It’s 10 a.m. on Christmas Day, and I’m hunched over my MacBook as the looming deadlines of college applications approach. By the end of winter break, I’ll have written over twenty-five essays.
Supplemental writing was just the tip of the iceberg. This journey began over the summer, when I created my Common App account, an application portal that students use to apply to most schools.
Anxious to put my best foot forward, I looked online for advice. After deep-diving into free coaching websites, r/applyingtocollege and various influencer pages, I learned that a strong application has a “spike,” meaning a specific core narrative.
The core of your “spike” is the personal statement, or what I describe as selling yourself in 650 words. We’re advised to write about something important to us. There’s an illusion of freedom, a misguided promotion of authenticity, yet certain topics are forbidden: sports injuries, divorce, mental health, mission trips and more. This pressure to convey individuality, paired with the daunting task of crafting a cohesive narrative, makes 650 words carry the weight of a novel. The strive for perfection permeates elite college admissions. Admissions officers claim they want to know the “real you,” and that authenticity is enough, but in a world of single-digit acceptance rates, the process devolves into a vicious game of strategy, competition and performance. The activities list allows only 150 characters for 10 spots. The minuscule space means that only the most critical information makes the cut; emotional meaning gives way to quantification, and “impact” becomes the sole metric. In my case, the highlight of my week is Conversation Club, where I moderate and ensure that every voice has room to share.
How does one quantify the feeling of a quieter member finally feeling confident enough to share an opinion? How can one measure the joy of breaking bread in a community?
While these personal sections matter, two important factors unfailingly outweigh them: GPA and test scores. Each year, colleges release a dataset ranking application sections by importance. GPA is consistently at the top. It’s silly to pretend that a beautiful essay can compensate for a 3.1 on a Harvard application.
As for test scores, admissions officers promise to view them in context. But for people from competitive high schools, anything below a 1500 is a limiting factor for most elite schools. And while “test optional” is sometimes available, there is no clear answer for students in the 1350-1490 range. When deciding whether to submit scores to schools like Tufts and Northwestern, I felt frustrated when my counselor told me herself that there is “no right answer.”
It’s strange to think that the hours I’ve poured into meticulously molding my life story into a strategic yet authentic portrayal of myself might be reduced to a 2-3 minute skim. Every detail, statistic and reflection that I obsessed over may receive only a second’s worth of attention. And if my test scores and grades don’t meet some invisible line, my application could be discarded without a second thought.
I recognize the extraordinary opportunity to pursue higher education in general, yet as I reflect on my college admissions experience, I feel disappointment in the current system. This experience felt exhausting and dehumanizing, even though I’m from a background that benefits from it the most. At the end of the day, while I’m happy with my admission results, I am frustrated with the process. But I am not the first student to feel this way, and I certainly won’t be the last.
