You Know You Are a Progressive Liberal If...

 

You Know You Are a Progressive Liberal If...

You think tofu is a food group.

Your dog has a more comprehensive wardrobe than you do.

You own more reusable grocery bags than pairs of socks.

You consider kale a treat.

Your idea of a fun night out is attending a city council meeting.

You’ve named your house plants and talk to them daily.

Your car has more bumper stickers than miles on the odometer.

You refuse to use a product if it isn’t labeled organic.

You’ve used the phrase "intersectional feminism" in casual conversation.

You believe the most important news event of the year was the release of a new climate change report.

Your preferred method of communication is a protest sign.

You’ve had a heated argument over the ethical implications of quinoa.

Your favorite coffee shop doubles as a bike repair station.

You can’t go a day without mentioning the carbon footprint.

You’ve corrected someone’s grammar on social media more than once.

Your bookshelf is 90% biographies of influential activists.

You’ve contemplated running for office just to ban plastic straws.

You have a strong opinion on which brand of oat milk is superior.

You think brunch is a political statement.

You’ve got a petition for every issue saved in your browser bookmarks.

You only buy clothes from thrift stores or sustainable brands.

You’ve made your own laundry detergent.

You’ve organized a community cleanup event in your neighborhood.

You use the word "sustainable" more than you use the word "the."

You consider NPR your primary source of entertainment.

You’ve attended a march, rally, or protest every weekend for the past year.

Your idea of a vacation is volunteering at an environmental conservation project.

You’ve boycotted at least three companies this year.

You’ve used the phrase "late-stage capitalism" in a serious conversation.

You know the names of more Supreme Court Justices than Kardashians.

Your favorite sport is debating.

You bring your own containers to restaurants for leftovers.

You’ve seriously discussed the benefits of composting toilets.

You get offended when people don’t recycle properly.

You’ve knitted a hat for a protest march.

You’ve got a reusable water bottle with you at all times, even at home.

You’ve signed up for a meditation retreat to manage your activist burnout.

You’ve got a solar panel tattoo.

You’ve considered moving off-grid but decided against it because you’d miss Wi-Fi.

You’ve written a strongly worded letter to your local representative about the importance of bees.

Your diet is primarily plant-based, and you’ve got the recipe blog to prove it.

You’ve given a TED Talk to your friends during dinner.

You’ve hosted a zero-waste party.

You’ve made a vision board featuring Greta Thunberg.

You’ve started a podcast about ethical consumerism.

Your idea of a fun date night is attending a lecture on social justice.

You’ve had a candlelight dinner to save electricity.

You’ve taken a selfie at every local farmer’s market.

You think that voting is a sacred duty and treat election day like a holiday.

You’ve crafted your own reusable produce bags out of old t-shirts.

You’ve tried to grow your own avocados in your apartment.

You’ve sent a thank you note to your local recycling center.

You have a favorite type of yoga.

Your definition of “fast food” is an organic smoothie.

You’ve attended a webinar on the importance of electric vehicles.

You’ve got a compost pile on your balcony.

You’ve debated the ethical implications of blockchain technology.

You believe the best way to make friends is at a political rally.

You’ve hand-crafted your own eco-friendly Christmas decorations.

You’ve considered getting a degree in environmental science just for fun.

You’ve tried to convince your neighbors to install solar panels.

You’ve done a social media cleanse to protest data privacy issues.

Your dog has a vegan diet.

You’ve hosted a clothing swap party.

You think “Meatless Monday” should be a national holiday.

You’ve sent a letter to the editor about single-use plastics.

You’ve got a collection of reusable straws in every color.

You’ve organized a bike-to-work day at your office.

You’ve knitted your own reusable grocery bags.

You’ve attended a workshop on zero-waste living.

You’ve volunteered to clean up a beach.

You’ve got an app to track your carbon footprint.

You’ve tried to make your own plant-based milk.

You’ve signed up for a class on urban farming.

You’ve hosted a documentary night featuring social justice films.

You’ve got a petition ready for any new issue that arises.

You’ve considered running for local office just to implement green policies.

You’ve made your own natural cleaning products.

You’ve installed a rainwater harvesting system.

You’ve had a serious discussion about the ethics of artificial intelligence.

You’ve written poetry about climate change.

You’ve attended a town hall meeting and asked questions.

You’ve gone on a digital detox to protest against tech companies.

You’ve tried to get your company to switch to renewable energy.

You’ve hosted a vegan bake sale.

You’ve got a reusable coffee cup that’s seen better days.

You’ve started a blog about sustainable living.

You’ve given a speech at a local event about the importance of voting.

You’ve boycotted a brand for unethical practices.

You’ve made art out of recycled materials.

You’ve got a reusable lunch container with compartments.

You’ve planted trees on Earth Day.

You’ve donated to at least five different social justice causes.

You’ve written a manifesto about the importance of ethical consumerism.

You’ve hosted a workshop on conscious capitalism.

You’ve meditated on the impacts of climate change.

You’ve got a reusable shopping bag for every occasion.

You’ve participated in a flash mob for a cause.

You’ve created your own eco-friendly beauty products.

A bit more…..

So I decided to host a protest against fossil fuels. Yeah, but everyone drove there! I’m standing there with my sign, and it’s just a sea of idling cars. One guy rolls down his window and says, “Hey, can I park here?” I’m like, “Sure, but only if it’s a hybrid!”

My dog eats better than I do. I’m making myself a PB&J while my dog is dining on a gourmet, organic, gluten-free meal. Sometimes I sneak a bite of his food—it’s actually not bad. Next thing you know, we’re both sitting there eating out of his bowl.

Thanksgiving dinner at my house is always interesting. We had a heated debate about the ethics of quinoa. “But do you know how much water it takes to grow that?” my uncle yells. Meanwhile, my grandma’s just trying to keep the peace, “Pass the quinoa, please.”

I refuse to eat anything that hasn’t been certified by three different environmental organizations. I’m at a restaurant like, “Is this lettuce fair trade? Is it cruelty-free?” The waiter looks at me and says, “Ma’am, it’s lettuce.” Next thing you know, I’m bringing my own salad to the restaurant.

I bought an electric car, but I can’t find a charging station. So I end up walking everywhere. I pull up to the gas station out of habit, and the attendant looks at me like, “What are you doing here?” I just sigh, plug in my car to my portable solar panel, and start walking home. It’s a long trek when you live in the suburbs.

My coffee order takes longer to explain than it does to drink. “I’ll have a half-caf, soy milk, no foam, organic, fair-trade latte, with a sprinkle of cinnamon, not too much.” The barista’s like, “Is that all?” By the time they make it, I’ve finished it in one sip. And then I wonder why my friends won’t meet me for coffee anymore.

So, I knitted a sweater for my reusable water bottle. People at the gym ask, “Why is your bottle wearing a sweater?” I tell them, “It gets cold.” Suddenly, they’re all knitting sweaters for their bottles too. It’s a whole new trend, and I’m the trendsetter!

I spend more time reading labels than actually shopping. I’m in the grocery aisle for hours, holding up a can of beans, squinting at the fine print. “Made in a facility that processes nuts? I don’t know if I can trust that.” By the time I’m done, the store’s closing and I’ve got two items in my cart.

I refuse to use plastic straws but have no problem with plastic surgery. “Save the turtles!” I shout, as I sip my smoothie with a metal straw. Meanwhile, I’m scheduling my next Botox appointment. Priorities, right?

I bring my own homemade, organic, gluten-free snacks to the movies and insist everyone tries them. “Here, taste this flaxseed brownie, it’s so much better than popcorn.” My friends are like, “Uh, no thanks.” Next thing you know, I’m the only one in the theater munching on kale chips.

I attended a climate change rally and spent the entire time on my phone. “Down with fossil fuels!” I chant, while scrolling through Instagram. I’m taking selfies with my protest sign, hashtagging #SaveThePlanet. The irony is lost on no one but me.

I’ve boycotted so many brands that I have nothing left to buy. My wardrobe is down to two shirts and a pair of jeans from 1995. “I can’t shop there; they use child labor,” I say, as I patch up my old clothes again. At this rate, I’ll be naked by next year.

I’ve had a serious conversation about the best way to recycle my compost. “Should I put the banana peels in the compost or the recycling bin?” My roommate’s like, “Just throw it in the trash.” But no, I spend the next hour researching the best eco-friendly options. It’s exhausting being this green.

I’ve tried to make my own clothes out of recycled materials and ended up looking like a scarecrow. “Look at my new outfit!” I proudly say, wearing a dress made of old grocery bags. People are like, “Are you okay?” Fashion isn’t easy when you’re saving the planet.

I get upset when someone doesn’t know the difference between fair trade and free trade. “It’s basic economics!” I exclaim at the dinner party. My friends nod politely, not understanding a word. And I wonder why I never get invited back.

I’ve started a petition to ban non-organic dog food. “It’s for the health of our pets,” I explain to bewildered dog owners. They sign out of pity, not because they care. My dog, meanwhile, is just happy to eat.

I’ve installed solar panels on my tiny house but don’t have enough power to charge my phone. “I’m living off the grid!” I brag. But my phone dies, and I’m disconnected from the world. Suddenly, living off the grid isn’t so glamorous.

I’ve tried to grow my own food and ended up with one sad tomato. “I’m self-sufficient,” I tell myself, staring at the lone tomato. My neighbor’s garden is flourishing, making me question my green thumb. Turns out, farming is harder than it looks.

I’ve got more reusable bags than actual groceries. “I’ll save the planet one bag at a time,” I say, stuffing another reusable bag into my collection. I go shopping and forget to bring them. The cashier gives me a plastic bag, and I die a little inside.

I hosted a vegan dinner party and nobody ate because everything tasted like cardboard. “It’s healthy and ethical,” I insist, watching my friends push food around their plates. One brave soul tries a bite and chokes. Next time, I’m ordering pizza.

I’ve attempted to start a commune in my apartment building. “We’ll grow our own food and live sustainably,” I declare to my neighbors. They look at me like I’m crazy and promptly ignore me. Communal living is harder when nobody wants to join.

I’ve argued with my friends about the carbon footprint of their vacations. “You flew where? Do you know how much CO2 that emits?” They roll their eyes and order another round of drinks. I spend the rest of the night sulking over my carbon-neutral cocktail.

I’ve written a strongly worded letter to my favorite band for not using recycled paper in their CD booklet. “I can’t support this!” I shout, tearing up their latest album. My friends laugh, reminding me that nobody buys CDs anymore. Progress can be so frustrating.

I’ve tried to make my own toothpaste and ended up with a mouthful of baking soda. “It’s all-natural!” I exclaim, spitting out the gritty paste. My dentist shakes their head in dismay. Some things are better left to the professionals.

I’ve got a compost bin in my kitchen that my guests mistake for a garbage can. “No, that’s for compost!” I yell as someone throws in a soda can. I spend the next hour fishing it out, feeling like the compost police. My friends just want to eat in peace.

I made a New Year’s resolution to go zero waste but ended up with a pantry full of mason jars. “I’ll never use plastic again!” I declare, buying jars for everything. Six months later, I’m drowning in glass containers and have no idea what’s in them. Zero waste, maximum chaos.

I’ve boycotted my favorite restaurant because they don’t serve locally sourced water. “It’s not sustainable,” I tell the confused waiter. My friends groan as I pull out a flask of my own water. Dining out is never simple when you’re this committed.

I’ve tried to convince my office to go paperless and ended up with everyone using twice as much paper. “Think of the trees!” I plead, but my coworkers just print more emails to spite me. The office turns into a forest of paperwork, and I wonder why I even tried.

I’ve organized a neighborhood cleanup but only me and my dog show up. “Where is everyone?” I ask, looking at the empty street. My dog wags his tail, excited for a solo adventure. At least someone appreciates my efforts.

I’ve spent more on eco-friendly products than I’ve saved by being eco-friendly. “It’s worth it for the planet,” I say, buying another $20 bamboo toothbrush. My bank account cries as I justify each purchase. Saving the Earth is an expensive hobby.

I attended a workshop on making my own soap and now my house smells like a chemistry experiment gone wrong. “Look at my homemade soap!” I proudly announce. My friends recoil from the overpowering scent. Some things are better left to the experts.

I’ve knitted scarves for all my friends’ pets. “Everyone deserves to be warm,” I say, presenting the tiny scarves. The pets look confused, and my friends laugh. I’ve officially become the crazy knitting friend.

I’ve written a poem about the plight of endangered bees. “Listen to this,” I tell my friends, reciting my heartfelt verses. They clap politely, then change the subject. Not everyone appreciates bee poetry like I do.

I’ve started a blog about the ethical implications of fashion and now I have no followers because nobody wants to give up their fast fashion. “Read my latest post!” I urge, sharing my insights. My friends nod but never click the link. Ethical fashion is a lonely path.

I hosted a potluck and insisted that everyone’s dish be gluten-free, vegan, and organic, resulting in a table full of salads. “It’s for the planet,” I say, eyeing the lettuce. My friends reluctantly eat their greens. Next time, they bring dessert and ignore my guidelines.

I’ve boycotted plastic but my house is full of Amazon packages. “I hate plastic!” I shout, unboxing my latest order. Bubble wrap and plastic fill my living room. The irony is palpable.

I’ve tried to meditate but got distracted by thoughts of how to reduce my water usage. “Breathe in, breathe out,” I tell myself, then wonder if I should install a low-flow showerhead. Meditation turns into a home improvement plan. Inner peace will have to wait.

I’ve started a compost pile and now my backyard smells like a landfill. “It’s good for the environment,” I say, holding my nose. My neighbors complain, and I promise to fix it. Being green has its stinky side.

I’ve argued with my friends about the proper way to recycle a pizza box. “The grease makes it unrecyclable!” I insist. They roll their eyes and throw it in the bin. I dig it out later, determined to save the planet one pizza box at a time.

I’ve made my own sunscreen and ended up looking like a ghost. “It’s natural and safe,” I declare, rubbing on the white paste. People stare as I walk down the beach, glowing like a specter. At least I won’t get sunburned.

I’ve tried to get my local coffee shop to switch to fair trade and now I have to drive an hour for my morning cup. “Support ethical coffee!” I demand, but they refuse. I end up driving miles for a guilt-free latte, burning more gas in the process.

I organized a bike-to-work day but forgot to check the weather forecast. “Let’s save the planet!” I cheer, pedaling through a downpour. My coworkers arrive soaked and miserable. Next time, I’ll remember to check the weather app.

I’ve written a song about the dangers of single-use plastics and nobody wants to hear it. “It’s catchy and educational,” I say, strumming my guitar. My friends beg me to stop. Not everyone appreciates a good eco-ballad.

I’ve tried to go zero waste and ended up hoarding glass jars. “I’ll reuse everything!” I promise, collecting jars like a squirrel. My kitchen overflows with containers, and I can’t find anything. Zero waste, maximum clutter.

I started a petition to ban plastic bags and now I have a garage full of them. “I’m saving the world,” I claim, stuffing another bag into the pile. My family rolls their eyes. Sometimes, even heroes need plastic bags.

I’ve tried to grow my own herbs and ended up with a windowsill full of dead plants. “I have a green thumb,” I boast, as another plant wilts. My friends suggest fake plants. Gardening isn’t for everyone.

I’ve made my own cleaning products and now my house smells like vinegar. “It’s all-natural,” I say, scrubbing the floors. The smell is overpowering, and my guests hold their noses. Clean and fresh don’t always go hand in hand.

I attended a seminar on sustainable living and realized I’m already doing everything wrong. “I thought I was eco-friendly,” I lament, taking notes. The speaker lists all my mistakes. Saving the planet is harder than it looks.

I’ve argued with my neighbor about the proper way to compost. “You can’t compost that!” I shout, pointing at their pile. They ignore me and keep composting wrong. Neighborhood harmony is overrated.

I tried to start a community garden but nobody wants to do the work. “We’ll grow our own food,” I declare, holding a shovel. My neighbors nod but never show up. Community gardening is a solo mission.

I’ve organized a clothing swap and ended up with more clothes than I started with. “It’s sustainable fashion,” I insist, sorting through piles of clothes. My friends take the good stuff and leave me with the rest. At least my wardrobe is more diverse.

I’ve written a letter to my local government about the importance of bike lanes and now they avoid me at town hall meetings. “It’s for public safety!” I argue, waving my letter. The council members duck out when they see me coming. Persistence isn’t always appreciated.