A Practical Guide to the Common App College Essay (What actually matters—and why)
When I talk to students about the Common App essay, I usually boil it down to three things. A strong college essay should be:
I. Memorable
II. Relevant
III. Personal
That’s it. Three words. But of course, the pushback always comes fast:
What about “well-written”?
Fair question. If part of my job is helping polish essays, shouldn’t “polished” matter? And if this essay is meant to showcase a student’s best thinking, shouldn’t it be—at least on some level—impressive writing?
Yes. And also… not in the way most people think.
What “Well-Written” Actually Means
Here’s the reframe I want students (and parents) to understand:
In college admissions, “well-written” does not mean literary.
Your essay is not being read by a panel of novelists. It’s being read by admissions officers with wildly different academic backgrounds—science, policy, history, economics—who are moving quickly through stacks of applications.
The strictly literary stuff—beautiful turns of phrase, elegant structure, clean flow—almost always emerges naturally during revision. That’s not the differentiator.
What is the differentiator is this: Unique writing signals a unique student.
Grades, scores, and resumes blur together. Personality does not.
A 3.9 GPA with leadership roles and awards is impressive—but at selective colleges, it’s also common. Once a student clears the academic bar, admissions officers stop asking “Can this student do the work?” and start asking:
Why this student? What do they bring that others don’t?
Sometimes the answer is a once-in-a-generation athletic or academic achievement. Most of the time, it’s the essay.
The essay is where a student shows humor, empathy, self-awareness, creativity, and the ability to reflect—not just grind. It’s the difference between being the fastest hamster on the wheel and being the student who steps back, questions the wheel, and builds a better one.
That’s why I always come back to three questions.
Question One: Is It Memorable?
Memorable essays don’t rely on shock value or dramatic life events. They rely on specificity and storytelling.
A memorable essay:
Pulls the reader into concrete scenes—people, moments, sensory detail
Is structured intentionally (often starting in the middle of something, not at the beginning of time)
Leaves the reader with images they can recall later
Here’s the reality admissions officers won’t say out loud:
They are tired. They are hungry. They’ve read dozens of essays already.
So ask yourself:
If it’s five minutes before lunch and your reader hasn’t slept enough, what keeps them from skimming?
If it’s later that night and they’re replaying the day’s essays in their head, why is yours the one that sticks?
The answer, almost always, is small but meaningful moments, not big résumé events. Essays about subtle realizations, quiet failures, or shifts in perspective tend to linger far longer than essays about championships, awards, or tragedies treated at a distance.
If your essay isn’t memorable, your reader won’t fight for you—because they might not remember you at all.
Question Two: Is It Relevant?
Your essay should feel deeply personal and clearly connected to the rest of the application—without repeating it.
Think of the essay as the lens through which the admissions officer interprets everything else.
There are two broad types of students colleges see all the time:
1. The Jack-of-All-Trades
These students do everything: a little tutoring, a little volunteering, a little sports, a little STEM. The risk here isn’t lack of effort—it’s lack of coherence.
Admissions officers may wonder:
What will this student actually do on campus?
What matters most to them?
Is there a core identity—or just a packed calendar?
The essay’s job is to quietly reveal the through-line—without listing activities or turning into a cover letter.
For example, a student who tutors, skis, builds robots, and volunteers might uncover a deeper pattern: one-on-one problem-solving, physical awareness, helping others improve performance. The essay can tell a story that embodies those values, while supplements handle the logistics.
Sometimes this also means minimizing or letting go of activities that don’t support that core narrative—and that’s okay.
2. The Specialist
These students have a clearer path—athletes, artists, activists. Their activities already show commitment and direction.
For them, the essay shouldn’t re-explain the résumé. It should answer a different question:
Why does this matter to you?
The most common trap here is the origin story: “Here’s how I started skiing / painting / singing / debating.”
Background isn’t enough. Colleges want to see how you’ve set your own standards, questioned assumptions, and grown within that passion.
In both cases, activities should be the context, not the point. The essay should always be about character.
Question Three: Is It Personal?
“Make it personal” might be the most overused—and least helpful—piece of advice in college counseling.
Students hear it and freeze. What does that even mean?
Here’s what it does not mean:
Writing a polished summary of achievements
Ending with a generic moral
Turning struggle into a highlight reel
A truly personal essay does something harder: It shows self-interrogation.
Admissions officers are quietly asking:
Can this student reflect honestly on failure or limitation?
Can they recognize flaws in their thinking and adjust?
When things don’t work, do they just try harder—or think differently?
What role will this student play on campus that no one else can play quite the same way?
And the unspoken final question:
Is this real—or is this BS?
The essay is the best bullshit detector colleges have.
Students who only present success often haven’t pushed themselves to the point where something didn’t work. The strongest essays come from moments where students had to redefine success altogether—learning to live with constraints rather than “overcome” them.
The student who can’t fix a family situation but finds independence anyway.
The student who won’t “beat” a disability but builds a different relationship with learning.
The student who stops chasing perfection and starts building meaning.
These stories resonate because they’re honest—and because they show adaptability, humility, and growth.
The Bottom Line
Admissions officers are human. They want their campus to be full of people who will:
Lead clubs
Debate ideas
Create art
Challenge each other
And be people others actually want to be around
Colleges invest in students not just for past performance, but for future contribution.
A truly personal college essay makes the reader care. It makes them pause. It makes them want to reread—and maybe even talk about it later.
That’s the bar.
And if an essay gets someone to say, “I need you to read this one,” then yes—that’s when a college essay has done its job.
