The personal statement: An object of horror for some; a treacly trudge of robotic regurgitation for others; whether your personal statement is for a master of finance or a BSc in computer science, whether you’re applying to study in the United States or Australia or Brazil… university applications are a worldwide source of angst. Psychologist and wordsmith, Michael G. Thompson completely nails the hyperbole inspired by the admissions process, observing that it

has evolved into such a Byzantine ritual, that it can make normal people act nutty and nutty people act quite crazy.

Why do admissions officers do this to people? Their jobs are plainly rife with conflict anyway, given the frustrated balance they must achieve between departmental budgets and (demographic) balance, full-fees and ‘fit.’ The admission’s office is charged with trying to make a reasonable comparison between candidates; so why would they want to achieving that objective even harder by asking each and every candidate for hundreds of words on why they are so unique?

“Through-the-looking-glass moments”

On what scale or rubric can relative assessments of applicants’ unique qualities be conducted? Prof. Ruth Starkman (a former admissions reader for UC, Berkeley) helps to ‘lift the veil’ on “the challenges, the ambiguities and the agenda of admissions at a major public research university” for the New York Times in 2013. Her article documents the inevitable inconsistencies raised when compassionate people try to compare more-or-less equally impressive candidates.

Persuasive evidence of qualitative factors needs to be compared with some sort of defensible objectivity. When Prof. Starkman posed questions—such as, “should I value consistent excellence or better results at the end of a personal struggle?”—the response (and indeed, the “training”) she received were both carefully coined and coded. The sanctioned method apparently involved pinpointing “stressors” and identifying “helpful applications” (the latter generally containing accounts of “hardships.”) The article raises enough questions on policy conflict at top educational institutions to fill an encyclopedia.

Other—equally vigilant—gatekeepers, such as MIT’s Chris Peterson, are more straightforward and more at peace:

I don’t think “Rate this applicant’s leadership from 1 to 5” is a particularly objective exercise just because we slapped a number in it. Trying to convert inherently subjective interpretations to objective quantities … all it ultimately does is cloud your vision.

So how does MIT attempt to make reasonable comparisons between its applicants? By pointing out that every quantifiable factor they exhibit, whether it pertains to ‘Diversity or Merit’ (the title of one of Mr. Peterson’s other blog posts), should be viewed as descriptive—not determinative—factors in accounting for admissions outcomes: Quite emphatically not a matter of ‘either/ or.’ He stops short of spelling it all out for us, but comes pretty close here:

But there is one thing that all students admitted to MIT have in common. And that is that we are confident they are prepared to succeed at MIT.

In formation…

When the admissions officer instructs you to “show me your uniqueness,” they are not literally saying:

Sit down, if you please, and set out your stall as some sort of Übermensch.

Nor are they saying:

Forget format. Format is out the window. It’s a Da Vinci or bust, baby.

What they are saying is:

Listen up: Take the time to analyze your experiences, evaluate them: What can you make of them? Can you show it to us?

They want to see compelling evidence of your living, breathing mind at work: ‘Generating new ideas, products, or ways of viewing things,’ as Bloom’s (endlessly Revised) Taxonomy describes the ‘creating’ that can demonstrate the highest order of intellectual development.

Full Bloom

The ability to appraise, and then connect, knowledge—from myriad sources, contexts and points-of-view—that characterize the higher orders of the Taxonomy explain why it is one of the tools used to define successful learning; it’s such a beautiful fit for the scenario that schools face:

• Corporations cry out for ‘jobs-ready’ and ‘flexible’ graduates.
• A world where ‘traditional’, linear careers are a thing of the past.
• Schools—locked in fierce battle to maintain applicant yield—need to show value for money. In doing so, they’re fighting their own admissions battle: Gathering %s of graduates they can say they’ve packed off to Goldman Sachs, etc. (adjust brand status of financial institution relative to school).

The flexibility implied by graduate ‘creators’ or ‘integrators’ of knowledge, is apparently tailor-made for the business challenges determined by dynamic, globalized conditions (despite preceding them—in its original version—by half a century.)

Accordingly, in the quest to show value (and to build their brands with employers), universities have rapidly woven words like ‘interdisciplinary’ and ‘experiential’ into their vernacular. Each stands in for the various educational objectives of the Taxonomy. And it works. There’s a reason for its ubiquity in admissions circles: It helps educators disentangle and codify what they really want: Individuals ready to work with them, at satisfactory levels and satisfactory pace, i.e. individuals of intelligence.

Crazy/ or context…

The trouble is, when ordinarily “normal people act nutty and nutty people act quite crazy,” they don’t see very far beyond their own horizons. The trouble with that, is that playing this game is all about context, (which the Association of American Colleges & Universities defines in its VALUE Rubric, as “actual or simulated situations in which a student demonstrates learning outcomes. New and challenging contexts encourage students to stretch beyond their current frames of reference.” The admissions process itself is an important and uniquely intense opportunity for just the sort of integrated learning opportunities envisaged by the creators of the VALUE Rubric.

The high-stakes of this particular context, however, also mean that its (many) opportunities are regularly missed. Instead, its uncertainties drive many people “nuts.” This—in turn—shuts out intelligent appraisal of their applications’ strategic context. Hence we have the test prep industry (worldwide), the dreaded personal statement templates (w/ extracurricular paragraph stodgily in place, somewhere near the end), and various other colorful, calculated means of eliminating individual agency. Admissions officers are playing the opposite role, attempting to disrobe all the mystery and rumor and intrigue:

Top 3 results on a quick Google of Chris Peterson’s blog:

Nobody, not even me, can accurately gauge your chance of being admitted…

This is why I hate “chance” threads so much.

And yes, chance threads are laughable…

Cross-mythologizing, madly

Dr. Thompson says he “look[s] at college admission and its impact on children, parents, and schools and think[s] the gods must be crazy to have invented the process.”

He’s right. Admissions is indeed a labyrinth or, as the College Board put it (with delectable linguistic witchcraft), a “unique compromise among values and priorities.”

But the gods got to look down on the labyrinth from up above; they got to see the whole picture. Whereas, knowing the entire context is something to which mere mortals can only aspire. And they’d better not get too ambitious while they’re aspiring either.

To choose the right strategy, you’ve got to know the game you’re playing; you’ve only got a clever strategy if you’re fully aware of its limits.

Don’t Forget to Play The Game

A partial summary of what Prof. Starkman—and so many others writing about holistic admissions—are saying might run something like:

Listen, there’s plenty to figure out, there’s plenty you can do here; there’s a big complex game to play; there’s lots to think about, but you’ll never achieve certainty, especially if you let it become your operating priority. Know that much of this process is outside of your control. Accept it.

If you don’t, you’ll lose the playfulness that carries creativity right along beside itself. You can integratively self-reflect your way up the pyramid, i.e. do reflect, do give it time, do go for a walk and let it all percolate, do keep a notepad by your bed at night. If done well, you can dramatically improve your chances of creating an authentic piece of narrative that elicits the response:

We are confident they are prepared to succeed at X

Just don’t forget to keep it in perspective. Inspiring the confidence of a mere moral might not be enough to get you through the maze.