone connected to their ‘why’. That’s what builds resilience.” What Robyn is saying is that it's not just about ensuring you don't get bad reviews - the world is tough, people are people and we're going to come across some tricky ones. It's about supporting your team when the bad reviews come in, to create an upwards rather than downwards spiral.
"Realistically, Google isn’t going anywhere. But that doesn’t mean we can’t reclaim some control — by training teams, setting clearer boundaries, and reminding ourselves that we are not our star rating
The Ask
This is a plea for empathy — to both sides of the pass.
TO DINERS: Before you hit “post,” pause. Ask yourself if your review is fair, accurate, and necessary. Did you try to raise it in person? Is it about the food, or about your mood? Behind every plate is a person who might cry over your words.
TO HOSPITALITY WOKERS: You are not the sum of your Google rating. You are your craft, your care, your community. Protect your team’s energy. Celebrate your wins out loud. And remember that your worth cannot be averaged into decimals.
Google Reviews might be irrelevant to what truly matters: the smell of bread from the oven and the years of experience which make it just right, the kindness of a server and the smile which says they remember you, the magic of a full dining room or the nuance of a sandwich fixed just right. But they are still crushing us, just the same.
The fix starts with us. All of us. By choosing connection over confrontation, conversation over condemnation. Because hospitality has never been about algorithms. It’s about people. It always has been, and it always will be.
