Feeding and supplying incarcerated people has always been expensive, but the gap between prison wages and what prisons charge people for basics has turned survival into a monthly calculation.

Prison food is often meager and unappetizing, as Impact Justice documented in its 2020 national study. Ninety-four percent of people surveyed said they didn’t receive enough to feel full, and more than 60% rarely or never saw fresh vegetables. Most states spend under $3 per person per day on meals—some as little as $1—while the FDA’s thrifty plan for a nutritious adult diet outside prison runs about $10 daily.

With small chow hall portions, commissary becomes the only reliable source of calories, hygiene items, and occasional comfort items.

But prison wages haven’t budged. Nationwide, the average hourly pay for incarcerated workers maxes out well under a dollar, according to ACLU and Prison Policy Initiative analyses. In many facilities, it sits between 6 and 52 cents.

One full-time instructor’s program assistant in a New York State prison print shop earns roughly 25 cents an hour and brings home about $13 every two weeks.

“I work 35 hours a week, Monday through Friday,” he says. “For those who have to still pay court fees or restitution, it’s far less than that—about half.”

Meanwhile, commissary prices have surged. In Pennsylvania, overall prices jumped nearly 27% in a single year—far outpacing general inflation. New York saw a 45% rise in commissary costs between 2020 and 2024, double the rate of outside inflation. In Arizona, some tobacco and food items climbed an average of 65–88%, while median pay remained frozen at 35 cents an hour.

A bar of soap that once cost under $1 now runs $1.15 or more; deodorant hits 42 cents; a small pouch of chicken or ramen bowl can exceed $4–$9 depending on the state. Even a single first-class postage stamp—essential for writing to family—can consume an entire week’s earnings for someone at the bottom wage tier.

Vera Institute researchers hear the same story repeatedly: After 60–80 hours of mandated work over two weeks, many people accumulate only $6 to spend.

“You’re choosing between toothpaste and sending a Christmas card home,” one incarcerated man in New York told advocates.

Families outside often send money to bridge the gap, but the Prison Policy Initiative estimates that incarcerated people and their loved ones already pour more than $27 billion annually into the system through fines, fees, commissary, and phone costs—five times what private prisons generate.

Critics point to a built-in conflict: The same companies or state agencies that run food services often control or profit from commissary sales. When meals shrink, demand for overpriced snacks and staples rises.

Prison officials acknowledge that hunger fuels unrest, yet prison wages remain stagnant. One California prisoner told reporters in 2022, “Our menu is enough to keep us alive, I suppose, but never enough to supply and satisfy the appetites of grown men.”

The result is a quiet form of rationing. People skip showers to stretch soap, share detergent, or go without stamps for months. For those with no outside support, the choice is stark: work more, eat less, or simply endure.