Is being vegan expensive? The truth might surprise you

When I told my former colleagues in finance that I was going vegan, the first question wasn't about protein. It was about money.

"Isn't that incredibly expensive?" they asked, eyebrows raised, probably picturing $12 bottles of oat milk and $8 cashew cheese. I understood the assumption. I'd made it myself before I actually ran the numbers.

Five years later, I can tell you that the relationship between veganism and your wallet is far more nuanced than the headlines suggest.

And as someone who spent over a decade analyzing financial data before burning out and finding a different path, I've approached this question the way I approach most things: with curiosity, a spreadsheet, and a willingness to challenge my own assumptions.

The myth of the expensive vegan

Here's what I've noticed: the "veganism is expensive" narrative often comes from looking at specialty products in isolation. Yes, a block of artisan cashew brie costs more than conventional dairy cheese. Yes, those plant-based chicken nuggets in the freezer section carry a premium. But this comparison misses something crucial.

When researchers at The Lancet Planetary Health analyzed the cost of different dietary patterns across 150 countries, they found that vegan diets were actually the most affordable option in high-income nations when focused on whole foods.

The key phrase there? Whole foods. Beans, rice, lentils, seasonal vegetables, oats, potatoes. These aren't trendy superfoods. They're the backbone of how most of the world has eaten for centuries.

What I actually spend

I started tracking my grocery spending when I went vegan, partly out of old financial habits and partly because I was genuinely curious. The first few months were admittedly chaotic. I bought every meat substitute I could find, stocked up on specialty items I'd never heard of, and yes, my grocery bill climbed.

But then something shifted. I learned to cook with ingredients rather than products. A bag of dried chickpeas costs under two dollars and makes enough hummus, curry, and roasted snacks to last a week.

Seasonal produce from the farmers market often costs less than the organic section at the grocery store. My weekly food budget now hovers around what I spent as an omnivore, sometimes less. The difference is where that money goes.

What does your current grocery cart actually contain? When I ask people this question, they often realize they're spending more on convenience and packaging than on nutrition.

The hidden costs we forget to count

During my finance years, I learned that the most important numbers are often the ones people don't think to measure. When we talk about the cost of food, we rarely factor in healthcare expenses, environmental impact, or the long-term economic ripple effects of our choices.

Research published in PNAS estimated that a global shift toward plant-based diets could save up to $1 trillion annually in healthcare costs and lost productivity. That's not a typo.

These aren't costs that show up on your grocery receipt, but they're costs we all pay eventually, whether through insurance premiums, taxes, or our own medical bills.

I think about this when I'm chopping vegetables for dinner. The investment I'm making isn't just in tonight's meal.

Privilege, access, and honest conversation

I want to be careful here, because I've seen this conversation go sideways. Yes, veganism can be affordable. But affordability isn't just about price tags. It's about time to cook, access to grocery stores with fresh produce, kitchen equipment, and the mental bandwidth to learn new skills.

When I left my corporate job, I suddenly had hours I'd never had before. Time to soak beans overnight. Time to experiment with recipes that failed spectacularly before they succeeded. Not everyone has that luxury, and pretending otherwise does a disservice to the real barriers people face.

The question isn't whether veganism is universally cheap or expensive. It's whether it can work within your specific circumstances, and what support or creativity might help bridge the gaps.

Starting where you are

If you're curious about plant-based eating but worried about cost, I'd suggest starting with one meal. Not a complete overhaul, just one dinner a week built around beans, grains, and vegetables. Notice what you spend. Notice how you feel. Let the data accumulate before drawing conclusions.

My partner Marcus was skeptical when I first started this journey.

He's a practical person, not easily swayed by enthusiasm. But after a few months of eating what I was cooking, he admitted the meals were satisfying and our restaurant spending had dropped significantly. We were eating better and saving money for things that mattered more to us.

Final thoughts

The truth about veganism and money is that it reflects your choices, just like any other way of eating. You can spend a fortune on plant-based junk food, or you can build nourishing meals from simple, affordable ingredients. The same is true for omnivorous diets.

What I've learned, both from my years in finance and my years in the kitchen, is that the best investments are rarely the flashiest ones. A pot of lentil soup simmering on the stove won't make headlines.

But it will feed you well, cost you little, and leave you with something valuable: the quiet satisfaction of a choice that aligns with your values. And that, I've found, is worth more than any number on a receipt.