The first phrase I heard repeatedly when I came in on the first day was “you were chosen.” I found it gratifying but also rather odd that the school attempted to convince us that we deserved a spot in the Academy. Further, it seemed as if, every day, my self-worth and so-called “greatness” that PA assured me had strictly confined itself within the boundaries of being a student here. I found my chin go up when I cheered the boy’s varsity soccer team on, or when I saw a news source writing about the school’s prestige, yet I came to realize that I never found pride and smiled at myself. I was proud as the audience cheered Andover on, not the narrative of my own story. It strikes me even more now that, just 7 months later, I relayed the same message to my revisit. The assurance of “Andover greatness” felt more like a display of the pride of the Academy about being such a highly selective community rather than a genuine compliment of character. Perhaps a justification for this pride could be found inside the headlines: 13 percent acceptance rate, 1.3 billion dollar endowment, second best private high school in America, and a feature on Business Insider as the “Best High School In America.” Andover, whether the members of the community want to admit it or not, sources its pride from its exclusivity and intense competition.
Consequently, a toxic smug arises. “I got in.” “I go to Phillips Academy.” “I stood out from the rest of the pack.” We show our pride through school merchandise, attending games and pep rallies, and perhaps simply looking up into the glowing blue magic on Sam Phil. It is positive, and sometimes encouraged to feel pride in the community you are part of. But the Phillips’ Pride feels different to me. It took over me, and suddenly the distinction between being proud of myself and my community disappeared. Phillips’ Pride defines its worth not in the number of people it reaches but the number of people it rejects. “You are chosen,” I heard. Should I be proud of that?
The quality of the student body reflects the legacy and prestige of the Academy. A reason why the Academy can be such an academic institution is that it has a multitude of options for admissions. Rather than “having” to take a certain student, Andover admissions tells applicants, “tell us: what’s so special about you?” This luxury of selectivity further fuels the community-wide pride of feeling inherently special just by matriculating into the Academy.
Another part is the school’s mystical and almost surreal online presence, piling amongst hundreds of articles discussing the “specialness” of an Andover education. YouTube videos highlight Andover as “The King” of boarding school education, lauding our museums, observatory, and world-class facilities and faculty. Countless blogs and threads from applicants titled “Chance me” circulate the boarding school admissions pages of Reddit, College Confidential, and various other social media platforms. In that chaos, it seems that app developers, top athletes, academic weapons, and skilled researchers ages 14 – 16 still crumpled under the immense legacy and prestige of Andover. Of course, these factors are not within Andover’s control, but this forced publicity only heightens the omnipresent prestige that we feel. Their suffering and jitters only heightened our confidence and reassurance in ourselves. The academy’s prestige kept our egos alive. I realized it wasn’t a good thing.
I believe that prestige in the Academy itself should not be shamed or framed as wrong. Rather, prestige and pride gone wrong originate from the blurred lines between being proud of the community and being proud of oneself. The world now simply categorizes me under the umbrella term of an Andover student. My worth to many people and in many moments to me, is determined by my presence in the Academy, not by self-perception and self-respect. The prestige of exclusion in the Academy often prevents me from being who I truly am and feeling pride in my expression. I am so much more than an Andover student. I see myself as a dreamer, a writer, a poet, a scientist, and a friend to many. Yet I struggle with the lust of feeling proud in myself and not my labels. I acknowledge that it is difficult to assess yourself and respect yourself in a community where many aspects of pride come from being chosen. But loving my labels was never sustainable for my emotional or mental health. I have to find the faces of myself that I love and respect, not the sentences in my resume that I glorify. Andover seeks and has found glory in its exclusivity. When I finally arrived, it told me I was chosen. But Phillips’ Pride is commendable only when self-respect and pride are distinguished from it.
