In 2012, I wrote an angry post about Vegans. Since then I’ve grown up a bit; I’ve gained respect for their viewpoint; I made friends with a chicken. Nonetheless, I feel like my twenty-one-year-old brain make some valid points. Below, a very serious article on Why I Hated Vegans.
Vegans are ridiculous. They look like someone put badly tailored knitwear on an empty Capri-sun and smell like Chanel now does a No. 2 perfume, with distinct tones of fermenting nuts and cabbage. For the most part, they seem smug, self-satisfied and (mostly annoyingly) probably in the right.
I am – or was – a believer in what they stand for in essence. I’ve been a vegetarian – badly – for about 5 years now, so I get the defence of animals and the holier-than-thou mindset they have. I just don’t like it. Vegetarianism is like any relationship. There are struggles. There are compromises. We’ve had our ups and downs. There have been deceptions – I’m sorry to say that I’ve cheated before. There were some lonely nights, particularly in Australia, where I succumbed to that scantily clad bacon sandwich that was throwing itself at me, dripping in butter, and with fat in all the right places. Sometimes, I took the sausage when I shouldn’t have. Equally, Vegetarianism could make more of an effort – after a hard day at work, the last thing I want is to come home to a slightly burnt Lentil Moussaka. Our relationship is worthwhile, but it’s a struggle. We’re trying to change.
In comparison, Vegans are like the smug married couple you avoid at parties. They’re the ones in the matching jumpers, superglued at the sides as they finish each others sentences. They’re the couple who saved ‘it’ for their wedding day, go on hiking holidays somewhere rainy and environmentally friendly every year and run their own locally produced organic grocery shop. They’re the eco warriers. The ones we hate.
They take the sacrifice vegetarians struggle with and arrogantly announce ‘we can do better’. Living without meat is difficult enough; can you imagine life without cheese or Haribo or digestive biscuits or box wine?! A life without milk is a life without breakfast as far as I’m concerned. How do they manage to eat cereal with that soy crap splashed all over their cornflakes? The answer is that they don’t, probably. The only ‘Snap, Crackle and Pop’ that vegans hear in the morning is the sound of their weak, calcium deficient bones grinding together – riddled with Osteoporosis – as they attempt to get out of bed and start their day bothering people about how much better they are.
Because that’s the other thing – they can’t just do the noble act of veganism in silence. They love to share it with you, utilising their bodies as a living advertisement for their cause. Well, they need to rework their marketing strategy. There is nothing less inspirational than asking to follow the diet of someone who looks like a supermarket carrier bag’s been stretched over a Peperami and dressed in Hemp. They personify the living decay of the autumn season. They have the sex appeal of a cheap office chair.
This rant is the result of my own dealings with vegans and vegan food. I was accidentally served vegan meals on my last long distance flight. While everyone else got some form of actual food, I was given spinach surprise (the surprise is, it’s pretty much just spinach). When everyone else got dessert, I got melon. I hate Melon. Once, as a treat, they handed me a walnut ‘cake’ to have with my tea. How do you make cake without dairy, I hear you ask. You don’t. Please. It tasted like they substituted the butter, eggs and milk with pencil sharpenings and, well, walnuts. It was a 20 hour trip.
I once served a customer in my pub who paraded around the beer fonts, loudly debating whether or not each lager would be suitable for him to drink. He then proceeded to study the menu, aloud, before asking me – in case I hadn’t got it already – “What was suitable for vegans?”. This is a normal Scottish pub, friend. Try a coaster.
I even had a proper conversation with a vegan once. I took advantage of the opportunity and quizzed her on her mindset. I asked if she befriended a cow and brought it into her life as an equal, rather than subordinate, would she drink the milk? She said no. I asked what if the cow was more than an equal – it was like a brother. What about then? What about if she and the cow slept in the same bed and had a car-share scheme?
What about if the milking was mutual?
The answer was still no.
I had no real resolution to this 750 word rant on people who are effectively doing ‘the right thing’. I think I decided to pick on those least likely to fight back. There was no real hatred here, just the knowledge that, even if I had infuriated a few vegans, they would be too weak to hurt me or even type a response. Let’s just hope they don’t still have beef with me.
Words: Rachel Barr