When I was first applying for college, I remember obsessing over acceptance rates. I curated a small selection of schools to apply to that I thought fit my taste and would sound good any time I was asked the inevitable “Where do you go to school?” Sending off my applications, I felt sure that I’d be a strong enough candidate to get into most of these schools. When March of my senior year arrived, I instead received rejection after wait-list after rejection. I was suddenly facing down the reality that I’d be attending my safety school.
A year later, I thought I’d had it figured out — with my new transfer application cycle, I didn’t have one top school, I had eight; I was sure I would get into at least some of them and I would be able to pick from that list. Again came rejection after wait-list after rejection. People often ask me, “Why Tufts?” I do love this school — I love my friends, my professors, my classes, the Daily — but honestly, the real reason is just that this is the only one of those schools that accepted me.
My first week here, I was overwhelmed with imposter syndrome; it seemed like everyone else had attended prestigious high schools or transferred in from well-known colleges and was already so smart, involved and experienced. I felt like I didn’t belong here, that there had been some mistake in allowing me to attend. The pendulum hit its other apex: I’d felt both the elitism and self doubt that the college admissions process can unlock.
When people think of college admissions, the first checklist items that come to mind are often grades and test scores. These are supposed to be accurate measures of a student’s ability to succeed in college, a way to compare the merit of different applicants. This way of viewing college admissions encourages the idea that a person’s merit is inherently tied to the college they attend — as we can see in our society’s obsession with the Ivy League, or in the U.S. News college rankings, exclusivity comes with perceived superiority.
However, college admissions decisions are increasingly based on factors outside of merit. Since many selective colleges can see thousands of applicants with qualifying grades or test scores, students' only hope is that something — a good essay, a good recommendation, a good bank account — will randomly stick out to the admissions counselor and help them gain admission; making admissions more of a lottery than a science. Many colleges are overwhelmed by applications, especially in recent years. One needs only to look at the example of Northeastern University, which, from 2020 to 2024, had an increase in applications from 64,459 to 98,373. These insane numbers create a highly flawed and cursory admissions system, as shown in a video produced by Amherst College’s admissions team. In the video, they admit that only about 1,000 applicants even get reviewed by the full committee. One member of the admissions team goes so far as to say that “there are times where I am not sure why I put my hand up or fail to put my hand up, I’m kinda going with my gut here.” As such, getting into a college often says less about you as an applicant and more about the college admissions counselor as a person.
This fallacy of merit has very real implications, as evidenced by the recent Supreme Court decision that overturned Affirmative Action. Many who oppose affirmative action say that it allows less qualified applicants to gain admission over more qualified ones. But this argument is based on the idea that grades and test scores are accurate measurements of college success, both of which have had their validity questioned. This merit-based concept disproportionately favors people coming from more privileged backgrounds, preventing colleges from allowing many people to create a better, more financially secure life for themselves. Top colleges often cater to the ultra-wealthy in hopes of gaining donations, upholding things like legacy admissions that help wealthy families to attend schools for generations. On the flip side, many minorities, particularly Black and Hispanic students, are punished for having lower grades or test scores that have a lot more to do with system barriers to their education than their actual ability.
So what does this all mean for us here at Tufts? Well, it means that we all lucked into being here, whether we consider it good luck or not. Whether we’re at the college we always wanted to go to, or here because we didn’t get in where we wanted, or because this was the place where we got the best aid or because we just needed to get away from somewhere else, we’re all here essentially by chance. We shouldn’t define ourselves by our schools: we are not better or worse, more or less intelligent due to where we are. There’s no reason to feel imposter syndrome — everyone is here just because we happen to be.
What matters instead, then, is what we do with it. No matter where you are — whether it’s the best or perfect place for you at this time or not — there are so many experiences to have and lessons to learn. Your college doesn’t define you; you define it — through what you choose to do here, the community you help to create. Learning this lesson is what allowed me to make peace with my admissions process and finally take hold of everything these next few years have to offer.
