This article appeared as "Write of Way” in the Fall 2026 issue of Independent School.
For the 2025–2026 application year, I made a decision that, by most enrollment metrics, didn’t make sense: I intentionally added friction to our admissions process.
At a time when schools across the country are bracing for the “enrollment cliff”—watching demographics shift and competition intensify—the prevailing strategy is clear: remove barriers, streamline the process, make it easier to apply.
I did the opposite.
For middle and upper school applicants at St. Andrew’s Episcopal School (MD), we introduced a new requirement: Following the interview, each student completes an on-site writing sample. On paper, it’s a small change. In practice, it represents a philosophical shift. The writing sample was a way to realign things with our core purpose.
I also had a theory, rooted in enrollment strategy, that the writing sample may function as a filter of interest. Families willing to complete an extra step in the admissions process are more likely to be deeply engaged, an indicator that can translate into stronger yield and signal a better match.
A Parent’s Perspective
I first got the idea two years ago when I experienced the admissions process from the other side of the desk, as a parent. During my 13-year-old son’s interview at Fay School (MA), he was handed a clipboard, a pencil, lined paper, and a prompt. I loved it immediately.
While my wife and I spoke with the director of admissions, my son sat quietly and wrote. I remember feeling curious. What was he writing about? How was he approaching it? And honestly, I wondered whether this unexpected task might take away from what had been, to that point, a great visit. Would this feel like a “gotcha” moment? Would it introduce stress at the worst possible time?
It didn’t.
When we got back in the car, I asked him for his immediate reaction to the visit. Without hesitation he said, “I want to go here!” When asked about the writing sample, he shrugged. “It was fine. I was asked to write a letter of gratitude to someone who has helped me along the way. I actually enjoyed it.”
That moment stayed with me, not because of the prompt itself but because of what it revealed. The writing sample didn’t take away from the experience; it deepened it. It offered another way for the school to see him and for him to engage. Perhaps most important, it felt authentic.
When the Signal Gets Lost
Since the pandemic years at St. Andrew’s, we have offered applicants three options: a project, standardized testing, or an essay. In theory, this flexibility allowed students to showcase their strengths. In practice, it often produced uneven—and sometimes unreliable—results.
Projects varied widely in scope and support. Some were clearly student-driven; others bore unmistakable signs of adult involvement. Standardized tests offered a narrow snapshot and often failed to capture the qualities we value: curiosity, voice, and real-time thinking.
And then there was the essay.
Even dating back to my time as a college counselor in the early 2010s, the application essay has always felt, ironically, like one of the least authentic pieces of the process. Intended to reflect a student’s voice, it often goes through multiple rounds of revision, coaching, and, increasingly, technological assistance. Students and families spend weeks, sometimes months, trying to craft the “perfect” piece. The result is often polished, articulate, and impressive. It is also, very often, not entirely the student’s own work.
With the rise of AI tools, this challenge has only intensified. Admissions professionals are increasingly asked to evaluate writing that is technically strong but curiously generic and disconnected from the student’s voice. We are making decisions based on work that might not reflect a student’s actual ability.
As I reflected on our application process at St. Andrew’s, the word “authentic” kept resurfacing. That focus feels essential because, at its core, admissions work is about understanding students—how they think, learn, and contribute. When the materials we rely on are compromised, even slightly, it raises important questions about fairness, accuracy, and alignment with our values.
Choosing Authenticity
My goal was simple: to see students as they are, in the moment. What does their voice sound like? How do they organize their thoughts? How do they respond to a prompt without an extended amount of time to prepare?
The value of that information extends beyond admissions decisions. A clearer picture of incoming writing ability can inform placement, support, and instruction, helping us meet students where they are, rather than where their applications suggest they might be.
From the start, we introduced the on-site essay with care. We were transparent on our website and in our visit confirmation communications, and we shared a bank of potential prompts in advance. We also thought carefully about the experience itself. During the visit, students could choose to handwrite or type on a school-provided laptop without internet access. We framed the exercise not as a test but as an opportunity to share their voice.
Still, we knew we were asking families to do something different. We wondered whether the additional requirement would discourage applicants, create unnecessary anxiety, or reinforce the perception that independent school admissions had become yet another high-stakes hurdle. In a competitive enrollment environment, we also recognized the risk that some families might simply choose another school with fewer requirements.
And then we waited.
We did see a small dip in applications, which wasn’t surprising. Any time you add a requirement, especially in a competitive market, there will be families who choose not to proceed. But students who engaged approached the writing sample with thoughtfulness and care.
The results have been revealing.
We’ve seen a wide range of ability. Some students write with clarity and confidence; others struggle to organize their ideas. Some responses are creative and reflective; others are more straightforward. But across the board, the work has been authentically theirs. These writing samples are not perfect. They are not meant to be.
That authenticity has sparked meaningful conversations in our admissions committees and divisional teams. The writing sample has not replaced the other components of our holistic review, but it has added an important layer of evidence. It has helped us validate what we see elsewhere in an application, raise questions when pieces of the application don’t align, and begin thinking earlier about the supports that will help students succeed once they join our community.
We are beginning to see patterns, not simply in writing proficiency but in how students think, reason, and communicate. Those insights deepen our understanding of each applicant and help us anticipate the kinds of instruction, feedback, and support that will allow students to flourish at St. Andrew’s.
The writing sample is one data point among many in the process. It does not replace interviews, teacher recommendations, transcripts, and the range of other components that help us build a class. But it adds something that was previously missing: an unfiltered snapshot of how a student thinks, organizes ideas, and communicates in writing without outside assistance. In an admissions landscape that feels increasingly polished, curated, and, at times, artificially enhanced, that glimpse feels more important than ever.
It has also prompted broader reflection on the purpose of the admissions process. What are we truly trying measure? What do we value? And how do we balance accessibility with authenticity?
Every admissions process involves trade-offs. The goal is not to eliminate them but to be intentional about which ones we accept. By adding the writing sample, we chose to prioritize authenticity, even at the risk of reducing application volume. We chose better information, even if it meant asking more of families. We chose, in a small way, to align our process more closely with our values as a school. That alignment matters.
At St. Andrew’s, we talk about the importance of knowing our students—really knowing them. We emphasize the development of a student’s voice, the ability to think critically and to express ideas clearly. If those are the qualities that we value in the classroom, then it makes sense that we should seek them out in the admissions process.
Staying Intentional
Taking this risk did not feel entirely comfortable. In many ways, it ran counter to many current trends in the enrollment world. But leadership in enrollment, and more broadly in education, sometimes requires moving against the current. Not for the sake of being different but for the sake of being intentional, to know our applicants better, to help serve them better when they become our students, and to build a community grounded in authenticity.
Will we continue? Likely yes, but not unconditionally. As we think more intentionally about how to strengthen and grow the top of our funnel, we are equally committed to continually evaluating whether each component of our process is serving that goal. We will listen closely to feedback from families and students. We will also rely on data, from application trends and enrollment outcomes to faculty observations and the success of students after they arrive, to inform our decisions. And we will continue to ask a fundamental question: Does what we gain from each step justify what we ask of prospective families?
If the answer shifts, we are prepared to shift with it.
At the end of the day, this is not about defending a single component of the application. It is about the process. It is about ensuring that the decisions we make are grounded in as complete and accurate an understanding of each student as possible.
So far, that feels like a risk worth taking.