How to file your Luxembourg tax declaration (explained by an intern who’s had enough)
Filing taxes is rarely fun—unless you’re either deeply weird or an accountant. If you're the latter, please slide into my DMs immediately because I need help and probably therapy.
It’s one of those soul-sucking tasks that sits at the bottom of your to-do list, below “reorganise sock drawer” and “Google symptoms for imaginary diseases.” Why? Because you’d genuinely rather eat your own left foot than spend another minute typing in how much interest you paid on your mortgage last year.
But here’s the kicker: if you’ve been paying withholding tax (and you probably have because this is Luxembourg, where every payslip has more mysterious deductions than an Agatha Christie novel), you might be owed money. Real, actual, spend-on-a-fancy-vacation money.
So by not filing, you’re basically donating it to the government. Out of the kindness of your heart. Are you Mother Teresa? No? Then put down the remote, stop binge-watching The White Lotus, and reclaim your sweet, sweet refund.
What you’ll need (apart from bottomless inner strength and a therapist)
A computer with a stable internet connection (harder than it sounds if you live in Cloche d'Or).
The LuxTrust app, the sacred app of bureaucracy.
A working knowledge of French or German, because Luxembourg doesn’t believe in English unless it’s on a billboard for tax avoidance services.
Don’t speak French or German? That’s cute. Either spend the next 12 months brushing up on your Duolingo or prepare to guess wildly and hope for the best.
To paper or not to paper
If you’re an analogue dinosaur or someone who gets off on handwriting forms (seriously, are you okay?), you can print out Form 100. If your printer jams—and it will—make the sacred pilgrimage to Mister Copy. (No, printing costs are not deductible, you absolute dreamer).
But if you have any shred of sanity left, use the online form on Guichet.lu. Just make sure you're emotionally prepared. That site is part admin portal, part psychological test.
What class system are you in, Comrade?
Welcome to the Luxembourg tax caste system, which is only slightly less confusing than Hogwarts houses.
Class 1: Single and alone, like the introvert you are. You get the highest tax rate, because congratulations, you’re an easy target. But hey, if you survive this hellscape, you might end up with a decent refund. Or not. Honestly, just lower your expectations now and you’ll be fine.
Class 1A: Single and a parent? You now get the joy of being financially responsible for a small human, but at least you might get some small relief. Consider it a participation trophy for being both tired and financially punished.
Class 2: Married or PACSed. Under this bracket, the tax office sees you as one beautiful, merged entity. Do you share bank accounts? No. Do you share a Spotify Family plan? Maybe. Doesn’t matter. You're one person now. You could even PACS your roommate. Spoiler alert: I did this. Then we got married by accident. And then we owed the tax office. Frankly, I think they plan it this way.
Why Bother At All?
Because you might get money back, and not the Monopoly kind.
Your employer might not know about stuff you shelled out for, like donations to real charities (no, donating your ex’s hoodie doesn’t count); study costs (unless that trip to Seoul was actually to learn Korean, not to chase BTS) or domestic help (yes, your cleaner counts, but your dog’s dogwalker doesn’t, sorry Fluffy)
In short, this is your one chance to tattle on your expenses and maybe get rewarded for it. The government has already taken a bite. You deserve a nibble back.
How to prepare for the tax declaration (emotionally and physically)
This is not just form-filling. This is a test of willpower. So you’re going to need snacks. The good kind. Not just sad almonds. Energy drinks or coffee. (Or wine, depending on your vibe). A soft object to punch or scream into (your childhood teddy bear will do nicely). The phone number of an accountant friend or at least someone who once dated one.
Light a candle. Play Enya. Sacrifice a croissant to Gérard, the mythical Luxembourg tax wizard who lives in a filing cabinet at the Ministry of Finance and only appears to those who’ve cried three times and clicked “Submit” without saving.
Final tips from a tax-traumatised intern
Before you go my poor dear tax-burdened friend, please remember to take breaks or risk merging with your office chair. Remember: if you think you’re done, you’re not. There’s always another section. And lastly, don’t trust the “Estimated Refund” field—it’s a lie from the pit of fiscal hell. It’s also important to celebrate small wins, like successfully uploading a PDF without crashing the portal.