College in the Time of Crazy

It’s hard to break a habit. 

Mine is reading the news. You can take the boy out of Newhouse - but you can’t take the Newhouse out of the boy. 

For most of my life, I have started my day with a meticulous review of the headlines in the New York Times. But in the last few years, the shape of this habit has changed as the world, too, has changed. 

And not for the better. The bleakness of COVID lockdowns gave way to massive inflation, civil unrest, and unprecedented division. 

Now we have Trump 2.0. A crazy, dangerous and chaotic time. Bombs away in Caracas. The betrayal of Nicki Minaj. An unkind and upside down age, almost dystopian in disposition - presided over by zealots and a mafia of blond women donning ill-fitting suits from the clearance rack at Dillard’s. 

But nothing has hit harder, or made me more anxious, than the sustained assault on higher education. Populist rage has been aimed squarely at a system viewed as the elitist arbiter of a society that champions ideas - and people - ultraconservatives just don’t like. 

Though I freely concede that my beloved higher education roost and its leadership have, in some cases, managed things terribly; some campus cultures indeed devolved into their own versions of smug bias and belittling intolerance. But the price of those indiscretions is now being paid. Literally. 

It’s not just the money. It’s the thinking, the ideas, the menacing of academic freedom. And now: it’s Plato. 

You heard me. 

Texas A&M has censored one of time’s greatest thinkers, a godfather of intellectual and philosophical awakening. 

A recent course in the university’s philosophy department came under scrutiny for its inclusion of excerpts from Symposium. The work is expansive, but is replete with references to gender fluidity and diverse sexual orientations. Naturally, the course was to cover and examine these themes. Which to those in charge in Texas, are bad, and worthy of being erased from discussions of Western civilization - and from your education altogether. 

Whatever you might think about the work’s key narratives and mature content, Symposium has been taught in a great many colleges for a great many years - many philosophers and academics label it as “foundational.” And do mind: we are not talking about an audience of high schoolers, where a clear and reasonable argument could be made for why it’s just too risque for that stage of life, or why parental guidance would be needed. No, in fact we are talking about college students, actual adults - defined so by law. 

But it’s especially poignant being that the work itself centers on dialogue. The exchanging of ideas and viewpoints together as a group of people - passionately, openly, with genuine and respectful interest. The championing and creation of beauty, expression, resonance. Love itself. A broadening of the mind, the heart and the human experience. This is largely what college is, and should be. But now it isn’t - at least in College Station. 

I’m bewildered and disoriented by it - and I’m quite positive that 17-year-olds trying to run a college search are, too. Their parents definitely are. My most visited webpage at the moment is Air Canada. 

But those fares are currently quite pricey. So what to do? 

First, I think let’s consider steering clear of the Texas public universities - at least until James Talarico gets elected. You can move to Austin later, where you'll love eating really expensive bacon from a truck. 

Second, do your own homework. Even in doing mine for this piece, I discovered certain nuances that were not being widely reported that helped frame this story and temper my indignation (slightly). If the fit for you is a large public flagship in a red or red-ish state, learn what is on that state’s legislative docket right now, and what has already been passed - and how those laws could shape your college experience. Or not. Ask probing, honest questions of administrators, professors, students and admission officers. 

Third, don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater. Private institutions are generally less susceptible to state government influence. So even if the immediate environs of a college are a hotbed of rueful intolerance, the actual experience on campus isn’t likely to be significantly affected, and it could still prove a lovely and inclusive place. I’m looking at you, Grinnell. 

Fourth, be critical in your assessments of the news media and its sources, and don’t give into hysteria. I find that the truth always lies somewhere a tad closer to the middle. 

Fifth, remember that this is both ghastly and temporary - and even in the context of this time, the A&M case is an extreme. I think that sometime soon, genuine inquiry and good reason and dignity will be in vogue again. Remember that the madness of Vietnam, Richard Nixon and Watergate eventually gave way to the ecumenical kindness of Jimmy Carter and the bright, unrestrained glory of Halston jumpsuits. In the meantime, persevere by being convicted, but kind. 

Lastly, when you get to college, I encourage you to read things that make other people want to control and silence you - whatever they may be. Entertain things that make you think differently. Things that are controversial, to you or someone else. Talk to people that you aren’t comfortable with. Continue to be a provocateur with your words, but learn to de-escalate when necessary. Stand up for other people and their right to be themselves freely. Ditto for you and yourself. Spend four years at the marketplace of ideas - make our dear Plato proud. 

So despite the crazy dumpster fire that is life in 2026, I can say with authority that you’ll still go to college and love it. You will still find a fabulous fit for yourself. And in doing so: you’ll come to create your very own symposium. 

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.”