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Like most vegetarians, I don’t eat anything that has a face. And my reasons are the usual three: ethics, environment, and health. But please, don’t call me a vegetarian. I don’t label myself as such because there are times I bend the rules and order up poutine made with meat gravy, and the look and smell of a delightful cut of beef still makes me salivate. I also live with an avid hunter. And I’m okay with it.

The problem is: many of my counterparts are not.

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Identifying with a certain group is supposed to bring about a sense of exclusivity, togetherness, and inclusion — of being a part of something bigger than yourself. But as I joined all sorts of vegan and vegetarian groups around Ottawa, I realized things weren’t as green as they seemed. Navigating social media was like trudging through a warzone. There seems to always be some heated discussion going on about who is and isn’t a “real” vegetarian, or what’s deemed acceptable and what’s not. This was often sprinkled between articles posted for the sake of pointing out just how “wrong” something was in this backwards carnivorous world of ours. While it was great to have a place to go to learn about where to find vegetarian-friendly items and restaurants, the constant battery of those whose opinions deviated from the holy norm was exhausting.