College Application Frequently Asked Questions

Introduction

I have a teenager who is a junior in high school and will apply to colleges this fall. Through her advance work and the helpful advice I have received from other parents, teachers, articles, and the community at large, I have learned a lot about the modern admissions process, and want to pass this information on to you. Even if you don’t have a teenager applying for colleges any time soon (or at all) you should read this anyway, for the schadenfreude.

Note: the beer in the photo above was mine, not my daughter’s. I want to be very clear on that.

College Application Frequently Asked Questions

Is it harder to get into college now?

Yes, it absolutely is. Your child is way, way smarter, more industrious, and more resourceful than you, and yet won’t be able to sail through the process and attend a top college like you did. In case you were feeling pretty good about graduating summa cum laude from a great school, just stop. You really achieved nothing. They were practically giving degrees away back then and you know it.

Is college more expensive now?

Of course it is. By way of illustration, tuition at UC Berkeley—which cost about $2,000 a year in 1992—now costs about $14,000. But that’s probably not a good example because there’s no way your kid will get in there. Nobody gets in there anymore, except a few insanely successful students.

Your kid will probably need to go to a private university, even if it’s not a very good one. It’s unlikely she’ll get a scholarship anywhere because all the kids are so much smarter now—smarter than you, smarter than your spouse, and smarter than your kid.

Is it important to tour the colleges my child is planning to apply to?

The conventional wisdom is that it’s pointless to tour a college that probably won’t accept your kid anyway. After all, this will only increase your kid’s heartbreak, while wasting your valuable time and money. But let’s be real here. College tours are important for two reasons. One, the college wants to see that your kid is serious about attending (in the event they’re even considering her). Two, you need to prove to your kid that you’re serious about parenting. She probably already resents you for having had it so easy, the way you soared effortlessly through the admissions process all those years ago. Don’t make things worse by being a cheapskate.

There’s a silver lining to the college tour, though: you get to brag about it. “Yes, we took our Priscilla to tour M.I.T. last weekend. She thinks it will be a great fit.” This might be as close as you get to being able to brag about anything college-related.

Is there any chance that my child will qualify for financial aid?

No. None.

 Is there any hope at all for a good college, or is my child doomed?

That depends on what you mean by “doomed.” If you mean she won’t be able to get into a good college, then yes, she’s doomed. If you mean she won’t be able to get a good job without a degree from a good college, then yes, she’s doomed. If you mean her friends will be disgraced by her failure to launch, then yes, she’s doomed. If you mean that she will resent you for her failure, and that it’s all your fault, then yes, she’s doomed, and so are you … this will haunt you for the rest of your life. Huh, come to think of it, this question doesn’t actually depend on what you mean by “doomed.”

You claim that nobody can get into the top colleges anymore, but several of my child’s friends’ siblings got into the Ivy League. Perhaps you’re exaggerating?

No, those students are the exceptions that prove the rule. And their grades were of course much better than your kid’s.

Is there anything my child can do, beyond straight As and stellar SAT/ACT scores, to improve his college prospects?

Yes, if your child chases after every activity that could (say this with me) “look good on a college application,” and manages to gain entry into programs like digging latrines in Ecuador, enduring an unpaid internship at an important-sounding company, launching a startup, and/or paying lots of money for college summer programs, his application will be more competitive.

Does this actually help?

Probably not. But he has to do it anyway.

Is there any value in my child having fun, enjoying her summer, trying to relax, and basically being a kid while she still can, knowing that adulthood is forever?

Of course not. How could you be so naïve?

Do I need to remind my child how much harder it is to get into college nowadays?

No, pretty much every single one of her friends, along with her friends’ parents, her teachers, and her counselors are telling her this every single day. So, if you don’t feel like rubbing it in, you don’t have to. However, it’s important never to contradict your child when she reminds you of all this. Don’t you dare say anything absurdly false like “top colleges have always been difficult to get into.” This just undermines your student’s ability to blame the system for the cesspool of failure that she is currently wading into.

Should my child be talking all kinds of AP classes and exams?

Yes. These will (say it with me) “look good on a college application”—but only if your child scores high on the exams. If your child does poorly—which is probably a given, since the AP curriculum doesn’t match the Common Core, and because you’re probably raising your child in an inferior school district—then the AP strategy will backfire and make your child toxic to all good colleges. The good news is that the experience of taking these courses and exams will be really stressful, which is good practice for the rest of your child’s life.

I’m concerned about all the debt my child will take on, even if he goes to a mediocre college. Is the cost of tuition really a good investment?

Probably not. The only people making any money anymore are genius coders who launch tech startups. But since your kid isn’t going to be one of those, you kind of have to toss the dice on an expensive education.

Okay, I suppose there’s still money to be made in law and medicine. But don’t get me started on the ruinous amount of debt grad school involves.

Is there any benefit to going to college other than the possibility of realizing a fiscal return on your tuition investment?

Of course not.

It seems intuitively obvious to me that only STEM curriculums have any value, since the entire point of a college degree is to increase your income potential. And yet, some students do still pursue liberal arts programs. Why is this?

It’s because they’re idiots, married to antiquated notions like there being value in understanding and appreciating literature, nurturing curiosity around abstract ideas, knowing arcane things like the plural of curriculum actually being “curricula,” and so forth. Don’t worry, society will soon be rid of these helplessly impractical people.

My child slaves over his schoolwork, is preparing tirelessly for his SAT exams, is involved in multiple extracurricular activities, and has digested enough information about the college application process to write a thick book on the topic … and yet he is still totally stressed out about the process, with little hope for a positive outcome. Is there anything else he can do?

Yes, he should continue to worry as much as possible. This will drive him to unturn even more stones, because there must be some way to break through this impossible college entry barrier.

You just used the word “unturn.” Is that even a word? And if so, will it be on the SAT?

In fact, it is not a word. “Unturned” is a gerund adjective, but this is one of those weird cases of a gerund that cannot be used as a verb. And while “unturn” isn’t on the SAT, your child better know what a gerund is, even though he’s pursuing STEM, because that’s just how this game works. Your poor kid. You better go give him a hug.

Can things like hugs make my child less anxious about college applications?

No, I was kidding. Hugging your kid is just wasting his time. Don’t be so ignorant and sentimental.

Is there any silver lining to my child ending up at an inferior school?

Yes: the coursework might be manageable. At the top universities, where every single student admitted has an absolutely perfect track record, there will be professors who give Bs and even Cs, which these students have never received in their lives. The shock of this “failure” could cause major angst, even complete nervous breakdowns. But your kid, who has already learned to deal with blemishes on her record, can finally relax a bit once she is actually in college. Which brings us to our next question:

Are there good career prospects for college grads these days?

No. Getting a good job was so much easier back in our day. In case you were feeling pretty good about being gainfully employed, just stop.

Related reading

• The Truth About Elite College Admissions
• Is It Harder to Get Into a Top College Now?
• How to Choose a Major 
• The Best Advice I’ve Received
• Going Broke at College
• The Importance of Goals - Debunked!
• Parables from the Rooster Father

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For a complete index of albertnet posts, click here.

From the Archives - Going Broke at College

Introduction

It’s hard to imagine saving for retirement when I have two kids to put through college. The way tuition costs are rising, it seems impossible now for anybody to earn a degree without becoming mired in debt. Gone, it seems, are the days when a kid could scrape by, work summers, and come out of college without a lot of loans to pay off. But some twenty years ago, I myself managed to get my degree without ever getting financial aid or a scholarship. My parents helped, to the tune of $400 a month, but for the most part I was on my own. Looking back, the amounts of money involved in my college education seem now like a joke, but it didn’t feel that way at the time.

So how broke was I? I have a distinct memory of going to an ATM and depositing the last cash I had in my wallet, something like $10, into my checking account to keep a check from bouncing. I had thought that was the worst of it, until I came across this old essay from my archives that shows a low point I must have subconsciously repressed.

Going Broke at College - February 27, 1989

I was leafing through the UCSB school paper, the Daily Nexus, the other day, and spotted an ad offering “FREE MONEY FOR SCHOOL.” Ha! Free money! Seeing this, I recalled how back in high school I’d once pulled a flyer off my mom’s car windshield that said, “Earn X‑tra income! $600‑$1200 per month. Small time commitment!” Short of dealing drugs or selling off body parts, I couldn’t think of how this “X‑tra income” could be possible. I called up the number and said, “Yes, I think I’d like to earn $600‑$1200 X‑tra per month. What do I do?” The operator asked for my name and address. I envisioned a massive mailing list of people labeled not as “homeowners” or “environmentalists,” but “suckers.” It would be the worst possible mailing list you could possibly be on—nothing but the most offensive junk mail on earth. So I refused to surrender my identity: “Well, wait. Before I give you my name, I’d like to know just what line of work this is.” The operator retorted, “I can’t tell you until you give me your name and address. Then I’ll tell you.” I imagined that as soon as she had my address, she would say, “Ha ha, you fool!” and hang up on me, and then sign me up to receive flyers about how to make a fortune breeding penguins in my garage. I asked her, “Is this opportunity to earn an X‑tra $1200 a month drug related?” This really got her riled up. “Now look here, we are a multi-million dollar corporation and are completely legitimate. Just give me your name and address!” Puzzled, I asked, “If you’re such a great company, then why do you recruit your employees by blanketing parking lots with flyers?” She hung up.

I assumed that the ad in the Daily Nexus was a similarly stupid scam, but when I investigated it, it turned out to be a pretty compelling idea: this company helps students get scholarships or financial aid, much of which actually goes unclaimed every year. I’ve been promising myself for months that I would investigate this, so I sent away for this company’s brochure. These guys have a computer program which processes student questionnaires to determine which private sector scholarships a student should apply for. Then, the student applies for these and gets thousands of dollars towards his education. Naturally, there is a fee involved, which is refundable if the student doesn’t end up receiving any aid. I decided I couldn’t really lose, except that I had to have the application in by February 28—and I didn’t have enough in my checking account to cover the $45 fee. But I had two checks to deposit, which I figured would clear quickly. So I went ahead and mailed the check, and then immediately set out to deposit the necessary funds in my account. This meant a trek to the neighboring town of Goleta, which had the closest Wells Fargo Automated Teller Machine.

I always take my road bike to Goleta, because it’s really a dismal ride. Maybe there’s a way to get to El Camino Real without a lot of highways and frontage roads, but I haven’t figured it out. So I’m just duking it out with all these cars, so I want to go as fast as possible … you know, get in, take care of business, and get out before the depression sets in. On this day, I even used my race wheels, since I needed to make sure they were working well for the upcoming weekend’s races. I hate riding on my race wheels, though, because I’m worried about getting a flat. When you ride on $50 Vittoria CX tubular tires, see, you don’t bring a pump or tool kit along; you bring a pocketknife. If you get a flat, you just commit suicide.

At the ATM, I checked my balance before depositing money. I wasn’t worried; I had kept close track of my financial situation, and knew I had a full six dollars in my checking account. (Sadly, the savings account died of malnutrition last month.) The machine casually told me that my balance was at ‑$75.00 (that’s negative seventy five dollars)! My first reaction was denial. No, the machine didn’t just tell me that. No, I have six whole dollars! I canceled the transaction, withdrew my card, put it back in, punched up the balance again, and got the same horrid figure. The second phase of response towards a loss of this kind is anger. Just before I might have ripped the control console out of the wall, the third reaction — severe depression — hit me. How could this have happened?

I immediately deposited two checks--all the money I had in the world—totaling $140, which brought my balance up to a whopping $63.81, according to the ATM. My records, which I still believed were correct, showed that I had $146.40, so now my checkbook has two balances: the actual balance and the theoretical balance. Of course I had to trust the bank’s total, but at least I had enough to cover the $45 check I’d just written.

Unfortunately, the financial aid service ended being a bit of a scam. I got back this massive document listing hundreds of “really good leads,” all of which were based on my dad being a war veteran. I suppose I’d indicated somewhere that he’d been in the Navy, but of course that was an ROTC thing he did for college, and he never actually fought in a war. To get the aid they were talking about, I think he had to have seen combat and had some body part blown off. So there was no way I’d be getting any of that money. But could I get the refund of my $45 fee, since this was obviously a bust? Nope … not unless I sent them proof that I ran down every one of the hundreds of useless leads they’d sent me. (That fine print is a bitch!) So, as broke as I’d been, I was now $45 broker. And it suddenly dawned on me that all my rushing around was a joke, too … surely that February 28 deadline was purely fictitious.

Suddenly it all seemed so futile. College wasn’t working. Back in high school I was smart enough to spot a scam, but now I’d become the kind of chump who throws away $45 when it’s almost three fourths of his entire net worth.

But this story has a happy ending. That thick stack of useless financial aid leads wasn’t all that had arrived in the mail. I also got a check for … well, actually, not a check. A statement. A BA/RC statement, to be precise. Nobody knows what BA/RC stands for, but it should be BA/RF. It’s the quarterly tuition bill from the university: $510.49 in tuition and fees. More money I didn’t have.

I’m sorry, did I say this story has a happy ending? My mistake. What I meant to say is that it has a sad ending: I’m flat broke.