By Dr Caroline Verfuerth (Cardiff University) and Dr Kate Laffan (London School of Economics)
Every January, thousands of people sign up for Veganuary with the best of intentions, but why do people often struggle to follow through on their goals to reduce their meat consumption?
Every January, thousands of people sign up for Veganuary with the best of intentions: to eat less meat for the climate, for animal welfare, or for their health. Many of our social media feeds can become inundated with colourful imagery of vegan meals, particularly of fruit and veg, and ambitious pledges. But for many, that initial enthusiasm doesn’t always translate into changed behaviour. By mid-month, familiar routines and cravings often win over the New Year’s resolution, and people find they’ve eaten more meat than they planned.
The research behind goal-failure
In a paper we recently published in the Journal of Environmental Psychology, we analysed narratives from 228 people about a recent occasion when they ate red meat. Half of the respondents had indicated in a survey a month prior that they intended to reduce their red meat consumption while the other half did not have such intentions. In our study, we asked them to describe a situation when they recently ate red meat.
One of the clearest patterns in our data was how strongly pleasure shapes food choices. For many participants, meat wasn’t just something to eat; many linked meat consumption to enjoyment, comfort, and routine. Describing red meat, people used words like “treat,” “comfort,” and “satisfying.” These associations aren’t trivial: pleasure is a powerful motivator in a situation when someone chooses between eating meat or not. Especially when people are tired, cold, stressed, or simply hungry, the immediate reward of a familiar, tasty meal can easily outweigh a distant climate or health goal.
We also found that social and situational cues make a difference. Eating is often social: special dinner occasion with the family, a celebration with the partner, or after a long day at work. In these contexts, people reported it felt harder to diverge from the group, or they defaulted to meat because it was the easiest option. Habit and convenience, the routines built up over years, repeatedly influenced choices, often without much conscious thought.
When people did eat meat despite their intentions, they tended to experience a mix of enjoyment and guilt. Some framed their choices with explanations like “I deserved a treat” or “it was just this once.” These aren’t signs of weakness so much as the mind’s way of reconciling competing motivations: the desire for pleasure right now, and the desire to live up to one’s own standards.
So, what can make a difference?
Our findings suggest that helping people reduce meat consumption isn’t just about strengthening intentions or providing more information. It’s about reshaping the food environments in which those intentions are tested. When people fall back on meat despite wanting to eat less of it, this isn’t simply a failure of motivation; it reflects how strongly the food system is still organised around making meat the most pleasurable, familiar, and convenient option in many everyday situations.
If pleasure, habit and social context are central drivers of food choice, then food system change needs to work with these forces rather than against them. That means ensuring plant-based meals are not positioned as sacrifices or moral statements, but as genuinely satisfying, normal parts of everyday eating. This includes investment in plant-based foods that deliver on taste and comfort, and their integration into the places where habits are formed and reinforced: workplace canteens, supermarkets, schools, hospitals, and restaurants.
It also means recognising that food choices are rarely made in isolation. People eat with partners, families, colleagues and friends, often under time pressure or fatigue. In these contexts, the “default” matters. When meat-based options are the easiest, cheapest, or most socially expected choice, even strong intentions can quickly erode. Shifting defaults, for example, through plant-based options as standard in catering, or menus where meat-free dishes are prominent and appealing, can reduce the effort required to act in line with one’s values.
Importantly, our findings also point to the need for targeted strategies rather than one-size-fits-all approaches. Evidence shows that meat reducers (i.e., people who already intend to cut back) are more open to plant-based substitutes and emerging alternatives like cultured meat than committed meat eaters. This suggests that policies and interventions should differentiate between groups, supporting those already motivated while continuing to reshape norms and options for the wider population.
Policy levers can reinforce these shifts. Pricing mechanisms such as taxing high-carbon foods, subsidising plant-based options, and clearer climate or health labelling can help align short-term food choices with long-term goals. Crucially, there is a long list of strategies that can support sustainable food choices (or example, as synthesised by the World Resources Institute), which should be tailored and combined.
Seen in this light, Veganuary is not just a month-long personal challenge, it is a stress test for the food system. When people struggle to maintain their intentions, it reveals where the system is still stacked against sustainable eating. If Veganuary is to be more than a temporary spike in awareness, individual motivation needs to be backed up by food environments that make sustainable, satisfying choices easy, normal, and socially supported, not just ethically encouraged.
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