This time of year, millions of applications waterfall into the arms of admissions officers, bulging with pleas of acceptance, mushy yellow essays, and endlessly long strings of accomplishments.
But in over-privileged suburbia, the word “résumé” resonates like a hell. Worshiping this concept as law, it seems like in many of these flawless, A+, college-counselor-hiring students, it’s nearly impossible to distinguish the genuine from the forced. Be warned — this isn’t a rant to those on the “other side” from the humble and oppressed, so to speak, attacking those spoiled to be served these lucky privileges. This is a rant about myself, what I’ve observed, and what I fear as a result.
Considering society’s standards and the ultimate brag of an Ivy League title, I have (shamefully) comforted myself through fretful College Confidential posts whining about how many activities are appropriate for Harvard or Yale’s lowest accepted SAT score or the amount of B’s allowed before the utter suicide of a competitive application. Clicks, hours, days, months, and you know what I learned?
I learned I needed to consistently participate in activities and commit to causes not for what they meant for me but for how they looked on a tree. I learned I needed to retake my SAT because that score was 20 points too low to not risk another 4-hour Saturday afternoon. I learned that despite my curiosity or passion or whatever, I was ultimately and finally nothing more than an SAT and GPA — nothing more than a statistic. I learned to live according to a standard that was neither authentic nor practical.
In my ignorance, I made these standards my bible; yet I was not the only follower.
I’m afraid that this theory isn’t confined to a high schooler’s Common App. Résumé padding, to me, is more than a problem, to the point that for some it has become a lifestyle more so than one’s actual career.
For one, resume padding is the crown of double consciousness — defining oneself from the outside. I realize it’s important to present oneself coherently; however, when that forces a person to lose sight of inner goals and desires, it depletes the meaning from actions. And when these accomplishments aren’t fired by excitement or passion — when they are fueled only by the final result or gold medal, they lose traction. They lose meaning. They lose purpose.
What I’m trying to conclude is not that résumés stem disgusting lust and egocentricity. They are useful; but when they are placed on an altar and paraded and christened and cradled, they kill individuality and drive, leaving instead the robotic remains of the ambitious person that once was.
Back in the context of my own experiences, I have witnessed résumé padding become incentive more so than raw curiosity. “It looks good on my résumé,” is dogma, feeding only the blind goal of a prestigious title. Unfortunately, this is limiting. We seek experiences not based on our needs but our double-consciousness. When we lose motive, we lose the die-hard determination that propels change and progress.
Yes, this is a generalization. But Imagine a world without this outer shield and medal show, one where we acted out of our own human interests rather than the boring mechanization that has become our lives strewn on paper. Truly, really — how much do we do for the gold-star sticker, and how much do we do for the smile? Because one is surely brighter than the other.