College admissions season is here. I know the euphoria after the brutality of it all, the feeling of having finally been chosen.

I am sure the Class of 2029 is basking in the joy of their selection. They should be. There is much to be excited about. But they will soon learn what we grizzled almost-sophomores now know: the choosing is just getting started. It is a long-documented fact that we have a culture of exclusivity here. Many, myself included, have taken issue with this in the past. But I have changed my mind.

Rachel Shin ‘25 has detailed at great length the immense selectivity of our campus organizations. The subtext is clear — “college students are doing it to themselves.” The natural conclusion here is that our draconian selection processes result from a great failure by our students. But I think the creators of these processes had the right idea.

Rejection strips away the entitlement of the prodigal first year, and as such is equally valuable to the university as all the open fellowships and accessible opportunities in the world. It is rejection that opens first years up to new avenues of exploration.

For “gifted and talented” first years arrive at Yale having never truly failed in their lives. As such, they define themselves by the many awards and positions they have accumulated over the years. Once here, they quickly search for a new anchor of identity in a campus organization, often one centered around their previous areas of success. After an elaborate set of essays and interviews rivaling the Common Application, many are rejected and some are accepted.

It is only here that the true growth begins. For the rejected, mere platitudes about detachment are not enough: personal exploration and a truly-held identity are the only cure for that first great failure. Rejected from the Debate Association, the star high school debater must decide if they like arguing for its own sake, and if so, how to independently keep their voice sharp. Not-quite-club-level former varsity tennis players must improvise hitting sessions with other has-beens. Of the would-be a cappella singers, some find new outlets for their voices while others forever reserve their singing for the shower. All along the question is asked: Without the titles, what do you want to do with your time? 

As for the selected, they too quickly realize that nobody really cares. Their initial acceptance only delays the journey of self-exploration the rejected are already beginning. Eventually, all will be rejected, from some thing or another. If my email inbox is any indication, I can promise the Class of 2029 that being a Yale student entitles you to no position.

I don’t think we should shame people for joining selective organizations and I don’t think we should sound the alarm about exclusivity. People will always aim to be selected and all shaming does is further obscure the process of selection. The real world is competitive, and processing rejection is a skill to be learned like any other. In the real world, Americans increasingly decry highly selective universities as bastions of groupthink where education is no longer valued and a nefarious political agenda supersedes all. And yet application numbers continue to creep up. I would much prefer a culture that is transparent about its desire for selection.

It is hard to see a university that rejects over 95 percent of its applicants as the “schoolhouse for the world” of President McInnis’ inaugural address. But Yale will impart the same lesson to the rejected and accepted alike. The accepted will just wait a little longer.

ROHIL MOHAN is a first year in Morse College studying Economics and Political Science. He can be reached at rohil.mohan@yale.edu.