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Dear “prefrosh,”

This weekend, Harvard rolled out the Crimson carpet. You heard from world-class professors, dined in Annenberg Hall’s glory, and navigated an extracurricular labyrinth. As a result, you may have formed an implicit assumption: Harvard’s the best, so the student experience must be too.

However, that’s not the case — at least, not necessarily. In reality, your Harvard experience will be what you make it.

Outside the Yard’s wrought-iron gates, Harvard is the pinnacle of American higher education — venerated for its academic rigor, pop culture prominence, and A-list alumni. But inside the Harvard bubble, students’ realities don’t always live up to the College’s public perception. As Visitas draws to a close, its attendees deserve to know the truth: Harvard sells a dream — living it is up to you.

Naturally, some of you may assume that in college, classes come first. Indeed, challenging courses exist for students who prioritize academics. But at a school where almost 80 percent of grades are at least an A- (as of 2020-21) and a notable subset of its student body is obsessed with “gems,” classwork often feels like an afterthought. Instead, many Harvard students devote their time to highly selective pre-professional clubs. These student organizations — some with acceptance rates nearly as low as the College’s — are a pipeline to a lifetime of six-figure salaries, a LinkedIn page flaunting prestige, and membership to an elite social class.

On the surface, Harvard’s corporate craze is a natural byproduct of its student body. Those who matriculate to a school with a three percent acceptance rate are pre-selected overachievers. Entry-level finance, tech, and consulting jobs seem like the next steps to success.

But on a deeper level, this contagious careerism reflects many Harvard students’ quiet sacrifice of passion for prestige. As you envision your college journeys, be aware that half of your graduating class will likely trade their aspirational personal statements for a consulting, finance, or big tech return offer.

Though these career ambitions may pay off, students bear an upfront cost: a significant sacrifice of their college experience. Here, students feel pressure to choose problem sets over football games, mock interviews over movie nights, and career fairs over casual clubs.

Granted, many of you likely prioritized studying over entertainment in high school, so Harvard’s Friday-night library crowd is nothing new. But when so much of the student body is obsessed with optimizing, individual ambition undermines campus-wide community.

So Class of 2029, take off the Crimson-colored glasses and see Harvard for its reality, not just its reputation.

You’ve had an insane Visitas: trying to forecast your four-year futures in a single day of never-ending speaker panels, open houses, and ice cream socials while simultaneously fielding the constant comparison of “where else did you get in?”

But in a sense, this weekend was a relatively accurate preview of one path at Harvard: six hours of sleep, an over-scheduled Google Calendar, and a healthy dose of imposter syndrome. Many of you maneuvered through high school with the goal of one day opening a portal to confetti. Little did you know, admission was only the beginning.

In Harvard’s defense, this competitive culture only affects a portion of the student body. The vast majority of clubs don’t cut 90 percent of their applicants – The Crimson chief among them. The Faculty of Arts and Sciences offers numerous majors besides Economics and Computer Science, and no student is ever forced to “sell out.”

The University might not offer free printing, but its resources sponsor once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. And though they don’t rival ESPN College GameDay’s atmosphere, the College’s annual traditions – the Harvard-Yale football game, River Run, and Housing Day – create memories that last a lifetime.

Every story has two sides. In the spirit of Veritas, you deserve to hear both. Class of 2029, I hope this weekend gave you a full picture of the College, not just what’s on the brochure.

Nathaniel R. Georg ’28, a Crimson Editorial comper, lives in Canaday Hall.