When I first co-authored an article on the four-day workweek for Harvard Business Review in 2019, the topic was still niche—an experimental concept attracting curiosity more than consensus. At the time, Iceland was in the midst of a quietly radical pilot program that allowed workers to reduce their hours without taking a pay cut.
That pilot was just gaining traction. What struck me then, and remains true now, is how quickly a once-radical idea can become mainstream when it taps into widespread discontent and a hunger for more humane ways of working.
The future of work is not just fewer hours—it’s a new philosophy of time. Today, nearly 90% of Iceland’s workforce benefits from shorter working hours.
The model has become more than a policy—it’s a national rethinking of what work is, who it should serve, and how it should be measured. Yet as other countries begin to follow suit, it’s vital to consider the broader implications: the opportunities, the limitations, and the potential unintended consequences. Iceland’s success places it in the context of a growing global movement, and offers a balanced look at what a future shaped by shorter workweeks might entail.
Iceland: the flagbearer of a global shift
Let’s begin with the case that has drawn the world’s attention. Iceland didn’t reduce hours through sweeping legislative reform. Instead, it launched pilot schemes in 2015 with just over 2,500 public-sector workers—roughly 1% of its workforce—covering roles as diverse as office administrators, hospital staff, and school employees.
The experiment tested whether working fewer hours for the same pay could yield stable or improved outcomes in productivity and well-being. By 2019, the results were compelling: workers reported reduced stress and burnout, greater job satisfaction, and better work-life balance. Crucially, productivity remained constant—or increased—in most settings.
Trade unions took these findings into collective bargaining negotiations, eventually securing reduced hours across nearly 90% of the workforce. The transition was not imposed top-down, but achieved through dialogue, evidence, and trust.
What makes Iceland’s model so compelling is that it avoided the common pitfall of compressed workweeks, where workers do the same number of hours over fewer days. Instead, total weekly hours were reduced—from 40 to 36—without salary loss. This wasn’t about squeezing work into tighter schedules, but about redesigning work altogether.
This isn’t a perk for the privileged—it’s a prototype for systemic reform. Three enablers helped Iceland succeed where others have struggled.
First, there was a culture of trust between workers, employers, and government. The pilots were collaborative, not coercive. Rather than enforcing rigid models, the approach allowed local adaptation.
Second, Iceland’s investment in digital infrastructure laid the groundwork for flexible, hybrid work. High-speed internet is accessible even in remote areas, enabling telework and asynchronous collaboration. This infrastructure allowed teams to maintain communication and productivity without being tethered to physical offices.
Third, the transition aligned with the values of a younger, digitally native workforce—especially Generation Z—who expect flexibility, autonomy, and meaning from their employers. Their advocacy helped normalize the four-day week as a legitimate policy demand, not a workplace perk.
Inspired by Iceland, several countries have launched their own trials. In the UK, a large pilot involving over 60 companies across industries—from manufacturing to marketing—found that 92% of participating firms intended to continue with the four-day model after the trial ended. Employees reported lower stress and improved sleep, while companies saw reduced absenteeism and stable performance.
In Spain and Portugal, government-supported pilots are underway to test reduced hours without pay cuts. Germany’s largest union, IG Metall, has called for similar reforms, citing both economic and well-being arguments. Even in the United States, who were considered resistant to such reforms, public opinion is shifting: a recent Gallup poll showed that over 70% of Americans support the idea of a four-day week.
In Belgium, legislation allows workers to compress their 40-hour week into four days—but without reducing total hours, limiting its uptake. Japan, known for its intense work culture, has also cautiously explored optional four-day models as a means of combating burnout and increasing birth rates.
The momentum is real—but so are the barriers.
Equity and exclusion: not all jobs are equally adaptable to reduced hours. While office-based roles can restructure workflows, frontline roles in healthcare, retail, or logistics may require physical presence. Without careful policy design, shorter weeks could become a privilege for the already advantaged.
Operational strain: some organizations may struggle to maintain service levels with reduced staffing hours. Public services, especially in education and healthcare, need adequate resourcing to avoid overburdening staff or cutting services.
Presenteeism by another name: in workplaces that compress hours rather than reduce them, employees may face longer, more intense days. This can lead to hidden burnout, negating the intended benefits.
Global disparities: while Nordic and Western European countries may have the institutional support and digital infrastructure to implement such policies, many parts of the Global South face structural and economic constraints that make immediate adoption less feasible.
Cultural resistance: in some organizational cultures—especially those that reward long hours or equate visibility with value—the four-day week may be seen as a threat to performance norms.
Looking ahead: what kind of work culture do we want?
The real question the four-day week surfaces is not just how much we work—but why we work the way we do.
In the 20th century, the five-day week was a major victory for labor movements. It replaced six-day schedules with an approach that balanced productivity and rest. Today, however, we are facing a different reality: digital overwork, economic insecurity, and a global mental health crisis. Rigid schedules designed for the industrial era no longer match the demands of the knowledge economy or the values of its workforce.
The four-day week isn’t a silver bullet—but it is a signal of what’s possible.
The next frontier is not merely about reducing hours, but reimagining the relationship between time, value, and wellbeing.
This is where leaders—whether in government, business, or the multilateral system—must act with vision. Rather than simply reacting to crises of burnout, resignation, or disengagement, we can build new models that align work with human flourishing.
A realistic, hopeful future
Iceland’s story shows us what is possible. It is not a perfect model, but it is a powerful one. By reducing hours without cutting pay, and by trusting workers to deliver value rather than merely time, Iceland has redefined what a successful national labor policy can look like.
But the future of the four-day week must be inclusive, equitable, and adaptable. It must learn from failures as well as successes. And above all, it must be rooted in the recognition that work should serve people—not the other way around.
Six years ago, I ended my Harvard Business Review article by asking whether the four-day week would take hold in Europe. Today, that question has broadened: Will it take hold globally? And more importantly, what will we choose to value in the process?