By Raina Shah
Welcome to The Shield’s annual satire section. Writers use satire to improve a problem in society. Sometimes readers misunderstand the satire as they do not recognize the hyperbole, irony, rhetorical questions, sarcasm, and understatements. A great satirist will also address counter-arguments (the non-satirical solution) with great mockery and sarcasm. Readers may mistake the satirical solution for the actual solution that the writer proposes. The ideas in these satire stories do not necessarily represent the opinions of The Shield or Westmont. If one is confused about satire, please contact a friendly neighborhood English teacher.
Getting into the “perfect” college is no longer about following your passion or pursuing what you love. It’s about building a flawless persona that convinces admission officers that you’re the second coming of Albert Einstein and Taylor Swift…simultaneously. The secret? It’s not about who you are—it’s about who you can pretend to be for four years.
High school seniors, get ready for the ultimate challenge: crafting a monotonous 20-page resume full of activities you don’t care about and achievements so exaggerated they’re probably illegal. Studying? That’s the bare minimum. But doesn’t the relentless grind of late-night studying show you’re dedicated? Not exactly. You have to be the perfect student: the student who is involved in 25 different clubs, each one with its own impressive acronym, like STEAM—Students Trying to Engage in Advanced Mentorship—because teaching your peers the niche art of origami will surely prove you’re the next Elon Musk. But that’s not enough. You also need to create your own club with a fancy name like “The Connoisseurs of Air—A Gathering of Wind Enthusiasts.” Why? Because someone at Princeton might see that and think, “Wow, this kid is a thought leader on atmospheric pressure.” Nailed it.
Let’s not forget about standardized test scores! You’ll need to take the SAT a minimum of six times, and each time you’ll just improve by 10 points. Even if you’re happy with your 1590, take it again just in case you missed the opportunity to score 1600 while juggling water balloons and solving differential equations in your head. At this point, your score should be so high that even the test makers are impressed.
Don’t consider applying to a college without a meticulously crafted, caffeine-fueled personal essay. Some might argue that this is the best opportunity to present your best self, showcasing your love of drawing, your family history, or how you’ve grown through hardships, but that’s the problem. Forget writing about your real self, because admissions officers expect your essay to read like a dramatic, epic saga where you single-handedly created world peace and taught a group of pink dolphins to read. The more exaggerated the better. It’s not like they’ll care much about the actual truth anyway. As the keys of your laptop tap with frantic urgency, remember that your only shot at getting in is to write a story about how you invented a cure for cancer while running a charity to rescue birds from trees. No one can resist a good bird-saving narrative.
As you anxiously await that acceptance letter, remember that the real goal is getting into an Ivy League. After all, unless your diploma says “Harvard” or “Yale” in sparkling gold letters, it doesn’t matter what you learn or who you become. So why bother discovering who you really are when you can perfect your flawless resume and volunteer just to get into the one place that promises to make you “perfect?” The secret to success is simple: follow the script, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll get in.
So the next time you’re stressing over your college applications, remember: it’s not about being yourself. It’s about being the best possible version of yourself in the eyes of someone you’ll never meet. After all, who needs happiness when you have a perfect application to Harvard?