Overheard at a party I attended during winter break:

“Are you in college?”

“Yeah. So what brought you to Boston?”

“Where are you at college?”

“What?”

“Where do you go to college?”

“I’m-at-Harvard-ha-ha-not-exactly-far-from-home—so you’re from D.C.?”

Okay, I didn’t overhear that. I participated. I was the H-bomb avoider.

Though the nature of its influence has been debated, “dropping the H-Bomb,” or telling someone you go to Harvard, has been widely recognized by our community as a powerful move.

But, good or bad, why do we attach so much value to this gesture? When my roommates started buzzing about their newfound ability to read their admissions files, I began to wonder why we, as college students, still care so much about the choice someone made to let us come here in the first place.

I think we care for the same reason we think the “H-bomb” is such a big deal—not because we go to Harvard, but because we got into Harvard. These things seem important because we were taught that low admission rates are important. That selectivity translates to success—or, even worse, self-worth.

Because we put the details of our academics, passions, and personal qualities on our college applications, there’s this odd sense that the “yes” or “no” we get back is a definitive judgment of our identity.

Most of my friends who say they want to look at the files that got them here cite validation as their main impetus. But by making the effort to acquire these Admissions Committee comments, a student conveys that what got her into Harvard is still reflective of, and crucial to, her character.

Looking for validation in an admissions record just validates the assumption that Harvard’s (or any college’s) selection process defines those who participate in it. It turns acceptance letters into lifelong affirmations of self.

Instead, we should put an end to the myth that our admission to a particular college—and the reasons behind it—merits self-acceptance.