“Vegan” is one of those elusive words that can function as any part of speech.
Adverb: “I’ve been eating vegan for five years.”
Here, the word “vegan” reveals that the “eating” happens in a miserable way, dull in flavor, with not enough protein and an unspeakable amount of fiber.
Adjective: “I need to check in on my friend because they’ve been looking rather vegan lately.”
The friend in question presumably has skinny arms and flakes of nutritional yeast littered about the tattered hemp jacket they wear every day, and goes around with a joyless yet determined expression.
Verb: “Are you really going to vegan me again, when I’m just trying to enjoy this milkshake?”
To “vegan” somebody is to send them unsolicited videos of calves being taken from their mothers in a macro-farm.
But why does “vegan” also have to be a noun? Is veganship such an important aspect of one’s identity that some people live their entire lives being known as just a “vegan”? Some people describe themselves as a student, an innovator, a musician, a traveler, a parent, or even a gamer. Why would anybody be content to have their entire physical and metaphysical existence represented by just the irritable word “vegan”?
If you’ve been at Swarthmore for long enough, you’ve surely encountered people who happily declare themselves vegans and are not afraid to let you know it — in fact, they don’t care whether you are afraid to know it. How soon after encountering one of these leaf-gnawing, celery-crunching hipsters do you find out that they’re a vegan? The problem is that it’s usually just a double-digit number of seconds. Actually, you would be lucky if it’s not single-digit territory:
“Hi, I’m vegan.”
“Hey Vegan, nice to meet you. My name … ”
“Oh, my name is actually Sho. I was just mentioning that I’m vegan.”
“Okay Sho, nice to meet you, I’m …”
“Well since I’m vegan, I don’t ‘meat’ people. I tofu people.”
If you’ve experienced a dialogue like that, then great news: we’ve tofued (met) before! Or maybe it was just another one of those Californian vegans who loves the Crum woods too much, walks around barefoot with four bananas at all times (if you know a way to comfortably carry five, contact me ASAP), and wakes up early to meditate outside. Obviously, I’m not one of those vegans: I’m not from California. Gotcha!
If you grow up somewhere other than California, you learn to alert people to your veganity before it’s too late — it can be urgent. Throwback to high school in Kansas: I used to be less public about my vegantude and people got the wrong idea. Friends invited me to pizza restaurants, quaint steakhouses, and those all-you-can-eat pulled pork grills run by middle-aged, burly, shiny-scalp-bald, tattooed white dudes who wear pitch black sunglasses and ride 900cc motorcycles helmetless. I went on dates where all I could order was a chicken salad without the dressing and “oh also without the chicken, please.”
Regularly announcing my veganhood to friends (and any unlucky bystanders) solved all of these problems: friends stopped inviting me to Hog Wild Pit BBQ — or to anything at all, for that matter — and every potential second date was indefinitely delayed with a “idk, i’m busy for the next few months, sry” or “how about June the 31st?” text.
Next time you wonder why we feel the need to mention that we’re vegan in every other conversation, know that it’s because we don’t want to end up back at Jimmy’s Grill & Tavern or some countryside diner eating unclothed, de-chickenized chicken salad. It’s not because we want you to feel guilty about perpetuating an animal agriculture industry that tortures billions of animals every year and wastes millions of gallons and acres. (Fine, maybe we are hoping for just a slight twinge of guilt.) It’s not because we’re trying to assert that we’re better than all of you carnivores. (If “you are what you eat,” then we are better than you all, but I’m skeptical of such aphorisms anyway.)
We’re just making sure you’re aware of our vegandom to spare the awkward surprise later. The awkward surprise of when you would invite us out for bacon cheeseburgers, propose an “eggnog & chill?” evening, or give us a jug of Shamrock Farms Half & Half as a birthday gift.
Now that you know more than you ever wished to about vegans, don’t be afraid to hang out with us! Fun doesn’t have to come at the expense of animals, despite what the meat industry wants you to think. (Millions of dollars in advertising can’t beat a bunch of angry, progressive Swatties!) We’re down for enjoying a Narples black-bean-burger dinner, sipping apple cider in the Eldridge Commons, or receiving a thick bar of 100% cocoa baking chocolate — we eat them straight — as a birthday gift.
Don’t know any vegans on campus yet? It’s easy to track one of us down: just hang out on the second floor or Narples and within ten minutes, you’ll hear someone preaching about how we can save the animals together by going vegan. Sometimes, making a good choice for the world involves caving to those annoying advocates and facing your round of told-you-so’s. Whether you’re inspired to join us or not, come around just to say hi — it’ll be nice to tofu you.
