On February 16 of 2020, Charlie Stevenson and Ashley Surette swiped right. They’d joined a dating app just two days before, on Valentine’s Day. Surette had posted a photo of her dangling from the sky in an aerial lyra hoop in front of a deep blue ocean—and Stevenson loved her smile. They talked every day for a month, and when the pandemic hit shortly after, Surette moved from Merrimack, New Hampshire, into Stevenson’s house in Barre, Massachusetts. “All of our friends probably thought we were completely insane,” says Stevenson, a 45-year-old information technologist. “But sometimes you just know.”
The secret to their effortless connection? Sharing a plant-based lifestyle, they say. In fact, they met on Grazer, a swanky-looking dating app for vegan singles. A dating app for vegans only probably seems like the kind of over-the-top bit you’d see played out in a show like Portlandia. But there’s certainly a market for them: Many people like Stevenson and Surette, vegans who eschew all animal products for welfare and environmental reasons, would never date someone who eats meat.
Today, vegan- and vegetarian-only dating spaces are thriving, especially online. Since it launched in June 2022, the Vegan Dating Lounge Discord—which only accepts users after they fill out a questionnaire about their feelings on issues like honey and horse riding—has steadily climbed to more than 2,000 members. Grazer, which hit the app store in 2017, doubled its user base after rebranding in November 2022 and daily active users have increased tenfold. Meanwhile Vegpal, a vegan dating and friendship app launched in the summer of 2021, has grown its user base sevenfold in the last year alone. The apps all declined to reveal exact numbers; it’s likely they pale in comparison to the 75 million users on Tinder. Still, the growth of online dating spaces for plant-based people is clear.
The decision to stop eating animal products is more than a diet—it’s like having a strong affiliation with a political party, explains Ken Greer, a longtime vegan from California and the 71-year-old founder of Veggie Connection, a dating site that’s been live for two decades. “If you’re going to spend your life with someone, you want them to share many of your fundamental views,” he says. Dahlia Eisenberg, the 32-year-old founder of Vegpal who lives in Boston, agrees. “You can liken it to a religion,” she says. “It’s a set of values that reflect how we navigate this world.”
Plant-based diets are divisive. Though estimates vary, vegans make up about one to 2% of the US population. Judging by various reports, plenty of vegans face criticism from omnivores for their food choices—and vice versa. It’s easy to see how meat eaters and abstainers might struggle to share a meal, let alone a life: 41% of omnivores in a survey out of the UK said they’d also be less likely to pursue someone who’s listed “vegan” in their online dating profile. And one 2021 study polling 7,400 vegans and vegetarians around the world found that 52% of the former and 39% of the latter wouldn’t consider dating a meat eater. (Awkward for vegetarians: Roughly 12% of surveyed vegans wouldn’t consider a relationship with a vegetarian, either.)
Some reasons for the preference to date other vegans are skin-deep: In interviews with a dozen plant-based couples and singles, everyone said that the idea of hooking up with someone who’d just pounded a steak was truly unappealing. “I mean, meat breath?” says Eisenberg, a vegan of seven years. “Not cute.” Gray, the founder and moderator of the Vegan Dating Lounge Discord (who asked to be referred to by her username for fear of doxxing attempts after previous threats), would suddenly feel disgusted remembering what was digesting in her omnivorous ex’s stomach. “Non-vegans often have a foul smell of decomposing flesh or rotten milk, which I found so revolting it was sometimes difficult to sleep next to my partner,” says the 26-year-old budtender (like a bartender, but for weed) from New Jersey.
But for most people, the desire to meet another vegan ran far deeper than wanting to avoid squabbles in the grocery aisle. Many felt more understood and respected by their partners, more ease around making big decisions (such as how to raise children), and a greater sense of play and satisfaction in the kitchen.
Veganism seems to deepen the connection between two partners—just like backing the same baseball team might. Joey Malicki, a 25-year-old radiation therapist, and Angela Yu, a 24-year-old research lab technician, met on the Vegan Dating Lounge Discord in the fall last year. Before they’d even met in person, the pair spent evenings falling asleep after long FaceTime calls—they’d talk about veganism, stories they’d read in the news, personal drama, and dreams for the future—only to wake up and keep chatting the next day. Malicki has since moved from Illinois to Seattle to live with Yu. “Everything just flows and I feel fully seen, understood, and loved,” says Yu.
While some push back on the way veganism is likened to a religion, others say that there are notable parallels. Veganism as a worldview provides a moral framework, gives adherents a life purpose (sometimes through activism), and presents a pretty black-and-white view of right and wrong (you’re a compassionate person if you don’t eat animals, and you’re exploitative if you do). For Renuka Varigonda, a 34-year-old research scientist in Brooklyn who now uses Vegpal to find like-minded friends, dating her plant-based partner has been inspired a passionate set of values. “He’s helped me recognize the intersectionality of animal justice, environmental justice, human rights, and racial justice,” she tells me.
So many of the vegan couples I spoke to also mentioned how liberating it’s been to cook together—there’s no ideological battles going on in the kitchen when you broadly eat and grocery shop the same way. About a month ago, Surette was grocery shopping with Stevenson. “I remember being like, ‘This is so cool. We have a trunk full of happy vegan food.’”
Yu loves cooking, but dating omnivores in the past made it harder for her to feel joy in the kitchen—especially with someone who may see vegan food options as “not tasty.” Making meals with Malicki, like chickpea pasta with vodka sauce, tofu scrambles, and “anything with potatoes,” has been “such a powerful experience.” For Varigonda, seeing meat reminds her of the animal that died for the meal. “It’s heavy enough for me to see friends eating animals at restaurants,” she says, “that I couldn’t imagine sitting on a day-to-day basis with a partner who does the same.”
Both Surette and Stevenson had previously dated omnivores, and having to compromise on everything from fridge space to whether or not to raise their individual children vegan created tension in the relationships. “My ex could see that veganism was so meaningful to me and then they were on the other side contributing to the problem I was fighting against,” says Surette. “It felt really icky inside.”
Logistically, veg-only dating apps make a lot of sense too. Because the vegan population is so tiny, finding a plant-based partner when you don’t live in a major city is near impossible. Luke Kirk, a 31-year-old insurance analyst from Omaha, is the only vegan he knows in his area. He’d resigned himself to being single or dating an omnivore until he met Keira Janzen, a 29-year-old kindergarten teacher from Regina, Canada, on the Vegan Dating Lounge Discord in October last year. They’re currently dating long-distance and plan to live together soon.
While most of these apps are marketed toward vegan singles, plenty of people I spoke to say they’re using them to find like-minded friends too. Sorav Malhotra, a 32-year-old marketer, joined Vegpal after moving from Dubai to Ajax, Canada, during the pandemic. He didn’t know anyone and wanted to connect with new people. He loves chatting with users both near and far about what brought them to veganism, how they cover all of their nutritional bases, and what their strategies are for dealing with critical family members. (When it comes to dating, though, Sorav tells me he’s “a bit old-school” and wants to meet potential partners face-to-face.)
Of course, it’s not impossible for people with different food philosophies to be friends—even to date. I eat vegetarian at home and occasionally smash salmon sushi rolls or shrimp tacos when I’m out. My boyfriend eats meat, but he’s cool to omit it in our house (largely for convenience). I can easily see how combative the vibes would get, though, if either of us were trying to convince the other to eat a certain way.
The insistence on having your values reciprocated in a partner, of course, has connotations that reflect the political divide in America. You may only reinforce an echo chamber by choosing to date someone who eats and thinks just like you. But for many of the vegans I interviewed, that’s exactly the point. Most felt judged or misunderstood by omnivorous partners in past relationships.
When previously out on a date with an omnivore, Janzen says her date made fun of male vegans. “One time we were hanging out and he said something about him being better than all the ‘soy boys’ I’ve dated,” she says. The insult, which is also used derogatorily to describe men lacking traditionally masculine characteristics, “was [so off-putting].” Varigonda once went to dinner with a “heavy carnivore.” He’d suggested a Korean barbecue spot in New York City, where she could barely order anything. “During the meal, I ate kimchi while he ate so much meat that it started staining the sides of his mouth,” she says.
Gray, the New Jersey local who started the vegan Discord, says she’s been harassed after posting about her beliefs online. She tells me that people have responded to her activism with aggressive slurs, sent her violent videos of animals being slaughtered, and actively threatened her personal safety. She doesn’t plan to leave her safe vegan bubble anytime soon.
The choice to date someone with similar values seems chiefly about feeling like a major part of your identity is being shared. “It’s a different level of connection than I’ve had in other relationships,” Gray says about her current partner, who she met on her own server. “I’m finally able to share myself—my thoughts and feelings—without fear of argument, judgment, or discomfort.”