Post Your essay

Colleges and Universities A-Z University of Chicago ✅
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<p>And a few pointers:</p>

<ol>
<li><p>I think the sample of essays here is unusually good-- consider that most of the posters were accepted and are confident enough about their essays to share them with others. If you don't think you could ever make an essay up to standards with some of the ones you've read, don't worry too much. Write your essay the way you think it should be written, even if it is simple and straightforward, and avoid peppering it with big words.</p></li>
<li><p>Note how there's a sliding scale between personal and observational, and another one between exposition and creative. You can write about anything you want in whatever style you want. Some posters wrote creatively about matter-of-fact things; others wrote short stories about themselves. Experiment with these styles and approaches using either the assigned topics or your own prompts until you find something that fits you. Again, there is no right way to write these essays, and there's no need for you to reference Dostoyevsky, Winnie the Pooh, or Pirates of the Carribean if you don't want to. Write something that sounds like it came from you and not from somebody else, least of all a guidance counselor or a "how-to" book.</p></li>
<li><p>Though I think we would like to think otherwise, your essay is not all that there is to your application, and somebody who writes a kick-a-- essay is not a guaranteed in, while somebody with a perfectly standard essay may get in. Why? Well, first of all, a great personal essay is not going to make up for the fact that you despise math and science (as is what happened to one of my rejected friends, who is now doing her thing at Bard and very happy about it) and a creative essay is not going to make up for the fact that you're overwhelmingly careerist and a bad fit for the academic goals of the school (as was the case with two other friends). Secondly, a student with a standard essay (the one he or she sent to Yalevardton and got in on) might have other exceptional qualities that just aren't expressed in the uncommon form. Chicago being Chicago, I think they are aware of the kinds of students they want to bring to the school in larger numbers (think: ethnic, geographic, athletic, artistic representation) and will do their best to do so. Also... college admissions is really, really wacky, and the process is far from standardized or even logical. Maybe the best indicator of acceptance is whether your app was read before or after the coffee break.</p></li>
</ol>

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<p>These essays are absolutely lovely. I just had to comment on them.</p>

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<p>could people post more of their short answer ones?</p>

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<p>I'll second the request for more short answers.</p>

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<p>here's an excerpt from my favorite books/authors/music short answer, excerpted mostly because I'm a high school senior and therefore still working on my essays.</p>

<hr>

<p>Last year I discovered an author that threatened to usurp Pullman’s dictatorship over my author-love. Margaret Atwood used an abundance of simple sentences, wielding the words she did use viciously. With that style she painted despair, the feeling that everything was ending everywhere. Soon after I picked up The Handmaid’s Tale, I went on a binge and read almost all of her other books, short stories and poetry included. I loved her (amusingly, because Atwood is Canadian, and my favorite bands, Broken Social Scene and Wolf Parade, are also Canadian) and sought to emulate her style.</p>

<hr>

<p>If I do my long essay prompt in a short story that involves entirely fictional characters that represent different aspects of me, should I include a note, or do you think adcoms will get it? (it's the Comedy Troupe one, improvise a story/essay/script that has to include 4 elements from a list they give you)</p>

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<p>bumpity bump</p>

<p>this thread is mighty useful.. :)</p>

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<p>Esquared, your essay is amazing! Thanks for sharing!</p>

<p>I "accidentally" memorized a piece of literature myself, the final pargaraph from Cormac McCarthy's "The Road," and I feel the same way about it as you do about "This is Just to Say" (which, by the way, is my second-favorite William Carlos Williams, right next to "The Rose"). I hope I can write about it as brilliantly as you did!</p>

<p>Just so others can appreciate its genius:</p>

<p>"Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. you could see them in the amber current, where the white edges of thier fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where I lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery."</p>

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<p>Hey, can you guys help a prospective out? PM if you want to critique my essay (Opt. 5 create your own).</p>

<p>Thanks.</p>

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<p>Well, I had always wanted more feedback on this piece. I got rejected just a few hours ago, but before in October (when I was happy) I had really wanted to post my essay. I dared to do something amazing, and I thought it brilliant just like any dreaming teenager. But, I guess it was a poor attempt at amusement. I don't want to leave it left on my computer, never to be looked at again. I realize why I wasn't fit for UC. I suppose... it's all the regret and frustration I feel from reading this essay again. So... I'll take my leave along with the hundreds of thousands of prospies that have before, and make my mark before it fades. </p>

<p>This was the response to short answer #2. I had realized that a lot of people wrote about a meaningful connection to books they've read, or poems they've heard. Most were lists as well. At the time, I thought that what I had done in my dingy computer room would be unforgettable. Yet, it's ended up in the trash. Fitting I suppose.</p>

<p>I wrote this on the back of a McDonald's McGriddle wrapper (after cleaning it) on a brisk October morning sitting at a McDonald's just three miles away from my house. I used various pens and markers until I found something that worked. I included a paper copy (hence the dingy computer room) for reference. (And to offset my terrible handwriting).</p>

<hr>

<p>I'd like to talk to you about the McGriddle. It's one of my favorite delicacies. Having read the prompt and mentally gone through a list of Vonnegut novels and Yoko Kanno arrangements, I realized the category of "favorite delicacies" hadn't been mentioned. I was shocked. I suppose I could sum up just the many what-nots the two individuals aforementioned have enlightened me with, but that's irrelevant when it comes to the subject of sustenance. But enough about my choices, on to my holy scripture.
Perhaps you have yet to taste such fine ambrosia as the McGriddle. Let me educate you. Undoubtedly, they are prepared by some sort of mystical race such as the house elves of Harry Potter. No other explanation could account for the divine taste of the McGriddle. You enter your local golden arched hash house, blissfully unaware of the intricacies behind such a delicate process. The beings are hard at work, hidden like keebler elves, and for a mere $2.49 create for you a magically wrapped delight that will leave you frolicking in joy. After having consumed it's syrupy fluids, you wouldn't be satisfied with just licking your fingers dry, oh no. No, you would proceed to lick clean the very cellophane, hoping to get the very last morsels of its gooey maple syrup. But, let's go back to the beginning. You would first have to unwrap this golden cellophane. What awaits you would be the very definition of your life. It lays there. No, it doesn't need to speak (Though, if it did, I'm sure it would impart to us the very purpose of life) or dazzle your corneas with any flashing lights. It has no words for you. It needs no words for you. You only have to stare in awe, and possibly kneel, at its golden brown aura. Fingers trembling, you would cautiously place them lightly on the top pancake bun, reeling back in pleasure at the very sensation. To even think of desecrating such a sacred treasure is sheer heresy, but you must soldier on! As you proceed to consume this delicacy, your unwitting taste buds have yet to find the many surprises locked within. Is that... is that sausage, cheese and egg? Oh, those sneaky bastards! But, just as your mind seems to implode from the mere thought of sausage and egg together, it hits you. Your teeth sink into that soft bun and what trickles out is the life force of the very gods themselves. </p>

<hr>

<p>Treat it well. Give it a good home. Well, here's to you, UC. Though our meetings were brief, our exchanges even shorter, I guess... I'm glad to have known you. Let the catharsis end. Or, drama.</p>

<p>OBLIGATORY QUOTE:</p>

<p>"It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again. Because there is no effort without error and shortcomings, he who knows the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the high achievement of triumph and who at worst, if he fails while daring greatly, knows his place shall never be with those timid and cold souls who know neither victory nor defeat." ~ Theodore Roosevelt.</p>

<p>Goodbye.</p>

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<p>does anyone else feel comfortable posting their essays?</p>

131

<p>isnt there a site for that</p>

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<p>Prompt:</p>

<p>Modern improvisational comedy had its start with The Compass Players, a group of University of Chicago students, who later formed the Second City comedy troupe. Here is a chance to play along. Improvise a story, essay, or script that meets all of the following requirements:</p>

<pre><code>* It must include the line "And yes I said yes I will Yes" (Ulysses, by James Joyce).
* Its characters may not have superpowers.
* Your work has to mention the University of Chicago, but please, no accounts of a high school student applying to the University?this is fiction, not autobiography.
* Your work must include at least four of the following elements:

  • a paper airplane
  • a transformation
  • a shoe
  • the invisible hand

  • two doors

  • pointillism

  • a fanciful explanation of the Pythagorean Theorem

  • a ventriloquist or ventriloquism

  • the Periodic Table of the Elements

  • the concept of jeong

  • number two pencils
    </code></pre>

<p>University Of Chicago </p>

<p>Improvisational Essay </p>

<pre><code> The legend of That Guy is one that has been passed down for countless generations, mostly because no one has bothered counting. I, being the omniscient narrator, shall tell you the harrowing and thrilling tale of That Guy. Yeah, I know you?re jealous you don?t get to know everything, but that?s why I?m special. Deal with it.

It all began one day when Batman was fighting the Joker at the University of Chicago. Don?t ask why, it just happened. Batman had just gotten the Joker into a Full Nelson and was trying to get the Joker to say ?Uncle.? ?Are you finally going to say Uncle, Joker?? ?I hate you and yes I said yes I will Yes.? However, Batman should?ve known the Joker is a dirty no-good liar, and that?s when the Joker escaped Batman?s clutches and flung him off the top of Mandel Hall. Luckily for Batman, he landed on That Guy. While That Guy certainly was shaken up by Batman?s crash-landing, he was by no means dead, and thank God, or else that?d be the end of the story. Batman soon finished off the Joker and sent him back to the Gotham Asylum. Batman was very thankful; he gave That Guy his patented utility belt (although the only thing left in it after the fight with the Joker was a paper airplane and some #2 pencils), a Batshoe, and a 2 hour lecture on how he could make his own Bat-tools with simple knowledge of the Periodic Table of Elements, Pythagorean Theorem, and of course, jeong. Batman asked That Guy if he understood what he was talking about, but That Guy just nodded and smiled politely even though he lost Batman at ?Periodic.?

That Guy assumed it was the last he?d ever see of Batman and The Joker. Luckily for us though, Joker escaped like he always does and looked for revenge on That Guy. That Guy had long ago canned his old leather belt and right shoe, deciding instead to wear the utility belt and the black pointy Batshoe. While it sounds quite ridiculous to us, the students of the University of Chicago begged to differ, nominating That Guy this decade?s Big Man On Campus. While That Guy?s fashion and run-in with Batman had led to the adulation of his peers, it also made him stick out like a sore thumb at the annual Outdoor Summer Wing-Off, where he was the honorary judge. The Joker, leaping from tree to tree like Tarzan made his way to That Guy who was eating so many chicken wings he was going to soon have to be called That Fat Guy or more cleverly Those Guys. The Joker pounced down on That Guy, who was more focused on where the nearest bathroom was, then the outside world. The Joker, in usual Joker fashion, delivered a corny line ?Orange you glad to see me?? That Guy, who realized that he didn?t need the bathroom anymore, soon mobilized into action, grasping the only objects left in the utility belt. Unfortunately for That Guy, he wasted the #2 pencils drawing some sweet designs on the paper airplane; even more unfortunate, he accidentally used the paper airplane to wipe the BBQ sauce off his face. Even with all of this, That Guy remembered the Pootie Tang movie he saw on HBO at 3 A.M. the night before, and rips off the utility belt to use it as a weapon. The Joker though, had seen the same movie, and came prepared with his Anti-Belt Shield. Despondent, That Guy in a last-ditch effort hoped what happened to Dorothy and Toto would happen to him, so he clicked his heels 3 times. Instead of going back home, the Batshoe began to expand, soon encompassing his entire body. As it turns out, the Batsuit can regenerate as long as one piece of it is still intact and a movie clich? is performed. Not only did That Guy now have a fully working Batsuit, but he had the killer abs that come with wearing the costume. While That Guy was jubilant that he now had a full Batsuit, the Joker was not about to let him figure out how to use it. The Joker lunged on top of That Guy and delivered a furious McFlurry of blows, his power-packed punches trying to break through the Batsuit like a kid who tries to get through the outer-shell of a Tootsie Roll Pop to the Tootsie Roll center. How many licks does it take to get to the center of this Tootsie Roll Pop? The world will never know because That Guy put the Joker into an inescapable clutch and soon learned that the Batsuit can be controlled by your thought processes. So when That Guy thought fly, the rocket boots ignited and he was airborne. That Guy soon realizes he can?t fight the Joker in hand-to-hand combat or hold on to him forever, so he came up with an ingenius plan albeit idiotic plan. That Guy soon decided he?d fly directly into the side of Mandel Hall and let go of the Joker while flying straight up at exactly the right time. However That Guy, still a rookie, couldn?t fully control the Batsuit; the Joker told him he was ?crazy,? and when the Joker calls you crazy, then you know you?re doing something really stupid. Luckily for That Guy (which always seems to be the case), his plan went through brilliantly, and some say that even to this day you can see the imprint of the Joker?s body on the side of the building. That Guy wondered how he?d contact Batman, and as soon as he thought it, the Batsuit contacted Batman. Batman, who was glad That Guy had learned the secret of the Batsuit, picked up the Joker and decided That Guy was ready for the Batmanual. The Batmanual taught That Guy how to make all the weapons in a simple manner, all the fighting skills Batman himself learned, and more importantly how to customize the Batsuit. So if you ever see a man in a white and blue Batsuit with red racing pinstripes, with ?Go Cubs!!!? in neon lights on his back, know that it?s That Guy.
</code></pre>

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<p>for everyone freaking out over the length of their essays...my short essays were both 500 words long. my long essay was 2500 words long. I got admitted. </p>

<p>When they say they don't have a word limit, they mean it.</p>

134

<p>Here's mine. I have been accepted.</p>

<p>(table essay prompt)</p>

<p>Xenia
It’s ten o’clock p.m. inside the home at 72 Cascade Avenue. Thirteen South African men sit around our dining room table. A three-legged dog lies beneath the table, covertly begging for table scraps. She dodges the twenty-six legs stretched out around her. The South Africans wear shorts that hang mid-thigh and crawl up even more when they sit down, exposing their hairy legs and the line where their skin changes from blazing brown to pallid white, their version of the farmer’s tan. Even as a female, I wouldn’t dare wear shorts so skimpy, but I’m strictly a pants and skirts girl myself.<br>
I’ve already eaten and the table is crowded, so instead of sitting with everyone else, I sit on the couch across the room. I can hear the men speaking and the dishes clinking as they’re passed around the table. I can smell the cooked meat as if it were on a plate in front of me, but I’m distant enough from the table so that I can see it from end to end without turning my head.
Stools and chairs have been gathered from around the house to accommodate the large group of hungry men. Otto and F.C. sit on wooden stools from the kitchen. Tayes sits on a chair that normally gathers dust in the corner of the room next to the Hoosier, but the piano bench stands empty beside the table, the last choice for seating.<br>
The dining table rarely has such a large number of guests and is usually home to stacks of mail instead of plates of ham and beans. Tonight we are feeding my dad’s crew of harvesters, hired men from South Africa. They help with harvest in South Africa, but like many people their age, they look for better paying jobs in the United States. They come to Colorado each spring, their legs already browned from a season of farming.<br>
After harvesting across the country, my dad and his crew come to the San Luis Valley. The wheat and barley finally beard and turn a rich gold in late August. This is the time of year we add two leaves to the dining room table. We dust off our extra set of dishes, a set decorated with wheat that my mom bought on Ebay for thirty dollars.
The men sit around the table with their ham and beans and cornbread, speaking English in varied accents. They learned English from the American television shows that flood screens across South Africa. One man, Louie, speaks with a Western accent. His English teacher ¾John Wayne. Sometimes they slip into Afrikaans, particularly when they care to disguise their current subject matter from their monolingual hosts. I’ve always tried to guess what they’re saying. I’m familiar with the sound of it, though I don’t know a word. Tonight it makes me feel like the foreigner, and though I’m sitting on my own couch, in my home, I feel like I could be miles away.<br>
My dad, Mike, walks into the room from the kitchen, and suddenly I’m back at home. His pants sag below his hips, exposing the top five inches of the crack between his bright, white cheeks. “Dad, pull up your pants. You’re ruining everyone’s appetite,” I tell him. He’s notorious for exposing his behind to the general public. Not one friend of mine has escaped without the terror of that enduring image.<br>
My dad sets his plate down on the table and pulls his pants up. When he sits on the piano bench, they slip right down again. This time I try my best to ignore it, something I‘ve been trying to do my whole life.<br>
“Tayes, are you trying to look like Mike?” Albert says, pointing to Tayes’s long hair with his fork. My dad’s hair, gray and thinning out with age, hangs below his chin, giving him the appearance of a homeless person or some kind of serial killer. To put it simply, my dad has a “unique” look. Despite this, my dad always seems to have a way of charming the people around him.<br>
“Yes. I’m like the good son,” says Tayes. I can hear South African accents in the bellow of laughter that erupts from the men. It sounds more guttural, like a low snicker.<br>
“And Albert is the rebel,” says Tayes. Albert has short, blond hair. He looks like he could be in the military. “We’re all Mike’s children.” They laugh again, their heads tilted back, their shoulders bobbing up and down.<br>
It takes me a minute to realize that most of these men are young enough to be my brothers. Carl is only nineteen, a year older than me. The others are twenty, twenty-one. When I was younger, my dad’s crew always seemed infinitely older than me, and as I grew up, the gap never seemed to narrow. Maybe something else kept these people so mysterious to me—the tradition of their annual, yet temporary presence, or the shock their language never failed to give me.<br>
“Last night the waitress at Chili’s gave Chris her phone number,” my dad says. “Her name was Diane.” Everyone around the table makes low ooing noises at Chris, who wrinkles his nose and looks down at his empty plate, shaking his head. The men spend an average of twelve hours daily driving a combine, leaving little room for social interaction with women. The closest they come are the brief conversations they have with the middle aged women who bring them Burger King for lunch in the fields. I think of them eating at different restaurants, eating in their combines and trucks, each night sitting at a different table while I always know where my dinner will be served.<br>
“But he lost the number right away. The bus boy took his plate and the number was gone,” my dad says. My mom puts a plate of sliced cantaloupe on the table and laughs at the conversation, but her laughter is nearly silent. She smiles her crooked smile and her shoulders move up and down and she lets out little sniffles of laughter through her nose. I’ve learned to laugh the same way, in a goofy silence.<br>
“What about you, Tayes? How’s your girlfriend?” Chris turns the attention away from himself.
“I think she’s forgotten you,” my dad says to Tayes. Everyone is laughing again.
“I think so too, Mike,” says Tayes. “I have a new one now.” My dad shakes his head at Tayes and gets up from the piano bench. He pulls his pants up and grabs his empty plate to take into the kitchen. When Albert gets up to follow him, I hear a yelp. It’s my dog. One of her three legs has been stepped on.<br>
“Alfie, come here.” I call her to the couch.
“Was that my Alfie?” my mom gasps with concern, half serious and half mocking herself. She treats Alfie like her own child and says she adores dogs because they love unconditionally. I’m still not sure that justifies the turquoise studded collar my mom bought for Alfie in Sante Fe three years ago.
I look up and half of the South Africans have gone into the kitchen. The room feels empty. Suddenly the company is just dirty dishes and wrinkled napkins. My dad comes out of the kitchen and sits on the chair across from me.<br>
“They’re talking about combines in there,” my dad says to me.<br>
I can hear a jumble of English and Afrikaans coming from the kitchen. Combines. Soon harvest in the San Luis Valley will end and my dad and his crew will take their combines and grain trucks somewhere else. The leaves will change and the South Africans will return home and begin another season’s farming. My mom and I will put the stools back in the kitchen. We’ll take two leaves out of the table. Until next harvest we’ll stack our mail on top of the dining room table and keep our bench by the piano.</p>

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<p>My short essay, for #2</p>

<p>One of my favorite musicians has to be Kanye West. I?ve been listening to him ever since I picked up Jay-Z?s ?The
Black Album,? and I found out he produced my favorite tracks on the album. One of the reasons Kanye West, or
Kanyeezy as I like to call him, is such a great musician is that his music transcends boundaries. Sure Kanye works
with established rappers like Jay-z, Nas, and Mos Def; however, it doesn?t stop him from working with people like
Adam Levine, Chris Martin, or Jon Brion, who helped him produce Late Registration. Even my mom who steadfastly
believes ?rap isn?t real music,? can be caught humming ?Gold Digger? or telling people ?Can?t Tell Me Nothing.? I
admire Kanye West because not only can he boast about his accomplishments on his rhymes, but he can also be
introspective and self-deprecating unlike many of the rappers you hear today. He doesn?t have to put up a fa?ade for
people to like him, he doesn?t try to pretend that he grew up in the projects, or that he had to sell drugs to get by. He
is what he is. Someone who grew up in the suburbs, who had a healthy relationship with his family, and was
disillusioned by the prospects of going to college and felt he was destined for greatness. It just so happens that unlike
a lot of people, Kanye West was able to fulfill his destiny and become a major force in music, not only in the U.S. but
around the world as well.</p>

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<p>this year's ppl shud see this... bump</p>

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<p>Accepted, paragraph 1 of WhyChicago:</p>

<p>During my junior year, I developed a heightened interest in economics and statistics. While I enjoyed learning the basic principles of Keynesian economics, I felt that I had only scratched the surface of economic theory. While I praised inferential statistics because of its implications about any given data set, I did not know how the 20 or so formulas I was forced to memorize were derived. Soon, I found out that Milton Friedman had brought an entire school of thought on economics to UChicago. Friedman cultivated a passion at UChicago for the study of economics, leading to the development of fresh and exciting theories that challenged the conventions and fully explored the constantly changing nature of the economy. I want to study economics at UChicago because I know the theory will be rigorous and complete, but I also know that I can quickly learn and contribute at a place where people simply love sharing their knowledge about economics. Mathematics is yet another path I want to explore deeply. The sound logic and definitiveness of the subject has always kept me interested, but I want to go beyond the focus on mere computation. Frankly, I want to struggle and think hard about unfamiliar concepts in Uchicago's challenging pure math classes. Just the thought of being able to apply creative thinking and fascinating theory to problems passed down from generations of leaders in the field of economics and mathematics at Chicago is a great opportunity. I know that UChicago will complement my learning style and ambitions. I hope to major in economics with an equally strong foundation in mathematical methods, perhaps a minor in mathematics. </p>

<p>Yes it's simple, straightforward, perhaps generic. But it's honest and it fits with the rest of my application. Having said that, the rest of that essay was fanciful writing about the campus and the city :P.</p>

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<p>How much does our essay have to show about ourselves?</p>

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<p>John, the essay does not have to be about yourself. even if you think your essay shows nothing about yourself, believe me, it will. the admissions counselors can tell a lot about a person just by reading something they wrote. thats how the University of Chicago differs from other schools. my reegional admissions counselors told me to approach the essay like en English assignment, which I know most people say you should never do. the essay you sent me was fine. it may not be about yourself but it shows your thought processes.</p>

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<p>are u guys kidding me. wholy **** these essays are mazing</p>