The essay an admissions officer called his "favorite of the year"

In the world of college essay writing, so much of what admissions officers like or don't like is a mystery. My students submit their essays and even if they get accepted, we can never know if admissions officers loved their essays or if the rest of their application was strong enough that the essays didn't really make a difference.

That's why I'm so excited to share this essay with you. Because when the author of this essay attended the accepted students weekend at Occidental College, an admissions officer practically charged at him to gush over how much he loved his essay. He said it was his favorite essay that he had read that year.

And this essay isn't about an impressive extracurricular accomplishment or about overcoming significant adversity. It's about secretly eating brownie mix in the bathroom. I will say no more. Here it is:

The hardest part of performance is accepting your vulnerability. You have to be willing to put

everything you have out there and let others, strangers and close friends, judge you as much as

they please. By performing you are allowing them to form their own opinions and your emotions

are reliant on how they feel about it. Because performance requires the performer to be so

vulnerable, they have to be very comfortable with making fun of themselves. My own

vulnerability is fascinating to me, the fact that others have license to judge me is both thrilling

and terrifying. Onstage as an actor, I put so much of my emotions in how someone other than me

reacts, and I live for their reaction. Nothing feels better in this world to me, than making

someone else laugh or feel an emotion by my performance. The story you are about to hear is a

story I tell a lot of people, because it is a lesson for me in vulnerability and most importantly,

makes people laugh.

In addition to unrivaled insecurity and preteen angst, seventh grade Martin had an obsession

with raw brownie mix, straight out of the bag. Unbeknownst to my parents, I kept a bag of

Ghirardelli Triple Chocolate Brownie Mix under my bed and would choke the stuff down with a

spoon almost every night. Brownie mix has the consistency of sawdust, but to a thirteen year old

who needed a sugar fix, it was everything I could have hoped for. Due to the potential for

extreme embarrassment, I usually ate the mix in the bathroom, the only room that I could lock

and eat mix comfortably without fear of discovery. For months, I consumed packet after packet

of brownie mix, a few spoonfuls a night, to my heart’s content. Alas, this arrangement was not

meant to be.

One unfortunate day, as I locked the bathroom door and cut open a new bag of brownie mix,

disaster struck. As I turned to throw away the wrapper of the mix, the open bag of mix,

precariously balancing on the edge of the sink, tipped over, fell to the floor, and exploded all

over the bathroom. My carefully constructed habit had taken a horrible turn. Everything in the

bathroom was coated with the mix, a huge mess that I would never be able to explain without

compromising my dignity. So, after a few minutes of panic, I pulled myself together and leapt

into action. I ran out of the bathroom, grabbed as many cleaning supplies as I could, and set to

work. After twenty-five minutes, I had gotten the worst of it, but I was now covered in the mix. I

figured a shower could serve two purposes: clean me up, and provide a plausible excuse as to

why I had been in the bathroom for forty-five minutes.

I quickly undressed and showered, and as I got out, realized I had forgotten to reset the bath mat,

which I had been cleaning as it was ingrained with brownie mix. I stepped out anyway and

promptly slipped, crashing to the cold, wet tile floor. My soaking wet body had picked up all of

the remaining mix and so I lay, now covered in a thin layer of brownie mix, wet, naked, and

undignified. I got up, rinsed off, and somehow, brownie mix just never tasted the same way

again.

At first, I never dreamed of letting anyone know about this, but I began to realize that such an

experience is better shared than kept secret. The fact that others can enjoy it and laugh with me,

makes it worth telling. Performing allows me to deal with embarrassment more easily than

someone who has to keep it a secret. As an actor and performer, I have learned that by making

my embarrassment entertainment for others, I shift my vulnerability from a weakness to a

strength.

The end.

Now it's my turn to gush over this essay. Here's what I love about it: it's funny, insightful, and heartfelt, and most importantly, it manages to be all of those things because the author is willing to be vulnerable.

Many of my students are afraid to be vulnerable and try to sandpaper away any perceived flaw or weakness. I had one student who wrote about how she had to confront a friend who showed signs of being groomed by a stranger online. At first, she had been too aggressive the confrontation, which only alienated her friend more. My student then had to go back, apologize, and try a softer tactic to show her friend that she was putting herself in danger, which ultimately worked.

It was an unusual, intriguing story but this student told me she thought it was better to delete it from her essay because it might make her appear "too pushy." I disagreed. I told her that it made her look like the kind of person who cares a lot about the people she loves, maybe too much, and is willing to admit when she is wrong. She kept the anecdote in her essay, thankfully.

But even when a student, usually after some convincing, keeps their essay honest and vulnerable, there is a final hurdle to cross: their parents. In multiple cases, I've made strides with a student only to see that their parent has then gone in and edited the essay for them, wiping away any trace of authentic personality. They approach the personal statement as a PR-statement—a leak-proof, teflon-coated document that proves their child doesn't have any flaws.

By this logic, the brownie mix essay would never be written, much less submitted. It's a defensive approach rather than an offensive approach, an ultimately flawed calculation, because a safe essay actually is risky.

Some years ago, the Emory admissions office decided to showcase an essay on their blog in which the author admits she hates playing piano. And the Emory admissions officer explains why this bit of vulnerability works so well:

"Instead of viewing the essay as a conservative space to share her successes as a student, Elisabeth takes a more creative approach and uses the space to tell a story.... Also, this essay is also very honest. People could read her piece and ask, 'Why would she tell an admission counselor how much she hated playing the piano? Doesn’t that put her in a negative light?' By being honest about her dislike of piano playing, she reveals she will tell the truth even when covering up the truth may seem easier or the more popular choice."

We have to remember that admissions officers read essays all day long from people who are presenting a perfectly packaged version of themselves. And according to Becky Munsterer Sabky, a former admissions officer at Dartmouth, "They tire of perfection."

That's why a bit of honesty and vulnerability grabs their attention. They are finally hearing from an actual human being who is going to be real with them. And, yes, you can then go on and show the great, heroic, upstanding parts of yourself, and this will feel genuine rather than forced. Once you've established your "realness," everything else you say lands with more weight. Because if you are willing to tell them something embarrassing about yourself, like secretly eating brownie mix in the bathroom, why would you lie about anything else?