They're Admitting Humans, Not Resumes

Harvard received 54,008 applications for the Class of 2028. It accepted 1,937 of them.

Among the rejected students? Tens of thousands with near-perfect academic records. MIT turned away applicants with perfect SAT scores—by the thousands.

Here's the uncomfortable math: at the most selective colleges, an exceptional student is just another exceptional student. There are just too many of them applying for the same spots at the same colleges. And that changes everything about how admissions works.

At Collegewise, we had a counselor who worked in MIT's admissions office. She told us they had a term for the students who looked great on paper. Perfect grades, perfect scores, packed résumés, no weaknesses to speak of.

They called them "standard strong."

A former Duke admissions officer had a different term: BWRKs. Bright, Well-Rounded Kids. Her reaction when she'd see one? "Another BWRK. How boring."

To be clear, most colleges in the country would trip over themselves to admit these students. They’ve worked hard. They’ve achieved. They’ve proven they can do the work and be successful at any college in the country. For hundreds and hundreds of schools, that’s more than good enough.

But for the 60 or so colleges that admit 20% or fewer of their applicants—schools generally classified as highly selective—being impressive everywhere and excellent at nothing in particular is the least interesting way to show up in an applicant pool. You don’t stand out. You look like everyone else.

Colleges double down on character

In 2016, admissions deans from 85 of America’s most selective universities, including every Ivy League school, jointly published a formal statement.

It said directly that too many students are being raised with messages that prioritize personal success over personal development. It called on colleges and families to shift admissions away from achievement checklists and toward authentic character.

This wasn't aspirational. These were the people who read applications at Harvard, Yale, Princeton, and Columbia. They were describing what they were already doing, and what they were going to keep doing.

The students who look right on paper but don’t pair credentials with character? With so many perfect applicants in the pile, those schools don’t have to take the risk. They just move on.

A tale of two students

We worked with a student I'll call Steven. His entire high school career was organized around one goal: get into Stanford.

Every class he chose, every activity he joined, every summer he planned — it all ran through the same filter. What would Stanford want?

He did 100 hours of community service not because he cared about helping people, but because he thought 100 sounded better than 75. He did a college research program not because the topic interested him, but because he thought it would impress admissions. He tutored kids, founded a club, and prepped endlessly for the SAT. All with the lone victory condition of getting admitted to Stanford.

When his Collegewise counselor asked him basic questions — and pushed back on his Stanford-or-bust approach — Steven couldn't answer without steering back toward Stanford. At some point, he'd stopped being a teenager and become a full-time college applicant. And no matter what we tried, we couldn’t convince Steven to just be Steven.

His essays read like they were designed to please a reader, not reveal a person. His teacher recommendations mentioned his work ethic but never his curiosity, because he’d never shown any. His activities list included the Ping-Pong Club he quit in ninth grade.

At most schools? A top applicant who would be welcomed into the freshman class. But at highly selective colleges? Standard strong. BWRK. And unfortunately, he was not admitted to Stanford.

It’s worth noting that today Steven is a pediatrician. Hard work eventually pays off for good kids. And while a rejection from Stanford might sting, it’s a temporary disappointment, not a life-defining day. But I share Steven’s story because, strictly from an admissions lens, it demonstrates the ineffectiveness of a strategy attempting to satisfy a magic formula that doesn’t exist.

We also worked with a student I'll call Margie. She wanted to go to medical school. She had the biology courses, the EMT certification, the hospital volunteer hours.

She also had a grandmother teaching her to cook from old family recipes. One thing led to another, and Margie had become obsessed with food. She was buying cookbooks. Watching cooking videos. Making dinner for her family three times a week.

When she was planning her summer after junior year, she brought her Collegewise counselor a question: should she take a multivariable calculus course at the local UC campus, or a non-credit food science course offered through its extension program?

Her mother pushed for calculus. It was college-level math. Other high-achieving students in the area were taking it. It would earn her college credit.

The food science course seemed fun and frivolous by comparison.

Our counselor asked one question: What do you want to do?

Margie wanted the food science course. She loved Alton Brown's cooking show because he always explained the science behind the recipes. This was exactly the kind of thing she'd do just for the pleasure of it.

Our counselor told her to take it.

Margie took the food science course. She loved it. She wrote about it in her Stanford application. She was admitted and enrolled.

Her academic record wasn’t a weakness: she had all the A’s in the most challenging courses that Stanford expects from its applicants. But the food science course did something her credentials couldn't. It showed Stanford who she actually was behind the achievements.

Most students applying to Stanford that year took college-level math. Almost none took a non-credit food science course just because it sounded interesting.

That’s what standing out looks like.

Character’s not just for college admissions

The economy students are preparing to enter is being restructured by AI. The McKinsey Global Institute found that one-third of all work hours in the U.S. economy require the social and emotional skills AI can't replicate. The World Economic Forum projected that by 2030, AI will displace 92 million jobs while creating 170 million new ones. And the new roles won’t go to people who can execute tasks machines can do faster.

The student trained exclusively to get the right answer is being prepared for a world that's disappearing. The student who can connect genuinely, lead real teams, and bring original thinking to problems that don't have a single correct answer — that's who the next economy is being built for.

The most selective colleges already know this. They’re not selecting for compliance. They’re selecting for humans.

Where to learn more

I wrote a white paper that goes much deeper into all of this. It covers the formal statements from admissions deans, the research on high-pressure parenting (including a landmark eight-year study of Chinese-American families that cuts directly against what many high-achieving parents believe), what STEM programs and medical schools are now formally requiring, and three specific strategies for raising a student who stands out for the right reasons.

It's free, and you can download it here.

If you’re a high-achieving student (or the parent of one) and you’re wondering whether you’re preparing them the right way, it’s worth 30 minutes of your time.

The families getting this right aren’t the ones pushing the hardest. They’re the ones who understand both the education and the world their student is actually preparing for.