Musings

Oranges and Tangerines

O&T: In Defense of Thoughtful Comparisons

There’s a phrase people reach for almost instinctively when they want to dismiss a comparison: “That’s like comparing apples and oranges.”

It sounds reasonable. Even wise, sometimes. But more often than not, it’s used too casually, almost as a reflex to shut down a conversation rather than engage with it.

And that’s where my issue begins.

The Lazy Escape Hatch

When someone says “apples and oranges,” what they usually mean is: these things are too different to be compared meaningfully.

Fair enough. Sometimes that’s true.

But increasingly, I see it used in situations where the comparison is not only valid, but actually insightful. Instead of examining how two things relate, people label them incomparable and move on. It becomes less of an argument and more of an escape hatch.

Oranges and Tangerines

My response to this has become simple:

“It’s oranges and tangerines.”

Yes, I’m comparing them.
Because they are similar. Because they belong to the same family. Because the differences between them are interesting precisely because of their similarities.

Most meaningful comparisons are not between wildly unrelated things. They are between things that share a structure, a purpose, or a context.

When I compare two ideas, systems, or behaviours, I’m not claiming they are identical. I’m saying they are related enough that the comparison reveals something useful.

Calling that “apples and oranges” misses the point.

Even Apples and Oranges Deserve a Comparison

But let’s go further.

Even if I am comparing things that are quite different, why is that automatically invalid?

Consider this:

If you are making a ranked list of top fruits, you'd have to compare apples and oranges, right?

At some point, comparison becomes unavoidable. The act of ranking, evaluating, or choosing inherently requires putting different things on the same scale.

We do this all the time:

Choosing between career paths Comparing books across genres Evaluating different philosophies

None of these are identical domains. Yet, we still compare — because comparison is how we think.

Once, I asked a friend a simple question: which movie did you like more, The Dark Knight or The Shawshank Redemption?

He didn’t even pause.

“Bro, how can you compare them? One is a superhero crime drama, the other is a prison drama. That’s like comparing apples and oranges.”

And that was the moment it genuinely confused me.

What do you mean I can’t compare them?

I’m not saying they are the same film. I’m not mapping Batman to Andy Dufresne and calling it equivalent. But they are still both movies. They are both trying to do something well.

And movies have so many dimensions you can compare:

Maybe The Dark Knight excels in tension and scale, while The Shawshank Redemption wins in emotional depth and character journey. That’s exactly what makes the comparison interesting.

And if comparison itself is invalid, then what are we doing when we rate films?

Why do critics give these stars and ratings?
Why do platforms like IMDb or Letterboxd even exist?

Those numbers don’t exist in isolation. They are part of a shared scale. A 9 is implicitly “better” than a 7, even if the films belong to completely different genres.

So whether we admit it or not, we are already comparing apples and oranges all the time.

The only question is not whether comparison is valid.
It’s whether we are willing to do it thoughtfully.

Comparison Is a Tool, Not a Claim

The real misunderstanding is this.
A comparison is not a claim of equality.

It is a tool for understanding.

When I compare two things, I’m asking:

Dismissing that process with “apples and oranges” often shuts down exactly the kind of thinking that leads to insight.

Be More Precise

If a comparison is flawed, say why.
If the variables don’t align, explain how.
If the analogy breaks, point out where.

But don’t just say “apples and oranges” and walk away.

Because sometimes, it’s not apples and oranges.
Sometimes, it’s oranges and tangerines.

And sometimes… it really is apples and oranges.

You’re standing in a fruit shop, trying to decide what to buy.

So what do you do?

Walk out…
or finally admit that maybe, just maybe,
apples and oranges were always meant to be compared.