Aoife Hollywood
Girl math is the latest trick many women use to make spending feel less painful. If you haven’t seen it on TikTok, it’s when you convince yourself that a sale means you’re saving more than you really are, or that refunded money from returns is suddenly free cash to spend again.
My sister Dearbhla is a pro. She’ll return a jumper, get the refund, and then use that “free money” to justify buying her Saturday morning iced latte and sweet treat. It’s not technically free, but in her head, the numbers have magically balanced out.
At its heart, girl math isn’t about tricky calculations – it’s about making numbers feel lighter, easier to explain, and simpler to live with. And when numbers are presented in a way people can grasp easily, they stick.
Politicians could learn from that – not to spin or mislead, but to translate vast sums into something the rest of us can understand.
Take the Scottish Government’s latest budget plans. They set out a record £21 billion for health and social care in 2025–26. This includes £16.2 billion for NHS Boards to deliver frontline services. A number so big it should inspire confidence; but instead, it means little because it’s hard to grasp.
Does it mean cancer patients finally getting treated on time, when waiting times are the worst on record? Will it mean more mental health staff, when experts say we’re in the middle of a “mental health emergency”? And if so, how exactly will that money make a difference?
Right now, we don’t know. What we have is a figure too vast to picture, too distant to measure.
That’s where PR math comes in: taking the billions in a press release and turning them into outcomes we can actually see. How many nurses? How many extra GP appointments? How many psychiatric beds? Until those questions are answered, £21 billion might as well be imaginary.
And let’s be honest – they know how to do it. It happens all around us every day.
The Times recently broke down the entire UK public spending budget into something you can imagine: £23,757 for every adult in the country – about two-thirds of the median full-time salary.
The world’s longest train, the Australian BHP Iron Ore Train, stretches 7.3 km with 682 wagons and 5,648 wheels, long enough to fit 22 Eiffel Towers end to end.
Charities have mastered this too. Save the Children for example, show how a £10 monthly donation can provide 60 sachets of food paste to malnourished children.
Suddenly, the numbers stop being abstract and start to feel tangible.
But politicians choose not to. Why? Perhaps because clarity invites accountability. When ministers say “billions”, our brains quietly switch off, and the numbers lose all impact.
It’s not about dumbing things down, it’s about making numbers land and making people care. After all, politicians should want to engage and inspire, not confuse and alienate.
I was once told that if Mrs McGinty (or Mr) from Auchtermuchty doesn’t understand how a policy affects them – what those numbers actually mean in their daily life – then it’s a communication failure, not an audience failure.
Big figures might impress the spin rooms and dominate headlines, but if they don’t translate into something that makes sense over a cup of tea at the kitchen table, they’re just noise.
Without that clarity, people tune out. And when we tune out, we stop asking the tough questions: Is this money being spent wisely? Could it be better used? Who really benefits?
If people don’t grasp what policies really mean for their lives, they’re less likely to vote or hold leaders accountable. Voter turnout has declined steadily in the UK, especially among young people, who often feel politics doesn’t speak to them. Making numbers clear isn’t just good communication, it’s essential to keeping democracy alive.
But it’s not just politicians who need to get this right. CEOs and business leaders, take note: Mrs McGinty from Auchtermuchty isn’t just a voter – they’re your customer, your investor, your employee. If they can’t see themselves in your numbers, you haven’t really communicated at all.
Whether it’s girl math, PR math, or government math, the principle is the same: turn abstract sums into something people can relate to. When the impact is clear, it can be understood – and acted on.
So next time you announce billions in funding, record profits, or ambitious targets, ask yourself: can Mr and Mrs McGinty see what this means?