How to Alienate a Loyal Vegan of Decades Desperately Trying to Buy Your Product (Without Feeling Swindled)

In a world where companies can easily convert frustrations into loyalty, Rebel Vegan Cheese missed the opportunity to make an ambassador out of me. And I think they are creating very special products for people like me.

Why do I spend the time? One similar now removed post cleaned up Siete Foods in the early days for making their products seem healthy when they contained pork lard. Now look at them as a vegan phenom.

After decades as a dedicated vegan, I’ve mastered the art of hunting down great plant-based products. So when Rebel Vegan Cheese tempted me with their “Buy cheese, get two free wheels!” ad, I took the bait—only to find myself in a maze of misleading promos, shipping surcharges, and some of the most dismissive customer service I’ve experienced. I loaded my cart with many cheeses and combinations, over a $100, fully expecting my free wheels to appear. None of my three combinations were included in the promo. But Rebel Vegan Cheese had other plans, hitting me with terms that felt less like “small print” and more like “invisible ink.” When I asked for help, they hit me with a vague response about “niche” artisan cheese—basically, a fancy way of saying,

“Hey, it’s pricey, deal with it.”

So, I pressed on, determined to buy their product. I spotted another promo for “World Vegan Day” with layered discounts—a confusing reminder of deals I’d just missed. And then came the kicker: their checkout process. You’d think a modern vegan brand would streamline their payment methods, right? Wrong.

First, Apple Pay was mysteriously unavailable. So I turned to PayPal, usually a hassle-free option. Except with Rebel, PayPal was anything but. Instead of letting me breeze through with my pre-saved shipping details, I had to re-enter everything manually. This back-and-forth killed the simplicity of a “one-click” checkout and made me feel like I was in a time warp back to 2005.

When I pointed out that all this hassle and profit-laden shipping might turn off even the most committed customers, Rebel’s response was, in essence, “Artisan vegan cheese isn’t cheap and the market is niche.” You could practically hear the shrug. The response came courtesy of a former Apple rep who seemed to have forgotten that customer service involves serving the customer, not just nodding along protecting a $20 fake discount that could have been fixed easily. Ah, yes, that timeless sales tactic: Tell the customer it’s a privilege to be frustrated.

Founded by Kristen Maitland and Fred Zwar in Austin, Rebel Vegan Cheese clearly has a vision for bringing plant-based cheese to the world. Yet somewhere between the founders’ intentions and the actual customer experience, the plot was lost. The promos are riddled with conditions, the shipping costs feel like a profit play, and the checkout process fails at the very basics of user convenience. If these well intentioned mission driven owners want me to remove or edit this post, please let me know how you will shift your customer service experience. I will be happy with the progress.

For anyone curious about the finer points of customer loyalty and the perils of “extractive capitalism,” here are some great reads:

– [Forward Health is a Sideway Step at Best]

– [Why Good Service Is All About Trust]

Let me also recommend these amazing companies who I have had extroadonary experiences with for vegan cheese

SriMU – Literally the finest boutique cheese on the market and super conscious company

Herbivorous Butcher:

I am super excited to try Stockheld from a former customer of mine

Vreamery, yet avoid and protest Rebel, which is sold there:

Great guidance here on qulity DTC customer service

In the end, buying cheese shouldn’t feel like an obstacle course. Here’s hoping Rebel takes a cue from companies that actually make customer loyalty a priority.

UPDATE from Monday morning: Just in, I thought to share they have spammed my mobile number 6x since yesterday. Its time to fire their direct response marketer.

About the author:

Tony Greenberg: Champion of Social Impact and Human Rights

Tony Greenberg, a B-labs certified company, the rarest black belt of all principled companies leverages technology and analytics to drive social impact and uphold human rights. As founder of RampRate, he directed billions in IT spend toward meaningful initiatives, ensuring transparency and accountability in an industry often plagued by greenwashing. His investments and advisory roles in numerous impact-driven startups and charities, from mental health initiatives to educational programs in rural India, highlight his commitment to positive change.

Tony’s work spans projects as diverse as creating eco-conscious tech solutions for Fortune 500 companies, guiding sustainable practices, and supporting indigenous rights across Latin America and Africa. Notably, he facilitated a multi-million-dollar grant for the Xprize Foundation, empowering communities to vote on impactful social projects.

With investments in Capria.vc and a dedicated role as an emissary for Bhutan’s Gross National Happiness Centre, Tony remains at the forefront of projects that champion human rights, privacy, and environmental stewardship. His commitment to ESG and CSR initiatives has transformed corporate approaches at eBay, Microsoft, Sony, and beyond. Passionate and tireless, Tony Greenberg is a force for transparency, equity, and compassion in business and beyond.

The Unmaking of a Believer

We stand at a strange junction in the life of our civilization. We have summoned technologies of astonishing power and built markets that connect us in ways previously unimaginable. Yet, in this hyper-connected world, we find ourselves adrift in a sea of broken promises, where the language of purpose is too often just another mask for the old, extractive logic of capital. This is not merely about a transaction gone wrong; it is about the slow erosion of trust at a time when we need it most, a moment when the promise of a more conscious economy feels like it is slipping through our fingers.

I remember the moment the ad caught my eye. The light from my screen casting a cool glow in the dim room, the promise of “Buy cheese, get two free wheels!” from Rebel Vegan Cheese felt like a small beacon of generosity in a world of shrinking portions and rising prices. I could almost taste the sharp, nutty flavor of an aged cashew cheese, a testament to the craft and dedication I, as a vegan of several decades, have come to cherish. The click of the mouse was decisive, a gesture of faith in a brand that seemed to speak my language. But as I navigated their digital storefront, a different sensation began to take hold: the subtle, cold friction of a system designed not for connection, but for extraction.

The architecture of the con is always in the fine print, the invisible ink of exceptions and exclusions. My cart, filled with over a hundred dollars of carefully selected cheeses, remained stubbornly devoid of the promised free wheels. The checkout, a place that should be a seamless transition from desire to fulfillment, became a labyrinth of failed payment options and frustrating data re-entry. Apple Pay, the modern standard for frictionless commerce, was a ghost in their machine. PayPal, a once-reliable ally, became a clumsy interrogator, demanding information it already knew. This was not the seamless experience of a 21st-century brand; it was a digital time warp to the clunky, frustrating web of 2005. The system wasn’t broken; it was designed this way. The confusing promotions, the inflated shipping costs, the broken payment gateways—they are not bugs, but features of a business model that prioritizes short-term profit over long-term relationship. This is the logic of extractive capitalism, cloaked in the virtuous language of plant-based innovation.

And in this, I must confess a certain naivete. For years, I have championed the power of conscious consumerism, believing that our choices in the marketplace could be a force for good. I have celebrated the rise of mission-driven brands, seeing them as allies in the fight for a more just and sustainable world. But my experience with Rebel Vegan Cheese forced me to confront a difficult truth: that the language of purpose can be easily co-opted, that a “mission” can become just another marketing angle. I felt a pang of disillusionment, a quiet fear that the movement I have dedicated my life to is being hollowed out from the inside, one broken promise at a time.

· · ·A brand is a promise. When that promise is broken, it is not just a sale that is lost, but a piece of the future we are trying to build together.· · ·

In the end, a company is not what it says, but what it does.