5 Essays To Avoid: The Classics

Imagine being an admissions officer navigating through thousands of essays every year, only to find yourself reading the same story over and over. It's like déjà vu, except worse because you can't escape it. Each applicant merges into the next—an indistinguishable blur of extracurriculars, rehearsed passion, and clichés. You had one shot to make your story shine in a sea of applicants with identical GPAs and activities, and what do you do? You hand over a script everyone else is using. A tragedy worthy of Wordsworth himself.

The Football Essay

Take the Football Essay, for instance. Every third kid is convinced they're the second coming of Messi, complete with the dramatic retelling of their “game-winning goal” in some regional semifinal. Spoiler alert: the game wasn't the World Cup, and neither was the epiphany they had on the field. It's as if the admissions officer is moonlighting as a sports commentator—except they never signed up for that gig.

The Dance Essay

Then there's the Dance Essay. Every other girl spins her tale like she's a prima ballerina at the Bolshoi. Cue the metaphors about soaring to new heights, the splits' agony, and the tutu's triumph. It's a graceful narrative—until you realize you've read it 27 times already, and not one mentions why their love for dance might inspire their academic or personal goals.

The Music Essay

The Guitar Essay is its own genre of predictability. Strum, strum, strum. Everyone starts with the obligatory anecdote about their first awkward guitar lesson or a fumbled chord progression. Inevitably, it crescendos into a climactic solo where they find themselves amidst a flurry of strings. But strip away the melody, and you're left with yet another applicant who failed to hit the right note—because we still don't know who they are beyond their fretboard.

The Underprivileged Helper Essay

And who could forget the “I helped low-income kids" essay? It starts with noble intentions but often reads like, I'm privileged and vaguely uncomfortable about it, but here's my performative attempt to show empathy. Done well, these essays can be heartwarming. But when stuffed with generic platitudes about “giving back,” they come across as hollow and self-serving.

The problem with these classics isn't the topics themselves—but the lack of depth encountered. Students often settle for the first idea that pops into their heads, grabbing at low-hanging fruit. This is where counselors step in—not with a magic wand but a metaphorical shovel. They dig. They prod. They ask tough questions: Why did that moment matter? What did you learn? Why should anyone care? Counselors don't write the story for students—they help them discover the story within. Because let's face it, the admissions team deserves better than another Messi metaphor.