This December, Take a Pass on Recruit-to-Deny Admissions

A few years ago, still panting from her modern dance class, a student burst into my office on Cyber Monday to tell me about a “bizarre” email she had just received from a college.

No names. But it was an Ivy with a microscopic acceptance rate.

So I took a pause from the Saks website and we read it together. It was a buttery, sweet-talking, ingratiating recruitment email reminding her that “there was still time” to apply to said college through regular decision. 

We had talked about this particular college once, for less than two minutes, 10 months earlier. We had dismissed it as not a match, and it was a stretch on the admission side.

“This is gross,” the student declared, “like they need another application, and I know I’m not going to get admitted in regular decision. I love my list, and just don’t want to mess with it. And don’t even get me started on their supplement.” 

Vexed, she clutched my sequined Jonathan Adler throw pillow like a life preserver, and asked me what I thought she should do.

“Take a pass,” I said, not missing a beat. “Right,” she said, handing the pillow back to me and departing in a flash of self-empowerment. And we never spoke of it again. A wise and fortuitous response to one of the the slickest perils of the modern admission world: recruit-to-deny admissions.

Recruit-to-deny is a practice in which some ultra-selective colleges (those with acceptance rates below about 15%) work overtime to rope as many candidates into their pools as humanly possible. And then they turn around and deny a vast majority of them. Why? You asked that at just the right time. It artificially suppresses their acceptance rates, and in turn, boosts their rankings, their brands, and their self-serving perceptions of their own prestige. You know: all the important things that really matter in education, and in life. End sarcasm.

Part of the effectiveness of this Gordon Gekko-ish strategy lies in the “new math” of college admission, in which these ultra-selective colleges fill huge proportions of their classes through early admission programs, leaving far fewer seats available for regular decision contenders. Here are some numbers from an ultra-selective college during a recent admission cycle (I have rounded the numbers off slightly for the sake of simplicity):

And you better believe that their overall acceptance rate would be all kinds of higher if it wasn’t for those 44,000 regular decision applications.

The long and the short of it is that no college in America needs a six percent acceptance rate to effectively fill their class with fabulous people. Not one. 

So if you get one of those sugary emails from one of these ultra-selectives – or as someone I know calls them: “ultra-rejectives” – this December, think carefully about why they want you to apply. Here is a hint: it’s probably not you specifically. It’s definitely not your $75. They could just be looking to say “no” as much as they can.

But what if you “love” it? Sorry, boo. I’ve heard that one before. If you really loved it and it was a great fit – and an admit was in the realm of possibility – it almost certainly would have found its way onto your list by now.

But this is a good time to take one last hard, honest look at that list. You should make sure that you genuinely like all the colleges to which you are applying, that they are all good fits, and that you would be happy to attend all of them. Every. Single. One. This is particularly important for your likely schools, as I wrote about last year at this time.

In the end, I admit that it can be hard to say “no,” even if an offer or invitation comes with dicey motives. It takes strength and power and purpose, and a little bit of courage. And a resolute knowledge that you will land in the right place, with the right people, at the right moment – and through the right process.

This is true in the college admission world. And it's true in life. 

When I was 29, I frequented the OG Barry’s Bootcamp in West Hollywood, just around the corner from my apartment. I’ll admit that I was addicted: to the steam, the flashing lights, the ab crunches, the oft-sighted celebrity – the whole gestalt. The bass from Bad Romance literally shook the whole building. It was magic, and being there felt fabulous.

One day, as I was heading out after a particularly brutal class, I was approached by somebody whose name you’d recognize. I sure did. A Los Angeles heavyweight with a brilliant smile and seven-figure bank balance. And a deeply questionable reputation. 

He asked me if I would be interested in dinner.

I remember thinking that this was one of those weird LA moments that usually coalesced into a bad first screenplay.

Except that I also remembered: we always write our own films.

I looked at him and said: “You’re sweet, and I’m beyond flattered: but I’m going to take a pass.”

Hot Listing: Elon University

For most of my life, my preconceived notions about North Carolina were more or less limited to chewing tobacco and Jesse Helms. 

And I’ve never had much use for either. I care deeply about dental hygiene and find homophobic bigots generally distasteful.

But Jesse is long dead and my teeth look great. So it was inevitable that this moment would find me: speeding west from Raleigh in the driver’s seat of an ice blue vintage Saab, Godmother in tow, on my way to visit Elon University.

Sure, several people from my high school attended college here. As a long haul counselor, I’ve delivered several fabulous kids to its doorstep. And its reputation is quite strong in the “industry.” But it had long stood as one of the few colleges I had never visited in person - the enigmatic haze of the rural South always vaguely clouding its place in my mind.

But here I am - finally, if not a tad begrudgingly. 

Though ultimately: shame on me. Because this place is fabulous.

Straight out of the gate, the visit experience is tight, impressive and well choreographed (one of the best I’ve ever had) - but also so full of genuine heart. The campus is as immaculate and gorgeous as the day is long - it’s actually a registered botanical garden. The sense of place on these grounds is acute, remarkable - almost fantastic.

And they gifted me a fabulous t-shirt that is really quite slimming - very GQ. Is James Perse making their merch?

If that wasn’t enough, here are three key reasons to love Elon (even more):

1. It’s a sensational value. Full cost of attendance here hovers at just under $67,000 per year. It’s a bargain these days (which is shocking, I know). At many similarly profiled private institutions, the price tag runs roughly $25,000 more per year, sometimes more. Mic drop.

2. It has one of the best Musical Theater programs in the country. What can I say? I’m a sucker for splashy production numbers and a bit of easily resolved drama. Elon grads have been populating key theatrical roles - particularly on Broadway - for many years, including in Dear Evan Hansen and Tina. I also think the strength of this program adds another vivid dimension to the institutional culture and helps support a particular diversity in the community at large. You know: the kind of people that will, sporting a cropped tank top, belt Flowers as they sprint down a primely located Fitness Center treadmill - and then glitter bomb your whole Comp. Lit seminar, just for the hell of it. Sorry, Jesse.

3. Elon is showing up for Jewish students. It was one of only two schools to recently earn a solid “A” on the Anti-Defamation League’s new Campus Antisemitism Report Card. The other was Brandeis. This feat is so very important right now - and one made all the more remarkable given its Bible Belt location.

I would be remiss if I didn’t take a hot moment to state the obvious: the academics here are outstanding. And in my opinion, pretty underrated nationally. When you go you will learn about their finely articulated commitment to critical thinking and experiential learning, and their uniquely impactful model for fostering faculty/student mentorship relationships. This last bit is worth its weight in gold. 

Accordingly, it's my sincere belief that the cultural center of this community is not the bravado or snobbishness that sometimes befalls selective colleges. Nor is it needless, exhausting academic competition (which is mishegoss anyway). 

It’s the people. And wonderful people, to boot. The enclosure of the campus and its relative isolation only makes those connections - those people - better, it would seem. And the community: much more of a tightly held embrace.

The folks I met here were eclectic, but all electric - extroverted, smart and really approachable. Not a whiff of pretension. Personality and openness and kindness must be in the water. Fun, random strangers smiled at me on paths and held doors for me in just about every building. My tour guide, Owen, was a popstar, and even the other people on the tour were saucy and connective and smart and stylish - they were people I’d be friends with.  

Speeding east on I-40, I accidentally cut off a guy in a huge F-150 with a Don't Tread on Me bumper sticker. Sorry, sir: I should have stayed in the right lane. But I was lost in thought: “had Elon been there the whole time?” Well yes, it had. So perhaps it was me. My own smallmindedness. My own rash judgment. Or perhaps, like most things and people: it’s only gotten better and more welcoming with age. 

So go see Elon. Because the moment has come to stop being afraid of the deep South. And I volunteer to go first.

Warren Buffet Might Tell You to Go to Purdue

I have a crush on Warren Buffet.

Disclaimer: not romantically. No offense. But rather because he’s an extraordinary human being. And because he knows money.

If, by chance, you live alone in a dark hayloft outside East Jesus, Nowhere, and don’t know who he is, Warren is a brilliant, beloved and insanely wealthy investor and philanthropist. He has, in his nearly 70 year career, made his trademark focus on “value” a widely trafficked and heralded approach to equity investing - one that prioritizes strong fundamentals and long-term thinking. It has netted him and his company - Berkshire Hathaway - billions of shekels. And rather admirably: he’s got a heart the size of Nebraska itself.

You may think it strange, but I often find myself emulating and channeling Warren in my life and work. I talk about value a lot - what’s “under the hood” of colleges, and how that connects with the goals, instincts and desires of students. Fit and value, indeed, go hand in hand.

But Warren is also a devotee of the concept and power of compound interest. I’m not going to explain it, because you have access to the internet. But you should learn about it before you decide where to go to college.

Dance break disclosure: I am not a certified financial planner or wealth manager. But we can still do a simplified and hypothetical exercise, just for fun.

You are currently a high school junior. You are an only child. Your parents have earned well, saved religiously, and invested shrewdly since before you were born. Thus, you do not qualify for need-based financial aid. Sidebar: if this is you, let’s acknowledge that you are supremely privileged and quite lucky. You should be humbled, and beyond grateful. You should mow your parents' lawn for free for the rest of their lives.

You love Cornell. You also love Purdue. Both are fabulous fits with much to offer you in every conceivable way, and you would be happy to attend either.

Ultimately, you apply to and are admitted to both. Great work.

Now, for the cold, hard truth:

Here is the projected, rough chop cost of your four years at Cornell (Arts & Sciences): approximately $387,000.

Here is the projected, rough chop cost of your four years at Purdue (Out of State): approximately $190,000.

Here is the difference: $197,000.

Enter the stylish queen with the compound interest calculator.

If you took that $197,000 and invested it in my favorite, dowager-approved mutual fund (Fidelity Puritan) today and left it untouched for the next 14 years, it could grow to around $675,000 by your 30th birthday. That future sum will have the buying power of about $456,000 today.

Pause, and say this number out loud: $456,000.

That could help you start your dream company. Or help you walk off a job that is giving you grief. Or you could stay home with your first child. Or buy a condo - in cash - in many fabulous parts of our country.

You could hire Cardi B to perform at your 30th birthday party - the bass line from Money shaking the floor as $20 notes and gold confetti rain from the ceiling.

You could - a la Warren himself - give a sizable chunk of it away to people and organizations doing good in the world.

Hell: you could do all of these things and then some.

Of course your parents could reclaim that money - and retire to Boca five years early. A well earned and just reward for supporting and loving you since birth.

The rub is that I can’t assign value in and to other people's lives - I can merely encourage them to consider it for themselves and their families. And no judgment: if Cornell is worth that much more to you, go for it. In the end, it’s deeply subjective: we like what we like, we want what we want, we need what we need. We all have different viewpoints and priorities and paths to follow. And some would posit that fundamentally: money is meant to be spent, and investing in kids is a good way to do it.

And please do note: even if you do end up falling into the expansive category of people who will rightfully qualify for some need-based financial aid, you may very well still have to make a similar decision about what it’s all worth - just with differently scaled numbers.

And when that moment comes, be sure to keep value - and a smiling, 93-year-old Midwestern mensch - at the center of that conversation. Think about it longitudinally; Warren himself proves that life is both long and fabulous. Just don’t forget to compound the interest along the way.

To close, I’ll do something I rarely do in polite company: I’ll tip my hand. I would likely tell you to go to Purdue.

And I think Warren might, too.

Summer’s Last Stand

This summer, please leave the arboreal monkeys of Central America in peace.

They have other things to be doing, like grooming and foraging. And they are not going to help you get into college. So you don’t need to pay $11,000 to “study” them for four weeks.

In the 20 odd years I have inhabited the admission space, elaborate, encompassing, lavish summer programs that allegedly provide a wildly differentiating experience have gone from half-serious trope to perceived necessity.

They take a boat load of time. They often have four and five figure price tags. They are a for-profit industry - one that trades on a natural but intense fear of being left out.

And I can tell you from experience, they arouse ever increasing suspicion, skepticism and cynicism in the college admission community. These reactions have become only more pronounced in recent years as colleges have looked to level the playing field between the uber wealthy and everyone else. Good on that.

But they also draw ire because they are so often painfully inorganic. Perhaps some people really want to study monkeys - and that’s great - but most 17-year-olds in America are just trying to sweat through AP Lit and successfully procure a driver’s license without damaging private property.

Moreover, what I have found most colleges are actually looking for are real people, with real interests. Partially unformed, malleable, curious, kind, genuine young people with real voices. And young people who are shaping their college searches around their voices - not shaping their voices around their college searches. This is a critical, but oft overlooked, distinction.

To be clear: I am not saying that you should spend your entire summer buffing your nails and listening to SZA with your GBF (gay best friend) by the pool. You should absolutely have a formative experience - or two - this summer.

But the key is that it doesn’t need to cost as much as a used Honda, and above all: it should be something in which you are authentically invested and interested. A way you want to grow. A way you want to give back. An experience you want to have. This could be canvassing for a political candidate. It could be volunteering with your church youth group. It could be taking advanced coursework at a local college, or coaching small tyke basketball. It could be traveling somewhere you really want to go to do something you really want to do. It could mean getting a job and learning how to earn a few shekels of your own - so you can buy that used Honda for yourself. Just do something that supports and enlivens the person you are honestly becoming.

Definitively: you should also have a summer fit for a teenager of yore. That means: fun. It means some unscripted time to rest and just be young and fabulous. Take your friends out to ice cream. Hike with your Dad. Read something fascinating. Indulge in a crush. Jump in a lake at night. Host a John Hughes film festival on your lawn.

For this is your summer. Your life. It isn’t a dress rehearsal. And the monkeys, God love them, don’t need to be in your show.

Hot Listing: Clark University

I didn’t even go here, and yet, somehow: I always end up back here. 

My introduction to Clark University started rather young. I was born up the street, and my father was once a mover and shaker in this burg. His professional life connected him to Clark and its leaders - and while he did this or that in nearby offices, I eagerly toddled around this green in my favorite patchwork OshKosh overalls and Miss Piggy t-shirt.

Later, I went to packed college fairs in the gym and rolled my eyes as my classmates gratuitously fawned over various reps. Multiple people in my life wanted me to go to college here - but I vetoed that. I needed bigger - and considerably further from home. After all, what college student wants to bump into their dad while browsing Stop & Shop’s selection of cheap champagne on a Thursday morning? I definitely did not.

But rather ironically, I have spent much time worshiping at this altar in my subsequent life as a college counselor. I’ve visited Clark about seven times in the last dozen years. I’ve brought new staff here on kitschy field trips as part of their onboarding. I’ve sent some of the most wonderful young people I’ve ever met to college here. And I’ve had brilliant friends who have worked here.

So one frosty day last week, I swathed myself in two-ply cashmere, hopped in my Mini, and came back to Clark. To be honest, I was overcome by envy: many juniors and their families are venturing out for the first time into the world of campus visits. They are crucial to any college search. And endlessly fun.

Per usual, my time at Clark dazzled. First, a fabulous information session wIth top-shelf talent that compellingly telegraphed the school’s identity and ethos. Then came an equally fabulous tour with a hip, fun and particularly insightful Geography major named Maire (pronounced Mara). She had the 411 on everything from queer affinity groups to the required capstone project. Definitely a quintessential “Clarkie.” All totaled, my visit was a fabulous reminder of the unrivaled power of place - and of tactile, human experience - in the college search process. 

I could go on and on. But I won’t. Instead, I will, for the first time, use a listicle (rueful apologies to all of my Newhouse professors who are now likely to spit on me in public). 

Three big reasons to love Clark:

1. Killer academics. Many of my students have come back raving about the classroom experience and intellectual culture here - not to mention: they’ve all said how rigorous it is (I think one kid described it as an “ass kick,” but in the great, Barry’s Bootcamp way). Access to brilliant faculty is assured - connections that often parlay themselves into fruitful mentorship relationships and undergraduate research opportunities. And the research at Clark has always been phenomenal - the Pill was discovered here.

2. Civic impact. Worcester is a great city - with both opportunities and challenges. Clark has leaned into both. This is no haughty ivory tower. They’ve invested. They’ve connected. They’ve embraced. The students genuinely care about the community, and work heartily and purposely to enhance it. And it enhances them - and Clark - in return. 

3. It’s an incredible value. The yearly cost of attendance here is lower than many of its peer institutions - by as much as 20% per year. Over four years, that's a ton of money. They also have robust need-based financial aid, and some of the most generous merit-based scholarships in the business. They also pioneered a groundbreaking offering where you can opt to attend for a fifth year (very often with a full tuition scholarship) - and then you earn a Master’s Degree, too. I mean, hello? Is this thing on? 

And there are many more laudable qualities to celebrate.

But because I can’t help myself, I will give you one more. A bonus, because I like you. 

Here it is: I always leave my visits to Clark feeling genuinly excited by possibility. I feel happy. I feel full. It has a certain positive energy, a certain magic that just arrives organically. And it embraces you, elevates you, charges you, surprises you. Like when you are at Coachella and Beyonce brings Kelly and Michelle on stage for a hot blast of Lose My Breath. 

I think it's mostly because of the people I always seem to meet here. Kind. Good. Dynamic. Aware. Curious. Bright. Engaged. Unpretentious. Fun. Poppy. Interesting. Together. Capital P People. Great people to learn with, work with, be friends with. 

Great people to help you form your formative years. And I think you will find, as you go through life, that this is the best value of them all.

The Year of Living Gratefully

Despite the overt risk of sounding like a clearance bin self-help guide, I will admit that at certain points in my life, I’ve struggled to express enough gratitude. Perhaps this affliction is not uncommon amongst those who loosely match the public perception of my previous self: young, ambitious and outwardly fabulous.

But in middle age, gratitude is something that I find myself trying to summon more and more - and thankfully, it eludes me less and less. Part of this evolution is just the wise, natural march of age. But honestly, I owe a good chunk of this quiet victory to my profession.

In turn, I constantly remind students to find and seize gratitude in the college process, its work, and its associated transitions. I surely do. And there is much on offer.

If you are a junior just starting out, this may seem odd to you. Gratitude for something that feels like a daunting, perilous schlep into the unknown?

Well, yes. If you do this process in any way that even abuts right, I guarantee you will grow exponentially in the year ahead. You’ll also have copious fun. You will meet fabulous people, many of whom can walk backward while praising student research opportunities and ignoring plainly visible beer cans in public waste receptacles.

You will become a far better writer and a more organized person. You’ll get to travel to random places that you’ve previously only flown over - and you will learn that you really don’t have to pay parking tickets issued by campus police.

You’ll discover that you can spend quality time with your family while simultaneously yelling at them. Critically: You will learn more about what makes you tick. And what makes you happy. And what gets you excited. And not because someone else told you these things - but because you found your way to them with your own instinct, your own reflection.

If you are a senior just wrapping up, or taking a break after Regular Decision - well good work. But you need gratitude, too.

First, extend some to yourself. You burned it out. You made it over the hump. Perhaps you got exactly what you wanted in December. Perhaps you didn’t (but trust me, you will end up someplace fabulous in the end).

Second, the next 12 months will be among the most profound and magnetic of your entire life.

I’ve found that we often have the most fun when the curtain is either going up or down - and in the next year, you will have both. You will get to celebrate yourself over and over again - and others will be there to celebrate you, too. It’s one of the only times in your life that you will be able to say “I’d rather have the cash” and not appear rude.

You will, for one last moment, relish the familiar.

And then, like magic, everything will be novel. You will realize that you miss your parents, and be happy that you had them to support you. You will get to make a raft of adult decisions for the first time. But the consequences of those decisions will be yours, too: an onus that will tee up opportunities for maturation and humility. This might mean that footage of you barfing in front of your dorm becomes a hot ticket Instagram reel. Your peers may think it funny - the Dean of Students will not.

You may fall in love for the first time with the person across the hall. They may not love you back. No matter. You’ll listen to Anti-Hero on repeat while running the stairs at the campus stadium and get over them in five minutes - and then you’ll meet someone new at the top of the stairs.

You’ll finally get to read all the books banned in Florida. It will take a while.

For all of this, dear students: you will and should be grateful. Doing so will help you become a better human and a better you. It will help you live your best life. And from the lessons of my own I can conclusively say: the more gratitude you discover in these years, the more you will inevitably discover as your life flows through adulthood.

And remember that gratitude comes alive when we express it. So tell others that you are grateful for them. Tell your family you love them. Thank people profusely, and hug people consensually. Write notes of encouragement on white boards. Buy your zealous but helpful lab partner Blue Bottle coffee, and take your overly forgiving roommate out for 2am pancakes. Send your hard-working college counselor a Saks gift card because they read your Carleton supplement 17 times.

However you show it - show it. Make it matter. Make it meaningful. Make 2024 the year of living gratefully.

The Likely Dance

At this time of year, my brain is a jukebox stuck on a single track: The Safety Dance.

For those who may not be aware, the song dates back to 1982 and is by a Canadian synth-pop band called Men Without Hats. It helped drive the musical revolution known as New Wave, and was a smash hit all over the world. I guarantee your mom danced to it in high school with her ridiculously teased hair and white Keds. The bizarre, ultra camp video made zero sense - but it still played on blast on MTV for the rest of the ‘80s, and it happily populates some of my first sensory memories.

In my adult years, I’ve danced to it at glamorous Westside Bar Mitzvahs, sweated to it at hot spin classes, and grocery shopped to it as its beat pulsed down the aisles of Market Basket. I’m even listening to it now, and it's still genuinely delicious.

But as much as I adore the song, the word safety itself has occupied a stormy place in my professional lexicon. In a college search, a safety is defined as a college to which a student has a very high chance of being admitted. I even remember my own high school counselor explaining this concept to me in the fall of 1997, as I lounged in her office in a fabulous argyle sweater vest from J. Crew and my moss green Birkenstocks.

Safety as a concept is a great thing, and a necessary - dare I say critical - element of any college search and any life. But I’m a strict devotee of semantics - and using this particular word in this context just doesn’t sit well with me.

Put it down to experience. I have found that its use, for one reason or another, can unwittingly cause a student to take their safeties for granted. They start to view them as a fait accompli. This can lead to an undeserved devaluation of these schools based on the sheer fact that they can get in. Alarmingly, it can encourage an unfortunate overreliance on quantitative measures of selectivity in this process - instead of what matters most: fit.

I have also found that its use can often be accompanied by blatant and eye roll-inducing snobbishness. When I was an admission officer at Tufts, the entitled and charmless father of a young woman we’d waitlisted howled at me in anger and confusion because she hadn’t been admitted. Sporting an unforgettable, pitch perfect Long Island accent, he went on to brazenly detail his position: “Everyone knows that Tufts is merely a second tier safety school for those hoping to attend Brown.”

Double rude. But never you fear: I swifty and intently corrected his thinking with guile and professionalism reminiscent of Alexis Carrington - all while attending to a chipped nail with the Bobbi Brown manicure set I kept next to my phone. Needless to say, his daughter was not admitted from the waiting list.

So you get it: I don’t use safety, and have consistently asked my students and parents not to use it either - for their sake, as well as my own.

Instead, I use likely. Say it with me: likely. That’s better.

So now, in reference to your likely schools. You need to pause at this time of year and look at your finalized college list and ask yourself the following questions:

1.) Are all of my likely schools a good fit for me?

2.) Would I be happy to attend any and all of my likely schools?

And you have to be honest with yourself. Brassy gay uncle honest.

If you answer no or maybe to one or both of these questions, you have a big problem. You’ll either need other likely schools, or, at the very least, you will need to extend much more time, energy and love to the ones you already have.

The good news for you is that it’s definitely not too late to course correct - it’s admittedly the 11th hour - but it's still not too late.

So do this last little bit of heavy lifting. And I guarantee that we'll all sleep, and dance, better this winter. And come spring: “everything’ll work out right.”

How to (Politely) Get Your Aunt Susan to Shut Up About Your College Search

Like any bon vivant, I love the holidays.

But decades of professional treadwear have taught me that this time of year can be tricky. Right now, everyone seems to be incessantly and obsessively talking about the “c word” - college. And frankly, by this point in the process, most seniors just need a rest; and I can surely empathize. Even the most passionate and caring counselors need one, too. I once holed up in a Saks dressing room on a snowy December evening, swathed in a steeply discounted Paul Smith angora sweater, patiently waiting for a very familiar voice to recede into the din of the cosmetics section - I simply couldn’t talk about college for another minute that day.

With the increasing proliferation and dominance of early admission programs in our ecosystem, this period has become the top of the arc for many students and the people who support them. The first concrete news. Tears. Triumph. Excitement. Bewilderment. Exhaustion. The implied horror of more deadlines and more essays. It’s all in there somewhere.

But it also collides with the frenetic publicness of the holidays. Parties. Concerts. Sledding. Relatives decamping to your guest room from someplace deep in Central New Jersey.

And then comes the nosy, competitive, slightly snobby aunt. Her name is Susan, and every family has her. Her reputational perspective on colleges dates back to the Carter Administration. She has several older children for whom she managed this process, so she now fancies herself an armchair college counselor and expert on the peculiar environs of the admission world.

Susan recently heard something about your first choice college in a Whole Foods parking lot that she feels she must share. Of course, it will necessitate a change in your strategy and a realignment of your priorities (according to her). She could have simply sent you an email, but instead, chooses your parents' Hanukkah party. Unfortunately for you, her color commentary could unleash needless waves of worry, confusion and anxiety that could derail your search and unmoor your confidence.

So after 20 years of seeing this pattern repeat itself, the best advice I have for you is to just tell her to shut up. Implicitly. Gently. Politely. And with love and class and grace. She’s just trying to help, and she’s got a good heart. But never-the-less: just shut up, Aunt Susan.

You can always start by subtly changing the subject - but to what? Currently, I’d suggest Dua Lipa’s glitzy new single Houdini or the rout in crude oil prices - but you do you. You can slyly shove a canape in your mouth. You can pawn her off on another, more loquacious party guest. You can tell her that she left the window of her Subaru open, referencing the impending wintry mix.

Or, as may be preferable, you can just smile, and with a gentle, non-threatening embrace of her lower arm, say: “Aunt Susan, I’m so happy to see you, and thank you so much for your thoughts and care, but I just don’t want to talk about my college search.”

The latter is very hard when you are young - and frankly, it can be hard for people at any age. But learning how to do it well at age 17 will pay dividends - both now and down the road. It may come in handy next week with your lab partner in AP Bio. Or it may come in handy in twenty years when random people ask you prying questions about money and marriage at Soul Cycle.

A college search, like everything else in life, is best guided by fit and doing what you believe to be best for yourself - with conviction and purpose and intention - and without need for public explanation.

In this process, as in life, you get to choose from whom you seek support and counsel and comfort. You create your own network of confidants. You create a community that cares for you. Critically, you get to manage your own PR - and you can be private and enigmatic if it serves you.

And it probably will serve you - especially over the next six weeks. It will be generally far less annoying, and you will be far healthier and happier in the end. You’ll have more fun and enjoy this season more deeply, no matter what happens. And I promise people will love and respect you for it. And don’t worry, Aunt Susan will be just fine.