This evening, like every other, had become a suffocating ritual.
I was standing in a kitchen plastered in gruesome images of dead animals while my live-in landlord cornered me, obsessively preaching veganism. He told me that all animals can be vegan, and urged me to spread this message to everyone I knew.
Despite knowing I was plant-based, I could feel his eyes glued to my ingredients as I prepared my dinner, as though hoping to catch me having something non-vegan so he could lecture me some more.
His behaviour had been escalating since I moved in a month ago – initially starting off by giving me leaflets to hand out or sending me videos of slaughtered animals.
Then one night, just over three weeks after I’d moved in, he urged me to cut off my family and quit my job to be more involved in his vegan group – who were focused on hosting regular vigils for animals – while my rent check funded his lifestyle.
I knew then that I was trapped and needed to get out.
Just weeks prior, I’d been living with my ex-partner. We had a very sudden and brutal breakup, which left me with a couple of weeks to find a new home.
The market was ruthless and affordable options were scarce. I found myself in constant competition with prospective tenants for £1,000 per month studio flats, which eventually led me to turn to the option of flat-sharing.
When I first saw the ad for a vegan house, it seemed perfect. I loved animals and had been a vegetarian for 10 years, so living with like-minded people appeared ideal.
The low rent, all-included bills and no need for references added to this false sense of security.
However, my first visit to the house was troubling. The cosy space that was pictured in the ad was cluttered and chaotic, filled with dusty furniture and dying plants. I was told there were tenants currently living there, though they were nowhere to be seen.
I couldn’t afford to be picky, though. When the landlord told me the room was on the cusp of being snatched up, I panicked. I signed the contract there and then, and my doubts were quickly overshadowed by a fleeting sense of relief.
But it didn’t take long for the situation to deteriorate. I quickly discovered that the lack of tenants was because there weren’t any, at least not yet. This was worsened by not having a lock on my door, a basic necessity I was promised.
And, scarily, the landlord’s veganism wasn’t just a personal choice; it was an ideology he imposed with fanaticism.
Within the first month, three new housemates moved in. They were calm, timid and definitely not vegetarian, let alone vegan.
I couldn’t understand why my landlord, so zealous in his beliefs, would approve of tenants who lived contrary to him, unless he was trying to convert or control them.
It wasn’t long until the house became a shrine to his extreme beliefs, with signs Blu-Tacked on every corner, denouncing anyone who isn’t a vegan as an animal abuser.
Scarily, the landlord’s veganism wasn’t just a personal choice; it was an ideology he imposed with fanaticism
It became clear that his veganism wasn’t about ethical living but about control – every aspect of my life was monitored and scrutinised.
His interference extended beyond just meals. Clothing and personal care products were also inspected. He’d throw out my housemates’ items if they weren’t certain brands he used, and I once caught him in the hallway inspecting my Converse, validating that they were vegan.
Gradually he became increasingly invasive, checking bins after he’d been away to try and spot non-vegan food residue, as well as trying to follow me on social media.
Housemates who struggled with English and mistakenly bought non-vegan Quorn products were swiftly evicted. He would find this out by going through their freezer drawers, confronting them and refusing to believe their explanations.
Because living plant-based was included in our tenancy agreement, none of them stood a chance against him legally.
However, those who were clear threats to our safety were allowed to stay – in my seven months of living there, I experienced people punching walls and entering other’s rooms at night. It was only once they were caught with non-vegan items that they were evicted.
My landlord would then act like a hero, as though saving the house from a ‘flesh-eater’ was more important than keeping us safe from actual harm.
This all led to my landlord telling us that he would be installing cameras throughout the house – not for us, but for him, so that he could keep an eye on what food we were cooking and if we were sneaking prohibited snacks into our rooms.
I felt like I had two options: rot away in this prison, or join his cult-like community.
To avoid any scrutiny, I told my landlord one evening that I was moving in with a friend and would like to give a month’s notice. He tried to convince me to stay, offering to lower my rent and even promised that he wouldn’t let non-vegans live in the house.
But after explaining that this wasn’t quite the issue, he became hostile and refused to return my deposit. At the time I didn’t care, I knew I needed to get out.
The only freedom the vegan house gave me was the ability to choose my next home, as I now had time to view multiple properties, speak with various landlords and tenants and ask the questions that mattered, such as ‘is the property safe and compliant with regulations?’ and ‘will the space feel like a true home?’.
I thankfully had more time to find somewhere that my boundaries could be respected.
It took six weeks of searching, and I now live in another house I found on a housemate-matching site. There’s three of us total, but it’s peaceful and I no longer feel like I’m under constant surveillance.
However, there are still setbacks – a house never truly feels like it’s yours when you live with strangers; you always feeling a sense of impermanence.
Sometimes, I find myself scrolling through flat-sharing ads when I’m bored, trying to spot more audacious landlords – funnily enough, I always see the open ad for my old room.
Ultimately, my time in the vegan house was a microcosm of the broader UK housing crisis.
This all led to my landlord telling us that he would be installing cameras throughout the house
With affordable housing in short supply, tenants are often forced to accept subpar conditions, leaving them vulnerable to exploitation.
Landlords can impose authoritarian agendas in a home that is supposed to be a safe space, especially in cases where strangers are living together because navigating the challenges of cohabiting with people you don’t know is already uncomfortable.
Ironically, the vegan house seemed less constrictive than others I came across online, where landlords expected tenants to not use their living rooms, never have guests over or to find somewhere else over the weekend.
While I was strong enough to not succumb to the control of my landlord, there are countless others in similar situations who might not be so fortunate.
There must be better tenant protections, established by governing bodies like local councils and the UK government, with systemic changes such as a stronger enforcement of rental laws for lodgers, clearer regulations around tenancy agreements and better support for vulnerable tenants that address both immediate needs and long-term solutions for a more equitable housing system.
In a stable housing market, tenants would have the freedom to walk away from toxic situations and demand better living situations. In the current crisis, finding a safe and respectful home becomes a luxury rather than a right.
Ultimately, the vegan house made me realise that even a home meant to align with your values can become stifling if it’s built on control rather than mutual respect. Everyone has the right to the security and freedom to live comfortably, and wellbeing should always come before rigid ideologies or profit.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk.
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