There are certain things in life that seem trivial on the surface but somehow carry the weight of an American summer cookout, like arguing over the best hot dog toppings or whether you should fold a pizza slice before taking a bite. But perhaps no cultural clash captures the essence of Americana quite like the Great Red Licorice Debate: Twizzlers vs. Red Vines. It's the type of conversation that seems harmless at first, maybe something to pass the time on a road trip or while waiting in line at the movies, but it escalates faster than a backyard cornhole tournament with bragging rights on the line.
Before you know it, you’ve chosen sides, fists clenched, holding either a smooth, waxy Twizzler or a softer, sweeter Red Vine like it’s the Stars and Stripes. And let’s be honest, for those who are truly committed, it might as well be. You can’t just casually "like" Twizzlers or Red Vines; it’s a full-blown identity. You don’t just choose a candy—you pledge allegiance.
Personally, I’ve always been a Red Vines fan. There’s something about the texture, the flavor—it just hits the spot for me. They’re the perfect balance of chewy and soft, with just enough flavor to keep you reaching for another piece. Twizzlers, on the other hand, have always felt a bit too plasticky for my taste. But here’s the thing: I can appreciate that not everyone feels the same way. As much as I’ll defend Red Vines in any licorice debate, I’ve learned that some battles just aren’t worth fighting. Sometimes, agreeing to disagree and getting along is more important than being "right."
I remember the first time I realized just how passionate people were about their red licorice preferences. It was during a middle school movie night at a friend’s house. Someone passed around a pack of Twizzlers, and as I took a bite, I casually remarked that I preferred Red Vines. You’d think I had just insulted their entire family. In that moment, I understood: this wasn’t just about candy. This was a matter of identity, loyalty, and childhood memories. Twizzlers fans would wax poetic about the strawberry flavor and how Twizzlers made the best makeshift straws for slurping soda. Meanwhile, Red Vines enthusiasts like myself would counter with the softer, more pronounced taste of our favorite licorice. But no one was really upset. Sure, the debate was passionate, but it was also playful. It was the kind of argument where no matter which side you were on, the love for candy united us all. We could joke and tease, but in the end, we were just a bunch of kids bonding over our snack preferences, none of us too serious about winning the argument. That’s when I first understood that a heated licorice debate could be a microcosm of life. We all have our quirks and allegiances, but that doesn’t mean we can’t get along.
Fast forward to my time working at a company with people from all over the world. In the coffee room, there sat a massive tub of Costco red licorice (pre-COVID, of course). The Americans would gleefully grab a strand like it was the nectar of the gods, while the non-Americans stared at both the candy and us like we'd collectively lost our minds. It became a rite of passage—a true test of how “Americanized” someone had become based on how much they tolerated, or even enjoyed, the candy. One guy, after a solid 7 years with the company, triumphantly announced he finally liked it. We threw him a party that day.
Looking back, I realize that this licorice debate is a metaphor for life. We all have preferences, loyalties, and quirky little things we hold dear. Some of us are ride-or-die Red Vines fans, while others will always choose Twizzlers. But here’s the thing: it’s okay. These differences don’t need to divide us. In fact, embracing and accepting our differences and preferences enriches our lives. Makes life more interesting. Our preferences shape who we are, but they don’t have to define how we treat one another. The licorice rivalry is a reminder that sometimes, it’s better to agree to disagree—and maybe even laugh about it—than to dig our heels in over something as trivial as candy. At the end of the day, if we can’t laugh about our snack preferences, how are we supposed to handle all the bigger stuff? It’s a victory when we can smile through the banter, knowing deep down that no matter which candy camp you’re in, the real win is that we get to enjoy the sweeter side of life.
And the fact that I'm devouring a bag of Trader Joe's Soft Strawberry Licorice Twists that a friend insisted I try, all while writing this? Well, let's keep that between us...