The Je Ne Sais Quoi of College Admissions

by Patrick O'Connor, Ph.D.

Eric Hoover is the best writer about college admissions out there, and if you haven’t read his classic piece on what college admissions is really all about, you have something to do today.

That’s why I was surprised when I finished his most recent piece on the need for more transparency in college admissions. You should read this for yourself, but here’s my summary:

• Yes, it would be helpful for college admissions to be easier to understand.

• But there’s more to college admissions than grades and test scores.

• And if we’re more transparent, we may get fewer applications.

I’m not disappointed with Eric’s writing; I’m disappointed with what the colleges had to say. My response:

• Sure, it would be great if college admissions were easier to understand—but can that really be done? If not, making it seem easy to understand is a bad idea, since it gives a false impression of what it really is.

• Admissions has always been about more than test scores and grades, but can some of those other factors still be quantified? Can the intangibles be described in, you know, sentences?

• Popular colleges admit less than 5 percent of their applicants, so they have lots of students to choose from. Why would fewer applicants be a problem?

And then, of course, the real problem hit me, in two parts.

Popular colleges run admissions offices like Parisian restaurants It’s a standard TV sitcom script. A new chic restaurant opens up, and everyone wants to get in, but it’s so popular, few can. Rumors abound of ways to bypass the months-long waitlist, raising the visibility and popularity of the place. If you succeed, you discover they are charging more than the meal is really worth, and you have a sense that, for better or worse, the folks running the restaurant kind of like the fact they have this reputation for being limited, since that makes them more popular.

Go back and read that last paragraph, and tell me which parts don’t apply to college admissions. Lower admit rates mean more media and social media coverage, so they take a nuclear-arms-race approach to encourage students to apply. This leads to stories about demonstrated interest, what applicants do with their summers, how many startups they have before 12th grade, and being the child of an alum or a US senator. More media, more popularity.

Tuition is set at an artificially high price that garners more media attention. Few families actually pay this, but listing the actual price would make the college seem pedestrian. It also gives parents of admitted students a false sense of relief when they get an aid package that knocks the price down from $75,000 to $50,000, as if the average family of four can actually afford that—but since this is such a good deal from the original price, it seems like a bargain, and off they go to Studentloanville and PLUSland. 

If you’re wondering what any of this has to do with students and learning, or where the college considers the appropriateness of the match between the student’s needs, goals, and abilities and what the college has to offer, welcome to the club. These things are certainly part of the admissions process, but they get short shrift when admissions is discussed.

Which leads to the second part of my aha moment:

Popular colleges don’t want to be more transparent because that might risk their place in the college pecking order, another concept that has absolutely nothing to do with the well-being of students.

Now there’s an Eric Hoover piece I can’t wait to read.

Is Decision Day a Good Thing?

by Patrick O'Connor, Ph.D.

Like all ideas, it started off with the best of intentions. Why not take a moment to celebrate the hardworking high school seniors who are heading off to college with some kind of school-based event to acknowledge all they’ve done to build strong futures for themselves? Maybe a breakfast, maybe an assembly. Have them wear their college gear to the event, invite family members, give them a small token of the day, and there you are. Who knows? Perhaps this public display of achievement might inspire students who might not otherwise consider college to see what this is really all about.

And then, like so many well-intended ideas, things came apart rather quickly. 

• High schools where nearly every student goes to college run the risk of hurt feelings, when students who didn’t get into their dream school see another student wearing that college’s sweatshirt.

• All high schools have to consider how this day impacts students who didn’t get into their first-choice college—or worse, got in, but didn’t get the financial support they needed to attend.

• Raising awareness of college as an option sounds like a great idea at high schools where college attendance is unusual, but how does that make the students feel who are choosing something else, and with good reason?

High school counselors are nothing if not flexible, so many were able to pivot. College Decision Day became Decision Day, or Futures Day, where everyone was honored for the choices they had made for life after high school. This still doesn’t allow for students who still don’t know what they want to do, or students who had to settle for Plan B, but some argue this is about as inclusive as you can get, while still honoring the futures students have built for themselves.

I get it, and fully support the intention of Decision Day, especially when considering its potential to inspire underclassmen to make sure they are surveying the entire menu of postsecondary options. But the counselor in me worries about those students who, for good reason, see this as a public display of their not realizing their dreams, many of these occurring due to circumstances beyond their control. Besides, aren’t graduation ceremonies, if done well, designed to be a recognition of achievement?

Still, there is much to be said in a world rife with teenagers for Keeping Up with the High School Next Door. To that end, here’s how two institutions deal with Decision Day that seem to fill the bill nicely.

One high school holds a lunch, just for seniors, in late March. Since it’s held before the last of the college decisions are announced, the event isn’t at all about who got in where. Instead, it is a chance for seniors to be together one last time before the mania of senior spring, look around at each other, realize how good they’ve had it, and see how that base will serve them well when they move on to whatever may be next. The event creates an atmosphere of mutually looking forward.

Another high school holds a breakfast, where seniors and their parents are invited. No speeches, no sweatshirts—just breakfast. At the end, the students move into the school’s main hallway, where a huge blank piece of white paper adorns a wall. Each student is invited to write their name, their future plans, and any advice they have for 9-11 graders. That banner remains in the main hall for a year, until the next one takes its place.

As is often the case with much of life, sometimes understatement is the best statement.

Opera, Brooklyn Pizza, Life Partners—The Case for College

by Patrick O'Connor, Ph.D.

A generation ago, college was considered the golden ticket, a way out of manual labor and into an easier lifestyle. The popularity of this notion was in full force when I went to college, as enrollment ranks ballooned, and all at a price that was incredibly affordable. 

And then things changed. For reasons I still can’t fathom, policymakers decided public colleges were simply out to make money, and college was no longer a public good. This led to state budgets providing less funding to their colleges, all at the same time the birth rate was going down, leading to increased competition for students. This led to more spending on luxury items like single-person dorm rooms, coffee lounges, and infinity pools—which led to more spending, which led to tuition hikes that were now being shouldered more by families, and less by the government.

COVID seemed to bring the discussion of the value of college to a head—why should we be paying full tuition for classes my child was now taking on TV, from home? This seems to have led to more questions, and not just from tuition-paying parents, all while tuition continued to rise, often at a rate higher than inflation. 

That’s led us to where we are now, with a clear majority of Americans feeling college isn’t necessary for much of anything. Parents use their college experience to justify their feelings, often saying something like “I got a degree in Sociology, and I’m the regional manager of a chain of retail stores. What did I need that for?”

I’m used to articulating the need for things many consider obscure, since I’ve taught both Geometry and Political Science, so here goes:

• You needed to see how big the world is. Sociology teaches that, but it’s hard to think of any major that doesn’t require a student to look beyond their front door—and their own frontal lobe—and be ready to not just understand the world, but change it for the better. Spending four years on the couch watching even the best of what cable TV has to offer doesn’t do that.

• You needed to see how small you are. Not everyone makes mac and cheese the way your mother does. It’s OK for you to still like hers best, but there will be lots of times you’ll have to eat someone else’s. Living with people whose moms make different mac and cheese, or who don’t even know what that is, helps you learn how to do that, and how to do it graciously. It also helps you attain an important life skill. It’s called humility.

• You didn’t know what you didn’t know. Taking on any subject matter in-depth means you have to learn how to learn in a way that high school, sadly, does not often teach. Name an employer who wouldn’t want an employee who can do that.

• Opera, Brooklyn pizza, your future spouse. Examples of things many people wouldn’t have in their lives if it weren’t for college. Would they still be good employees? Maybe. Would they still have rich lives outside the office? Would their children still find them interesting?

This isn’t to say all students need to go to college, a point I have gone out of my way to make many times in this space. The basis for that decision, as always, should be based on the skills, talents, needs, and curiosities of the student. Parents of little means find ways to make Christmas memorable. With a little help, they can make their children’s preparation for forever just as worthwhile.

A Note to Students About a College Saying No

by Patrick O'Connor, Ph.D.

It’s been a remarkable year to apply to college. Thanks to all kinds of new and unusual circumstances, this application season has certainly seemed exceptionally long, unusual, and rich with new challenges. But now the winter is past, and the voice of the college admissions officer can be heard in our land.

This is a time of great excitement for high school seniors applying to college, but before you go any further, it’s important to know three things about selective college admissions. I cannot overstate the importance of reading this twice, thoroughly, before you move ahead — OK?

Some colleges will find their applications are at an all-time high. The number of students graduating from high school goes up and down, but one constant is the number of students applying to highly selective colleges — it always tends to go up. Even if it didn’t, getting admitted to colleges with a 3 percent acceptance rate is just plain hard to do. This isn’t a random process, and there’s more to it than just grades, but an increase in the number of applicants makes it that much harder to get admitted.

There is a common reason why colleges deny admission to most applicants. The No. 1 reason selective colleges turn down most applicants is simple — they run out of room before they run out of great applicants. If they had more dorm rooms, and more professors, and more classrooms, they’d love to take more students. But they cannot do justice to the students they admit by taking too many students, since no one gets a quality education that way — and that’s not fair to anyone.

An admissions decision is not a character indictment. With more applications, and limited space, colleges must create a learning community that is exciting, diverse and rich with opportunities. Doing that is a mix of science and art, a mixture of data (grades, maybe test scores) and insight (essays, letters of recommendation), and frankly, a little guesswork, where (as one admissions officer said) the standard is excellence, not perfection. In selecting these students, these colleges will tell you that just about everyone who applied qualifies for admission — they would be a great student, benefit the college tremendously and contribute to the college in many ways. Since you applied to a highly selective college, all that applies to you.

Given that, I can’t think of any way a letter of denial or wait list should be interpreted to mean “The college doesn’t like me” — or worse, “I am not a good person.” College admissions is about many things, but it is never a judgment about you as a person.

Most colleges go to great pains to point this out when they send their rejection letters. Believe me when I tell you they aren’t just being nice; they truly honor and respect everything you have done as a person, and they are grateful you applied to their college. That may not mean much the minute you hear the news, but it will over time. Whether the college says yes, no or maybe, your value and worth as a person is cast in stone, and can be shaken by absolutely no one, be it another person or an admissions committee.

Your life isn’t in that envelope or email; it’s just an admissions decision. You already have a life, and a fine one at that.

The Closure of Hampshire and The American Mind

by Patrick O'Connor, Ph.D.

I had a cottage in northern Michigan where nearly every store had an array of wooden steering wheels as part of their décor. At first, I chalked this up to an amazing coincidence, but after being there a while, it was clear there was a theme I was simply missing—so I asked. It turns out Henry Ford was in need of wood that was both strong and flexible for the steering wheels of his early cars. The trees needed were found in great supply in this part of Michigan, a two-hour drive from Detroit.

This was the best of all possible worlds. Folks from rural Michigan enjoyed the benefits of the big city economy without changing a single element of their lifestyle, all while the rest of the world got, well, cars. This worked for quite some time, until one fateful night, when fire swept through the steering wheel plant faster than Usain Bolt on a hot asphalt track. With the plant totaled, and changes in production possible by then, production of steering wheels was moved closer to Detroit, altering the economy up north towards tourism.

This somehow came to mind this week, when Hampshire College announced it will be closing this December. Hampshire was created by four other colleges in the Amherst area, designed to meet the needs of students who weren’t quite sure what they wanted to study, who wanted to study something the other four colleges didn’t offer, or who wanted to study more than one thing at a time. With Hampshire, students had a chance to do all three, since each student designed their own program of study, typically including some kind of project or thesis at the end to ensure the academic integrity of the student’s four years of activity.

At the time of its inception, Hampshire was hailed by many as the future of higher education, epitomizing American individualism. These tributes were short lived, as the conservative education mindset of the 80s questioned the societal value of what critics saw as self-absorbed academic engagement, citing the student who earned their degree in Frisbee. The fact this student’s work included exhaustive analysis of the economics of development and market effect of Frisbees notwithstanding, the name of the degree became an object of derision in many educational circles (no pun intended).

Resurgence of the “college should be about job training” mentality in the post-COVID era sent Hampshire into a tailspin, with enrollment bottoming out at 500. Strong efforts to rebound managed to get enrollment to 750, but that was not deemed enough for Hampshire to offer students the quality of education its mission required, leading to this week’s announcement.

To some, Hampshire’s closing just isn’t that big of a deal, the end of an experiment whose ideals were wonderful to think about, but incomplete as an institutional strategy. To others, Hampshire is another indication that learning for the sake of learning is no longer a viable life goal, unless the topic is associated with retirement hobbies like watercolor painting or birdwatching. 

Combined with the closure of (ironically) work-college oriented Sterling College, and discussion of reducing general education requirements so all colleges can offer three-year bachelor’s degrees, there is significant discussion if the increasing cost of college is driving its lone purpose to become a work preparation investment that needs to pay off tangible dividends—rather than that and a time for self-reflection and growth.

I bet the guy who studied the economic effects of Frisbees would beg to differ, as would a Liberal Studies major from Reed College.

You know the second guy as Steve Jobs.

College Planning Guide for Your Students

by Patrick O'Connor, Ph.D.

Graduate school didn’t talk about a lot of what happens when you’re a school counselor. I’ve well documented the abhorrent lack of training in college counseling, something I’ve pointed out for 40 years which is still no better today. But there are other things.

Like 2 AM.

 It doesn’t prepare you for the middle of the night, when you remember that last thing you forgot to do at the office, or remind yourself of the thing you nearly forgot to remember to do first thing tomorrow. Or the solution to a long-standing problem.

That’s what faced me at one particular 2 o’clock in the morning, a million years ago. After working in four public schools with ridiculous caseloads, where I was a school counselor for everything, I’d secured a job at a private school, where I only did college counseling, and had a caseload that was a different kind of ridiculous—so small, it would be impolite to mention it.

Having had the chance to make sure my students were truly making college choices that were great for them, I now knew what I should have done at my previous institutions. I should have written a book, in really short chapters, that explained the basics of a good college choice. I would have given it to all my students as entering ninth graders, then give them a reading assignment before seeing each of them individually. No more repeating how to register for the SAT. Truly tailored counseling, based on individual needs, strengths, and interests.

I wrote the book anyway, and promoted it to my counseling colleagues as a way to make their huge caseloads more manageable. The counselors who bought into the idea said it worked. Short chapters keep students’ attention, and let them cut to the chase when looking for an answer—as fast as AI, but better, since the advice didn’t come from Out There, but from a real counselor. Parents found it easy to read, and gave them a roadmap on how to talk to their student about college. It even helped answer teachers’ questions about how to talk to students about college.

It’s Spring 2026 now, the time when your students start thinking about college—and I’d like to help. The book is in its third iteration, still relevant, still short, still with the same goal—give them a general idea about what college could be about, then leaving it up to them—and you—to fill in the details.

But here’s something to help you even more. I can get the books at less than half of cost, including shipping, so you can give them to your students. Orders have to be a minimum of 100, but at this price, this is something you could ask the PTA to fund, or the Elks Club, or your local college access group. Students get some early ideas about what college is all about. You get a chance to talk to students about their plan, not a plan, making your caseload seem that much smaller.

And what do I get? At this price, nothing. I make no money from the sale of any book at this price.

OK, I do get something. I get to know I helped you help your students.

I’d welcome the chance for us to talk about this. Contact me here.