I turned vegan two months ago. I had been a ‘pescetarian’ for ten months, but the thought of going vegan never really left my mind. It was difficult to ignore, it was taunting me. The perception of everything around me had already changed. Food I had been eating my whole life I was now seeing in a different light. My mother’s lasagne, so soft yet so crispy that I couldn’t eat without spilling everywhere (“sporcacciona!,” she would say to me. “Messy girl!”). My grandma’s maqluba, my favourite Arabic dish, with such a flavourful and spicy smell. Creamy, sweet and fresh gelatos in the summertime, sitting on rocks by the sea with my friends. I couldn’t stand them anymore. I couldn’t see my favourite foods anymore. I saw animal flesh instead.

I ate those things anyway, not necessarily because I wanted to, but because of the feelings they gave me.

Warmth. Comfort. Belonging. Home.

Being raised as an Italian-Palestinian meant appreciating food. It meant sitting at a table with my family for hours, chatting, playing games – and sometimes fighting – in front of a three-course meal meticulously prepared by my grandmothers. It meant that my little cousins and I weren’t allowed to watch TV until after lunch or dinner, because “watching TV ruins the taste of food”. It meant that we could have a homemade lemon cake, but not soda. It meant that eating wasn’t just the act of putting food in my mouth, but loving every bite, every spoonful.

And then I turned vegan. My relationship with food was still healthy, but the relationship with myself changed. I realised that I was in this alone. All the knowledge I had about food came from my carnivorous family, and I couldn’t follow their lifestyle anymore. I needed a mentor, an example, someone who could guide me through eating plants and not harming animals and caring about the environment. Someone who could teach me how to do veganism the right way.

That’s when I discovered the vegan community on social media.

YouTubers, Instagrammers, bloggers, cooks, activists, fitness gurus. I encountered a whole new world that was just a few clicks away from me and that was constantly on the rise. As The Vegan Society reports, the number of vegans in the U.K. increased by 360% in the past decade, and the number of vegan brands by 185% in the last five years. Jasmijn de Boo, CEO of The Vegan Society, attributes this rise to the positive portrayal of veganism on the Internet. Social media has become a platform where people can create their own brand by spreading awareness through their compassionate and ethical lifestyle. And with creating a brand comes popularity.

And with popularity, most of the time, comes profit.

That’s one of the first things I noticed when I started following the vegan community. Many of those vegan personalities I admired had transformed their social media profile into a full-time job. I quickly realised that if I watched one of their videos, my view would transform into money. That if I went on their blogs to look for a sweet potato recipe, my click would transform into money.

It didn’t bother me. I already knew about the monetisation of YouTube channels and Instagram accounts, and I surely wasn’t going to stop following them just because they earned money through their platform. I thought “good for them”. I was aware, however, that they were part of a movement that was meant to promote animal welfare and the safety of the planet. And that’s when the million-dollar question came to my mind. Is profiting from a social rights movement ethical?

Brad Arthur, a Scottish vegan activist and YouTuber, thinks it is. “I realised that for people to continue promoting veganism they need to survive and be healthy and making a profit can allow that. If anything, the more money there is in veganism the better, as companies will realise it’s a worthwhile market to be involved in and will start investing in it, which will help it grow and be more common.”

Veganism is indeed becoming more common. As The Telegraph reports, the majority of the biggest food chains in the U.K. are already starting to add more vegan options to their menus. Nando’s, Zizzi, YO! Sushi, Ask Italian and JD Wetherspoon are just a few examples. Wagamama, the popular Asian-inspired chain, has recently created a new entirely vegan menu, and McDonald’s is planning to launch its first vegan burger in the near future.

Moving back to Glasgow after a summer at home in Italy, I noticed that alongside big food chains small vegan food brands were also becoming more and more popular. One of them, the chocolate brand Vegan Burd, particularly interested me. The woman behind the company that now has over 9 thousand followers on Instagram is Adele Ralston, an ex-marketing worker. She describes herself as a “mild activist” who shows the “positive and accessible” side of veganism by selling vegan versions of popular chocolate treats online and in Glasgow cafes, and by sharing her not always so healthy meals on Instagram.

“I do think relatable people are important in showing veganism as easy and affordable, rather than the stereotypical unattainable image of expensive perfection,” she says to me. “People like to see themselves reflected in the people they follow, so it’s nice to see others eating the sort of junk food you did as a kid, which just happens to be vegan.”

Adele’s words made me realise that anyone can be an activist, and that activism is not just protesting in the streets or showing people gruesome images of animal abuse. At the end of the day, the most important aspect of veganism is food. I had started despising the foods I had been eating my whole life because I saw what was behind them. I saw what and who they were before ending up on my plate.

This is why food is a fundamental component of many vegan brands online, especially on YouTube. The most popular vegan YouTubers usually promote a whole-foods diet through recipe videos, or “What I eat in a day” videos in which they show their daily meal routine from breakfast to midnight snacks. Jasmine Briones and her boyfriend Chris, founders of the Sweet Simple Vegan brand that counts 28 thousand subscribers on YouTube and over 185 thousand followers on Instagram, describe activism as a way of “working towards a greater good”.

“Vegan activism, to us, can take shape in many different forms. We think it’s important not to think that there is only one right approach,” they tell me. “Whether it be through more traditional forms of activism, or sharing recipes and vegan lifestyle tips to an online community, our goal is to create a world where the use and exploitation of animal products is no longer desired.”

“We only choose to work with brands that align with our lifestyle and beliefs, and create content that is beneficial to our audience in some way. With this, we definitely feel like our audience appreciates the content we create,” they say when I ask them about monetising their YouTube channel through sponsors and collaborations with other companies.

I found myself agreeing with Jasmine and Chris, and the conversation I had with them also gave me a clearer idea on ethics. I realised that I have a much more active role in choosing where my money goes than I thought I did. I have the power to not contribute to things that I consider unethical. Like I have chosen to not consume animal products in my diet, I can choose not to buy shampoo from a brand that tests on animals. I can choose not to buy a coat made of real fur. I can choose whether to help these YouTubers and bloggers make a profit out of their time and dedication to a cause that I believe in, sharing the same values I have, or not. And I decided that yes, I can and I want to. That the profit they make has no effect on animal welfare or the planet, but that companies that test on animals or skin them to make clothing do.

I also came to the conclusion that there isn’t such a thing as the perfect vegan, the most ethical and compassionate vegan. I had unconsciously been comparing myself to social media personalities just like I used to compare myself to other girls’ in the gym changing rooms.

I don’t have to see my family as the carnivorous enemy. I don’t have to disregard everything that they have taught me about being a decent human being. I don’t have to despise the smell of lasagne or maqluba. I don’t have to deprive myself of late gelato trips at the beach with my friends. All I need to do is what I want.

I’ll still feel at home when around my family. And warmth. And comfort. And belonging.

I’ll just eat more plants.

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