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We in the college admission biz often talk about the "frenzy" that surrounds it: the competition, the gaming of the system, the struggle to take every possible AP class or the intensity of some parents' efforts to ensure their offsprings' entry into Valhalla. Although the insanity has been growing for many years, it just seems to get worse all the time, with examples of egregious behavior growing ever more, well, egregious.
This year's case in point: The college admission consulting firm Ivy Coach charged a mother in Vietnam $1.5 million to help get her child into an Ivy League college. As reported in Inside Higher Education, the fee was to help the girl apply to U.S. boarding schools and then 22 elite colleges. The number came to light after Ivy Coach sued the mother, who, they claim, had only paid half the fee. (Despite the daughter's early acceptance at one of her schools.)
While that kind of charge is both obscene and certainly an outlier, it dwarfs the $9,999.00 fee charged by another consultant for a three-and-a-half day college application "boot camp" reported on in IHE in 2005. It raised eyebrows and concerns then, but over the last twelve years, the growth of highly-paid college consultants seems to have continued unabated. There seems to be no limit to what some families will pay for college admission help, even if it turns out to be five times more than what the four-year experience itself might cost on its own.
Such behavior reminds me of the tulip mania that seized Dutch society in the 17th century. Recently introduced to Europe from Turkey and unlike any other flower known there at the time, the bulbs became "coveted status symbols" at the same time the Netherlands were becoming an economic powerhouse. Bidding for particular strains of the flower drove the price sky high; they became the ultimate luxury items. At one point, a single bulb could fetch hundreds of guilders or be worth twelve acres of land. At its peak in February 1637, "some single tulip bulbs sold for more than 10 times the annual income of a skilled craftsworker." Sound familiar?
Tulip mania came and went in the space of a few years, but manias can engulf masses of people over longer time periods. In his book, Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds, British journalist Charles Mackay (in 1841, mind you), takes readers on a tour of some of the greatest mass-induced follies in history. He examines not only tulip mania but also the "South Sea Company Bubble," witch mania, the Crusades, alchemy and other phenomena that have seized the popular imagination and led to irrational behavior. He writes, "Men, it has been well said, think in herds; it will be seen that they go mad in herds, while they only recover their senses slowly, and one by one."
And so we return to college admission, a mania that's grown over the years (primarily and ironically within a population sector that has the least to fear about being excluded from college) as a result of perceived (not real) limits of supply, overconcern with status, fears of falling behind economically and socially, overvaluation of college itself and a desire to "win" what seems like a zero-sum game. What drives a family to pay exorbitant sums for help getting into college? It's not logic, that's certain.
Whether you're a parent or a student, if you find yourself feeling desperate and nervous about college admission, consider how the madness of crowds can sweep individuals along like a tsunami, and then resolve to get out of its way before you're swept along with it. Think about what you may be missing or misinterpreting because the crowd is doing your thinking for you. (Read Mackay's chapter on the Crusades for some pointed commentary about that.) Step back from the crowd and plot your own course. Ask yourself if you're applying to an institution because it's really what you want or because it's the latest tulip on the block.
