I spent the past few days at the IACAC annual conference – the yearly pilgrimage for counselors, IECs, and university admissions representatives. There was camaraderie in the hallways, genuine collegiality in the sessions, and collaboration everywhere you turned.
But beneath that hum of connection, something else was humming too. Something quieter. Something familiar.
Rankings.
Even though they weren’t printed on name tags, their presence was obvious – an invisible script everyone seemed to be following.
As I walked around the university and counselor fairs, the hierarchy was laid bare:
Counselors queued up to meet the brand names.
Universities hovered around the elite schools.
And in between, dozens of tables sat quietly – home to institutions doing life-changing work, and schools with students just as talented – ignored, unseen.
We talk about equity. But we show up for prestige.
What if the most toxic pressure students face doesn’t come from their families, but from us – the educators, advisors, recruiters, and institutions who claim to be guiding them?
We preach fit over fame. We talk about values, wellness, and the importance of a student’s story. But when the college acceptance letters roll in, all eyes scan for one thing: the logos.
The Ivy League ones. The top-10 ones. The ones that make for a good social media post.
And in that moment – whether we admit it or not – we validate an entire ecosystem built not on what’s right for the student, but on what looks good for everyone else.
We’re addicted to rankings. And the industry is complicit in that addiction.
The Prestige Economy
International student recruitment is supposedly about opportunity, cultural exchange, and global citizenship. But just beneath the surface, it’s also about optics, influence, and an ever-hungry desire for prestige.
Families aren’t just buying education – they’re buying status. And rankings have become the international currency of status. QS, THE, U.S. News – these aren’t just lists. They’re psychological scaffolding propping up the illusion that higher rank equals higher value.
And we’ve built entire pipelines around that illusion.
Agents push “top-ranked” universities as a selling point. Counselors spotlight their students’ acceptances to name-brand schools. Even international offices at universities selectively highlight rankings when convenient, knowing full well how influential they are – regardless of how arbitrary or flawed those rankings might be.
But if we’re really honest about what most rankings actually measure: selectivity, research output, faculty credentials, and endowment size, we’ll see that these are just inputs, not outcomes.
They don’t tell you whether a university helps first-generation students graduate.
They don’t measure career readiness, community impact, or student wellbeing.
They certainly don’t reflect how much a student grew, struggled, evolved, or found purpose.
And yet, these metrics dominate our discourse. We let them dictate visibility, influence funding, and shape perception – while ignoring the profound ways they fail to capture what really matters.
The Real Impact on Students
When we celebrate prestige over fit, we send students a clear, toxic message: Your worth is tied to the brand you attend.
Domestic students feel it in the shame of “settling.”
International students feel it in the fear of being overlooked if they choose anything less than a top-tier name.
Everyone internalizes the idea that prestige equals safety, respect, and future success.
And when students make choices based on fear rather than aspiration, we’ve failed them.
We’ve also created a system that’s stunningly inequitable. Many of the most transformative institutions – those helping marginalized students climb generational ladders – don’t make the top 50. Some aren’t even ranked. But they too change lives. They too create futures.
And they deserve more than a footnote.
The Prestige We Pretend to Resist
We like to tell ourselves that rankings are a product of student obsession. That families and applicants are the ones chasing prestige while we, the professionals, are trying to steer them toward better-fit options.
But let’s be honest.
The rankings game isn’t just something we react to – it’s something we quietly fuel.
Admissions offices strategically highlight ranking jumps in press releases.
College counselors – especially in elite circles – proudly share “where our students got in” as a proxy for program credibility.
Independent education consultants boost their own marketability by promoting clients’ admissions to “dream” schools.
We talk about student-centeredness, but too often the unspoken incentive is brand association, bragging rights, and the illusion of impact – measured not by transformation, but by top-tier acceptances.
It’s not that we don’t care. It’s that we’ve been conditioned to see prestige as proof of success. And until we question that metric, we remain part of the machine we claim to resist.
I know, it’s all part of the game. But the cost of the game is authenticity. And the people who lose the most are the students.
So What Now? A Blueprint Beyond Rankings
The obvious question is: If not rankings, then what?
How do students – especially international students with limited context – make informed choices in a sea of glossy brochures and grand promises?
The answer isn’t to remove structure. It’s to change who builds it.
Over the past couple of years, my friend Caleb and I have been envisioning a radically different system – not controlled by media companies or data-mining algorithms, but powered by the people who know students best: counselors.
A Global Counselor Barometer
Imagine a global, decentralized platform where counselors from around the world rate universities – not by prestige, but by the true value they add to a student’s journey, including:
- Student support and wellbeing – how responsive and proactive the university is in caring for mental health, academic advising, and a sense of belonging.
- Openness to diverse academic profiles – a willingness to look beyond perfect grades and test scores, valuing potential, context, and individuality.
- Transparency in scholarships and outcomes – clear communication on costs, aid, and actual graduation and employment statistics.
- Inclusivity and cross-cultural engagement – opportunities for students from different backgrounds to feel seen, heard, and integrated into campus life.
- Post-graduation career pathways and mentorship – networks, internships, and support systems that help students transition into meaningful work or further study.
- Curriculum relevance and innovation – how well the academic programs reflect real-world skills, emerging fields, and adaptability to a changing world.
- Student growth and transformation – feedback on whether students leave more confident, capable, and curious than when they arrived.
- Contribution to community and global citizenship – whether the institution fosters a sense of purpose, ethics, and engagement beyond its own walls.
These are the metrics that reveal a university’s soul, not just its statistics. Metrics families actually care about. These are the truths that rankings bury.
Let’s go further: Let verified students and alumni contribute. Let faculty add insights. Let universities respond – not with PR, but with data and stories.
This wouldn’t be a ranking. It wouldn’t be a list. It would be a living, breathing ecosystem of trust, built on what matters most: real experiences and real outcomes.
This idea isn’t just theoretical. It’s doable. And it’s desperately needed.
The Future Is Fit-Focused, Not Fame-Fueled
We have the tools. We have the network. What we need is the courage to let go of the ladder and build a circle instead.
A circle where universities are seen for their values, not their vanity.
Where counselors are seen as partners, not pipelines.
And where students are celebrated for choosing what’s right for them – not what impresses others.
If we say we want student-centered education, then let’s act like it.
Because the future of global education doesn’t need another ranking.
It needs a reimagining.
Ex Cogitatione, Progressus.
Girish
