Success, Conformity, and the Paradox of Elite Institutions

It started during a job I took as a marketing data analyst—a position with client lists, campaign reports, and collecting, cleaning, processing, and interpreting data. On my first day, I was assigned a handover by a woman who was leaving the role. She was polite, organized—and notably, about to begin her PhD at Yale University. Her departure was framed by everyone at the company as a proud moment. The CEO himself praised her constantly, often repeating, “She’s really intelligent—sharp, that one.” That phrase stuck with me. Not because I disagreed with it outright, but because it felt strangely... unexamined.

She was undoubtedly competent—she completed her tasks, followed all instructions without resistance, and maintained a serene professionalism. But what struck me over time was not what she did—but what she didn’t do. She never questioned any process, inefficiency, or inconsistency in our workflows. No matter how illogical a system was, she adapted to it quietly. When reports were redundant, or when meetings felt performative, she simply executed. Smooth. Efficient. No friction.

As I observed, a question began forming in my mind:
Was this what people meant by intelligence—or was it obedience in disguise?

Was she intelligent in a way that made institutions comfortable? The kind of intelligence that optimizes within systems, not one that challenges them? I found myself watching how others responded to her—superiors praised her, not for insight or innovation, but for her reliability, her polish, her readiness to leave quietly for something bigger.

And that "bigger" thing—Yale—seemed to affirm it. An Ivy League institution opened its gates to her. But it made me wonder: Are such institutions selecting for originality, or for high-performing compliance? Do we mistake compliance wrapped in polish for brilliance?

This experience became a lens through which I began to view a wider pattern—not just in academia or jobs, but in how entire systems define value. What if we are constantly mistaking conformity for genius? And what if our most prestigious schools and companies aren’t breeding free thinkers—but refining socially obedient, ideologically aligned performers?

I delved deep into psychology to inform myself, what really makes an Ivy-Bound Mind?

1. Childhood: Groomed for Approval

From an early age, the typical Ivy-bound student is raised in an environment that emphasizes external validation, achievement metrics, and structured activities.

• Parenting Style:

  • Often intensive, goal-oriented, and tightly scheduled. Think soccer practice → music lessons → enrichment tutoring.

  • Parents may be upper-middle class, hyper-educated, and achievement-obsessed, often projecting ambitions onto their child.

  • Success is not just encouraged—it’s required.

• Early Signals:

  • Praise is given not for curiosity or rebellion but for behavioral obedience and predictable excellence.

  • “Good job!” becomes currency, often exchanged for compliance more than creativity.

• Emotional Calibration:

  • High-achievers are subtly taught to suppress negative emotions—no time for anger, boredom, or existential doubt when there’s an exam to ace.

  • Feelings are either intellectualized or buried under to-do lists.

2. Adolescence: Mastering the System

In middle and high school, the Ivy-bound teen becomes an optimizer of expectations.

• The Performance Economy:

  • Students are taught that success is a formula: AP classes + GPA + SAT + extracurriculars + a tragic yet inspiring essay.

  • They become skilled brand managers of the self—building résumés, not identities.

• Risk Aversion Sets In:

  • Most learn to avoid any activity where failure is likely, even if it’s interesting.

  • Why try stand-up comedy or philosophy if it won’t get you a recommendation letter?

• The Social Smile:

  • They become experts at reading the room and saying what teachers, coaches, and admissions officers want to hear.

  • Dissent is dangerous—compliance is rewarded.

3. Internalization: The Belief in the Game

This is the most crucial phase. By age 17 or 18, these students no longer perform excellence—they believe in it.

• Self-worth becomes conditional:

  • “I am good because I achieve.”

  • This fosters perfectionism, anxiety, and a quiet terror of irrelevance.

• Institutional Ideology Seeps In:

  • They believe they’re being rewarded for being “different,” but really they’re rewarded for fitting into an institution’s unspoken ideals:

    • Hard-working

    • Non-disruptive

    • Verbally skilled

    • Socially conscious—but not radically critical

• False Individualism:

  • Their college essays are filled with “unique” angles—immigrant story, identity journey, environmental passion—but the format is eerily predictable.

  • It’s not originality, it’s originality as expected by the rubric.

4. Admission: The Ultimate Confirmation

Getting into an Ivy is like being knighted. It confirms every external measure they’ve internalized:

"You’re not just good—you’re the best. You played the game and you won."

But here’s the irony: the prize is the continuation of the same system.

• The university is now the new parent.

• Professors are new authority figures to impress.

• Grades and prestige internships are new performance metrics.

Rarely is there space to unlearn or question anything.

What They Rarely Develop

• Resilience to failure (because they’ve avoided it).

• Authentic voice (because they’ve rehearsed so many versions of themselves).

• True curiosity (because exploration without an outcome was never rewarded).

• Critical independence (because the systems that shaped them never wanted disruption).

And Yet… Why It’s So Hard to Break This Mold

• These individuals are often brilliant, hardworking, and hyper-adaptable.

• But their brilliance is channeled toward optimization alone.

Defining “Success” in Competitive Institutions

What does it mean to be “successful” in a high-pressure academic or professional institution? In many competitive schools and companies around the world, success is measured in quantifiable, standardized ways: top grades, test scores, polished résumés, and seamless adherence to expected behaviors. Competitive institutions often define success in terms of rule-following excellence – the ability to meet or exceed established criteria – which can inadvertently reward compliance over originality. From a young age, students learn that winning approval means coloring inside the lines. Education theorist Ken Robinson famously argued that traditional schooling, with its emphasis on the “right” answers and standardized tests, can stifle the creative impulses that drive original thinking​

As one study put it, a classroom culture laser-focused on passing tests is “unlikely to develop creative thinking skills”​

In fact, researchers found virtually no positive correlation between high standardized exam scores and creativity – if anything, higher creativity was observed in students with lower test scores, suggesting that relentless exam prep might be “robbing students [of] the joy of learning” and dampening their inventive spark​

Yet, paradoxically, other research complicates this narrative by showing that creativity and conventional success don’t have to be at odds. A recent Australian study of 637 students found that those who “think outside the box” – exhibiting high levels of creativity – actually performed better on national literacy and numeracy assessments​

In fact, creativity was a better predictor of academic achievement than even GPA or conscientiousness​

This suggests that if institutions truly value and nurture creative thinking, students can excel by both standard metrics and innovative ones. The issue, then, is not an inevitable trade-off between following rules and having original ideas; it’s that many competitive institutions define success in narrow terms that prioritize rule-following. Michel Foucault’s analysis of modern institutions provides a powerful lens here: powerful systems “normalize” individuals through constant surveillance and examination, making it possible to qualify, classify, and punish behavior that deviates from the norm​

In schools and workplaces, this normalizing gaze translates into myriad subtle signals about what success looks like – often equating it with obedience, punctuality, perfect scores, and polished self-presentation.

Consider how routine and discipline shape the path to success. High-status schools commonly enforce strict curricula and behavioral codes. This can instill valuable skills like diligence and time management, but it also sends a message: Do as expected, and you will be rewarded. Over time, meeting institutional definitions of success can become an exercise in mastering the rules rather than questioning them. As bell hooks recalled of her own schooling, “we soon learned that obedience, and not zealous will to learn, was what was expected of us”​

In such an environment, ambitious students and employees quickly figure out that being too disruptive or too unconventional might jeopardize their standing. The result is a model of success that leans heavily on conformity – a concept sociologist Pierre Bourdieu would describe as fitting into the existing “habitus” or cultural mold of the institution​

Original thinking, especially when it challenges fundamental norms, can be relegated to second place unless it’s carefully packaged as acceptable “innovation” that still falls within the lines.

None of this implies that rule-following and creativity are mutually exclusive, nor that competitive institutions never value originality. Many elite universities and companies actively promote innovation through special programs, grants, or lip service to “thinking outside the box.” However, the core incentives – the criteria by which students are admitted, graded, and honored, or employees hired and promoted – tend to emphasize proven formulas for success. When success is defined as a polished compliance with pre-existing standards, it raises an uncomfortable question: Are we grooming a generation of high achievers who excel at playing the game but hesitate when asked to change it?

Selection for Similarity: The Mirror Effect in Elite Admissions

One of the clearest places to see this dynamic is in how elite institutions select their people. Whether it’s a top university admissions committee or a prestigious hiring process, there is often a mirror effect at play – those who make it through tend to reflect the values and norms of the institution itself. High-status universities and employers may loudly tout their desire for diverse thinkers and bold leaders, but the reality of selection often favors candidates who “fit the mold.” Admissions and recruitment processes, from entrance exams to panel interviews, frequently act as cultural filters. Unspoken criteria – a confident but not too defiant demeanor, an essay that hits all the right notes, references that praise one’s teamwork and reliability – end up weeding out the extremes. In other words, the system picks people who won’t fundamentally challenge the system.

Sociologist Pierre Bourdieu observed this phenomenon in the French elite university system decades ago. In The State Nobility, Bourdieu noted that the criteria for academic excellence at elite schools were shrouded in ambiguity, “ineffable principles” accessible mainly to those already in the know​

This intentional vagueness – the black box of what counts as “impressive” – serves a purpose: it ensures only insiders or those groomed to mirror the insiders can excel​

As one commentator explained, “the purposeful omission of knowledge ensures that only those in the elite circle receive it... The ambiguity fuels the exclusive nature of the elite.”​

In practical terms, this might mean that a student from a particular social background knows how to subtly signal their cultural capital in an admissions essay, or a job candidate understands exactly how to dress and speak in an interview. Those who haven’t internalized these institutional values – often outsiders from different class, cultural, or ideological backgrounds – face a steep uphill climb. They’re being evaluated not just on raw talent, but on how well they can echo the institution’s image of itself.

Around the world, we see analogous patterns. In the United States and UK, for instance, “holistic” admissions at top universities reward a certain well-rounded polish – good grades, yes, but also the right extracurriculars, the right tone of self-reflection in personal statements. Students quickly learn to volunteer at charities, lead school clubs, and craft narratives of socially approved “passion” because they know that’s what elite colleges want. In India’s hyper-competitive engineering schools, a gargantuan coaching industry trains students from a young age to crack the IIT entrance exams; critics argue that this process “has robbed students [of] the joy of learning” and stripped the creativity from their education​

The ones who succeed are undoubtedly brilliant and hardworking – but they’ve also been meticulously trained to succeed within a very rigid framework. Similarly, in China, the historic imperial examination system (a precursor to today’s Gaokao university exam) was designed to select civil servants based on Confucian classics. While it was meritocratic for its time, reformers like Kang Youwei blasted the system for requiring a rigid, eight-part essay format; he believed it “limited the creativity of millions of young intellectuals” destined for bureaucracy​

In his view, drilling candidates on ancient texts and formulaic writing “hampered China’s” ability to innovate and respond to modern challenges​

These global examples underscore a common theme: when institutions pick those who perform best within the system, they may be systematically filtering out the mavericks and dissenters.

It’s worth noting that institutional gatekeepers often genuinely believe they are choosing the most “excellent” candidates. A college admissions officer or HR manager might insist they’re looking for creativity and diversity of thought. Yet the very mechanisms they use – standardized tests, conventional interviews, recommendations from established figures – skew toward those who have learned to play by the rules. Malcolm Gladwell once quipped that elite schools operate like luxury brands, selling an image of belonging to an exclusive club​

In a luxury brand, you don’t want someone who clashes with the aesthetic; you want someone who embodies it. As Gladwell wrote, “Elite schools, like any luxury brand, are an exquisitely constructed fantasy of what it means to belong to an elite”​

That fantasy is maintained by admitting people who won’t jar the sensibilities of the institution’s culture. When was the last time a truly iconoclastic troublemaker was heralded as the star incoming student or employee? More often, selection favors the “excellent sheep” – those who check every box and mirror back the institution’s own values with a smile.

Of course, many high-status schools and employers do value certain kinds of diversity and independent thinking. They might seek out students from different countries, or prize applicants who have overcome adversity by working within the system. But rarely will they embrace a candidacy that fundamentally questions the system itself. A subtle conservatism underlies most elite selection: the goal is to bring in people who will succeed as defined by the institution. This can mean hiring for “culture fit” – a concept that ostensibly means aligning with core values, but which often results in homogeneity. It can mean favoring candidates whose references come from the institution’s own alumni network (since those references implicitly vouch that “this person is one of us”). It can even extend to favoring a certain personality profile: ambitious but not obnoxious, confident but collegial, intellectually curious but not too radical.

The risk here is a self-perpetuating cycle. High-status institutions end up selecting those who not only have high ability but also a high willingness to conform. These individuals then enter the institution and often rise to positions where they become the new gatekeepers. Consciously or not, they propagate the same criteria in choosing the next generation. Over time, an elite college or company can become an echo chamber of values – everyone different in superficial ways, perhaps, yet deeply similar in how they think about success and their place in the world. It’s a process that Bourdieu describes as the reproduction of the social order through institutions​

Elites reproduce themselves by perpetuating the hidden rules of entry. The question is: what gets lost along the way?

Standardized Pathways: Innovation vs. the Checklist

By the time someone passes through those elite gates, they have usually followed a long, standardized pathway to get there. Think of the checklist of achievement so common in high-status educational and career trajectories: excellent exam scores, a litany of extracurricular activities or internships, leadership positions in approved clubs, glowing letters of recommendation, and a narrative of personal growth that ties it all together. This formula for success is impressively effective at producing high-achieving individuals. It’s also remarkably uniform. Around the globe, ambitious young people often feel pressured to march in lockstep: to take the same advanced courses, participate in the same international competitions, volunteer for the same social causes – not necessarily out of pure passion, but because those are the metrics that matter.

The impact of this standardization on innovation and authenticity is profound. On one hand, structured pathways provide clear goals and skill-building opportunities. On the other, they can create a kind of cookie-cutter excellence. Students may shy away from pursuits that don’t fit the mold, fearing they’ll look “off-track.” For example, a teenager might love writing poetry or tinkering with odd engineering projects, but if those passions don’t align with the checklist (or leave less time for test prep and sanctioned activities), they risk being sidelined. Dissent and unconventional interests can get subtly discouraged, not through outright bans, but through the looming specter of the college admissions algorithm or the corporate hiring rubric. If the system doesn’t reward it, the thinking goes, shouldn’t you focus on something that will “count”?

This dynamic can dampen innovation. Truly groundbreaking ideas often come from the fringes – from people who veer off the established path and approach problems in unexpected ways. But if everyone is busy optimizing themselves for the same definition of success, fewer people are wandering off into the intellectual wilderness where new ideas lurk. The pressure to maintain a spotless record means fewer risks are taken. A student might avoid a challenging, fascinating course in a new subject area for fear of getting a B that could dent their GPA. An aspiring academic might pursue a “safe” research topic where results are assured, rather than an unorthodox question that could lead to a major discovery or a dead end. An employee rising up the ranks might learn to self-censor their more provocative ideas after seeing which kinds of proposals get rewarded in performance reviews.

Moreover, the standardized pathway tends to produce a polished personal narrative – often too polished. College admissions officers and hiring managers regularly read personal statements or hear interview answers that have been effectively coached into perfection. There is an entire industry (tutors, counselors, consultants) dedicated to helping candidates tell an “ideal” story about themselves. The result is that authenticity can suffer. Instead of candidly discussing failures or odd interests, candidates learn to package themselves in marketable ways. A bit of failure might be included, but only the kind that can be spun as a lesson learned and overcome – nothing too messy or open-ended.

This raises a concern: Are we selecting for those who are genuinely innovative and authentic, or just those who are adept at appearing so? Many top institutions unintentionally encourage a sort of scripted originality. For instance, essay prompts may ask about a time you challenged a belief or solved a problem creatively. Savvy applicants know to produce an answer that is just the right flavor of rebellious – a contained, pre-approved form of rebellion that showcases independence but not alienation. This kind of rehearsed individualism is still conformity, just in clever disguise. It rewards what social scientists might call “social desirability bias”: saying and doing what one thinks evaluators want to hear​

Empirical data and anecdotes strongly suggest that when success is pre-defined by standardized metrics, certain kinds of talent get overlooked. A striking study in the U.S. found no positive link between a school’s test score focus and students’ critical thinking or creative skills; in fact, environments fixated on testing saw creative potential drop​

Likewise, in corporate settings, psychologists have observed that highly structured hiring processes (think rigid competency questionnaires or personality tests) sometimes filter out non-traditional candidates who could bring fresh perspectives. Those who have followed a different path – perhaps taking time to travel, explore unconventional education, or launch a quirky personal project – might lack some standard credentials but possess real ingenuity. Yet, if HR screens them out for not checking every box, the organization loses that potential innovation.

On a societal level, an excess of standardization can lead to homogeneity in the ideas being produced. If the pipeline to influence runs through a narrow gate, the people who come out the other side will, despite individual differences, share a certain worldview shaped by that pipeline. Consider the arts: if all filmmakers went to the same few elite film schools and learned the same canon and techniques, you’d likely see less diversity in cinema. In science and tech, many worry that the emphasis on metrics (like publishing lots of papers, or getting grants) forces young researchers into safe, incremental work and away from revolutionary breakthroughs. In politics and public service, if leaders are all groomed through the same prestigious civil service academies or law schools, how likely are they to challenge the foundational assumptions of the system they’ve been conditioned within?

That said, standardized pathways do have their advantages, and it’s important to acknowledge the nuance. They can open doors for talented people who don’t have personal connections, by providing clear, merit-based criteria. For example, standardized exams in some countries have allowed students from rural or poor backgrounds to beat wealthier peers in university admissions, by sheer academic merit. The structure can be a ladder up. Furthermore, not every standardized high achiever is a mere box-ticker – many are passionate, creative individuals who also happen to excel at tests and resumes. The critique is not of the individuals (who often find ways to keep their spark alive), but of a system that can inadvertently signal that there’s little time or tolerance for deviation. When every hour is accounted for in pursuit of the next achievement, the white space for unstructured exploration – the petri dish of innovation – shrinks.

To truly foster innovation, some educators and visionaries advocate reintroducing play and uncertainty into these pathways. They suggest that failure and risk-taking should be not only accepted but even structured into the journey. After all, creativity flourishes when people feel free to experiment without constant fear of penalty​

A bold idea: what if elite institutions deliberately valued “interesting failures” in applications? Or rewarded students for taking an outside-the-curriculum venture even if it didn’t succeed? Such moves could realign the incentives, making the standard path a bit less standardized. As it stands, however, the dominant signals still scream: follow the proven formula if you want the prize. And so that’s what most strivers do – understandably so. But what is the psychological toll of this constant optimization for approval?

Psychology of Approval: The High Cost of Perfection

Inside the minds of individuals navigating these systems, complex psychological effects are unfolding. From the outside, top students and high-flying professionals often look confident, composed, and successful. Inside, many grapple with anxiety, perfectionism, and a profound fear of failure. When you spend years optimizing yourself for external approval – be it grades, admissions, performance reviews, or social prestige – you can become psychologically tethered to that approval. This can breed risk aversion, as taking risks means courting the possibility of failure or disapproval, which has essentially become existentially threatening. After all, if your identity and worth have been built atop gold stars and A’s, what happens if one day you slip?

One noted phenomenon is the “fear of failure” that haunts many gifted students and elite performers. Psychologists have observed that individuals who have always excelled can develop a paralyzing dread of making mistakes. In one study of academically gifted youth, researchers concluded that when high-IQ, high-achieving individuals are gripped by fear of failure, it yields “negative, even destructive” effects – undermining their creativity and well-being​

Instead of seeing failure as a learning step, they begin to see it as a catastrophe. This is reinforced by environments that tacitly treat failure as a taboo. As educator Mandy Smith writes, “The fear of failure is a real concern for many students entering Higher Education… stifles creative play, experimentation, the development of new knowledge and ultimately innovation.”​, It’s a sign that learning has become secondary to performing. In such a climate, taking an intellectual risk – whose outcome is uncertain – feels like too great a gamble.

This fear is not just an internal quirk; it’s often learned behavior from the approval-driven systems themselves. Schools are notoriously unforgiving of failure. As one observer put it, “Schools are haunted by failure... failure is a problem to be solved, rather than an intrinsic part of learning.”​

In zero-sum competition for top ranks, failing a test or project can have real negative consequences, so students learn to avoid it at all costs. Over time, the mindset solidifies: don’t try if you might fail. A university instructor might notice, for example, that students are less willing to speak up with a novel interpretation in class if they’re not sure it’s “correct.” Similarly, in the workplace, an employee might stick to tried-and-true methods rather than proposing a new strategy that could flop. The approval culture breeds a kind of cautious pragmatism.

Another psychological consequence is social desirability bias – a fancy term for people’s tendency to tailor their behavior to what they think others (especially authority figures) will approve of. High achievers often become exquisitely attuned to the expectations of teachers, professors, bosses, and peers. They learn to suppress controversial opinions, to be diplomatic to a fault, and to project an image of competence even when struggling. This can create an inner disconnect: outwardly compliant and successful, inwardly unsure who they really are or what they truly think. bell hooks touched on this when she described how too much eagerness and curiosity in a conformist educational setting could be seen as a threat, effectively teaching students to self-censor in order to get by​

Likewise, employees in competitive firms might develop what one might call “management pleasing” syndrome – always framing information and ideas in the safest, most acceptable way rather than saying what they really mean. Over time, this erodes authenticity and even moral courage. People hesitate to blow the whistle on bad practices, or to challenge group decisions, because they’re conditioned to prioritize belonging and approval over conflict.

Risk aversion is perhaps the clearest behavioral outcome. Studies have documented that fear of failure leads to “more cautious behavior patterns”​

Students become grade optimizers rather than knowledge explorers. An example: if there’s an option to do a creative project for extra credit, a student might avoid it unless they’re sure it will boost their grade, because doing something untested carries uncertainty. In workplace settings, an analysis by organizational psychologists might find that mid-level managers at prestigious companies often stick to conventional playbooks – not because they lack ideas, but because they’ve seen the career risks of high-profile failure. The mantra becomes “don’t rock the boat if you want to climb higher.” The irony is that many of these institutions say they want bold leadership and disruptive innovation, but the lived reality for participants is that the safest way to succeed personally is to minimize potentially career-damaging gambles.

There’s also the phenomenon of impostor syndrome that is rampant in elite circles. When everyone around you is also polished and accomplished, it’s easy to feel like you’re the only one secretly struggling. High-status environments often unintentionally cultivate this by assembling cohorts of “the best and brightest” and then being somewhat disingenuous about the struggles. (After all, if failure is taboo, people hide it, which means everyone assumes they’re the only one encountering difficulty.) The result is a perfectionistic culture where individuals beat themselves up for anything less than perfection, reinforcing the cycle of anxiety and approval-seeking.

Furthermore, constantly optimizing for external approval can stunt the development of intrinsic motivation and authentic selfhood. Psychologist and author Alfie Kohn has long argued that extrinsic rewards (grades, awards, praise) can undermine intrinsic interest in tasks. If a child reads books because they love stories, that’s intrinsic; if they start reading only to win a reading contest, the intrinsic joy can fade. Similarly, a medical student might begin with a genuine passion for healing, but years of competing for top scores and elite residencies could shift their focus to simply outperforming peers. By the time they emerge as a doctor, they might realize they’ve lost some of that original fire, replaced by a more mercenary mindset oriented around the next accolade. Approval addiction is real – and high-status pathways can be like an IV drip feeding it constantly.

On the flip side, it’s important to mention that not everyone crumbles under these pressures. Many individuals find ways to cope and maintain a healthy sense of self. They might have supportive mentors or personal philosophies that remind them to take failures in stride. And sometimes the very fear of failure can motivate people to work hard and achieve things they’re proud of. There is a psychological concept called “defensive pessimism” where fear of failure is harnessed as fuel to prepare meticulously (often seen in high achievers). However, relying on anxiety as a motivator is a double-edged sword – it might get you results, but at a cost to mental health and long-term creativity.

Ultimately, the psychological landscape of those who excel in competitive institutions is often characterized by a tension between the self as performer and the self as person. The performer self is always on, always calculating how to maintain approval. The person self might be quietly yearning to take a breath, make a mistake, or follow an unconventional curiosity. This tension can lead to burnout, as seen in rising rates of depression and anxiety reported among students at elite universities and employees in high-octane firms. It can also lead to a kind of existential emptiness – reaching the top of the ladder and wondering, “Whose approval was I seeking all along, and was it worth it?”

To humanize this: consider a composite sketch of a high achiever. They got into a prestigious college with stellar exams and a resume full of leadership roles. In college they maintained a near-perfect GPA. They land a job at a renowned company. On LinkedIn and at reunions, they are the picture of success. But privately, they confess to a friend that they feel they’ve never taken a real risk, never strayed from what they knew they’d be good at. They’ve excelled, but within a comfort zone defined by others’ validation. The psychological consequence is a lingering doubt – can they ever step out of that zone, and who would they be if they did?

Acknowledging these internal struggles is not to paint high achievers as mere victims of a system – they often willingly engage and take pride in their accomplishments (deservedly so). Rather, it’s to highlight that there is a hidden cost to optimizing for approval. It can dampen the very qualities that great leadership and innovation require: resilience in the face of failure, independent thinking, and the courage to risk dissent. A system that makes people afraid to fail is, at some level, failing them, no matter how glittering the external results.

The Brand of Conformity: What Elite Institutions Really Produce

Why do these patterns persist? Part of the answer lies in what high-status institutions see as their mission – or at least, their brand. Prestigious universities and elite employers often present themselves as incubators of leaders and innovators, but beneath that marketing veneer, they are also organizations with interests to protect and stakeholders to satisfy. There is an argument to be made that conformity is built into the branding and purpose of these institutions. They thrive by producing successful graduates and employees who go on to reinforce the prestige of the institution itself. In essence, they are training stewards of the status quo – highly capable individuals who will manage and perpetuate existing systems – more than they are unleashing revolutionaries who might upend those systems.

Think about the typical elite university brochure or website: it likely features world leaders, CEOs, Nobel laureates – all alumni who have risen to prominence within established fields. These success stories, while often genuinely impactful, usually represent achievement in terms of advancement in existing hierarchies: becoming a Fortune 500 executive, a Supreme Court justice, a renowned scientist, etc. It’s rarer to see, say, a dropout-turned-radical-artist or an alumnus who led a grassroots social movement featured front and center (unless that movement has since become palatable). The brand promise is, “Come here and we will make you into one of society’s winners.” And society’s winners, historically, are those who navigate the existing systems exceedingly well – not those who dismantle and remake them.

Malcolm Gladwell’s observation of elite schools being like luxury brands is telling here again. Just as a luxury fashion house maintains its mystique by ensuring those who wear its label embody a certain image, an elite institution maintains its reputation by churning out graduates who affirm the value of its education. If too many rebels came out of Harvard or Oxford and started denouncing the very structures that groomed them, it might paradoxically tarnish the brand’s allure. Of course, some degree of critical thinking and challenge is tolerated – even encouraged – in academia, but often within controlled bounds. There’s a common refrain: “We train you to think critically, but not to fundamentally rebel against the hand that feeds you.” It’s no coincidence that many of the world’s most prestigious universities historically were (and in some cases still are) training grounds for civil servants, clergy, or bureaucrats of empire. Conformity to a higher purpose – the church, the empire, the nation-state – was literally the point.

Even today, consider which industries and roles elite institutions funnel people into. Top MBA programs, for example, are often criticized for sending a disproportionate number of graduates into consulting, finance, and big tech management – roles that pay well and confer status, but largely reinforce the existing economic order. How many MBAs become social workers or community organizers? Vanishingly few, because that’s not the brand of success those institutions sell. Similarly, Ivy League law schools produce many corporate lawyers and judges (custodians of the legal system as-is), but relatively fewer public defenders or movement lawyers fighting to change the system. There’s nothing inherently wrong with going into prestigious, well-paid careers, but it exemplifies how even personal aspirations are shaped by the institutional definition of what is worth striving for. The institution’s prestige is in part measured by the high-status careers of its alumni, so it has an implicit interest in valorizing those paths.

Pierre Bourdieu might explain this as the accumulation of symbolic capital – credentials that have value in the current social structure. Elite institutions are masters of granting symbolic capital (degrees, titles, endorsements) that in turn place their alumni in influential positions. Those alumni, imbued with the institution’s imprimatur, tend to act in ways that justify the system that elevated them. This is partly self-selection (those who didn’t vibe with it might have left or been filtered out) and partly the result of years of socialization. By the time someone has a PhD from an elite school or is a partner at a top firm, they often have a vested interest in the system’s continuation, because their own identity and success are tied to it. It’s not that they are cynical actors – many truly believe in the meritocracy that brought them there – but that belief itself is a form of conformity to the institutional narrative.

Consider also the branding language of high-status institutions. They frequently tout values like “leadership,” “excellence,” “service,” and “integrity.” These are noble values, but also notably broad and compatible with the status quo. You’ll hear that a certain college “produces leaders in government, science, and industry” – implicitly, leaders of existing government, science, industry, not necessarily leaders of countercultural or revolutionary movements. It’s much rarer to hear an elite institution proudly claim it produces rebels and agitators. Even when radical change agents emerge from these places (and they do), they are often seen as outliers, sometimes even ostracized until history vindicates them. An interesting example: some Ivy League colleges had alumni in the civil rights movement or anti-war protests, but during those eras the institutions themselves were often conflicted or even opposed to such activism. Only later, once society had moved, did the narrative shift to celebrate those figures as proof of the college’s forward-thinking spirit.

There’s also a sense in which high-status institutions act as finishing schools for an elite managerial class. In his book “Discipline and Punish,” Foucault didn’t specifically discuss Ivy League colleges, but his ideas apply: institutions train individuals in certain disciplined routines and ways of thinking, producing what he called “docile bodies” – individuals who can be controlled and who internalize the norms of power​

While a top university classroom is far from a prison or a factory floor, it still imparts a discipline – of thought, speech, and disposition – that is suited to managing society’s established systems. Many elite schools emphasize things like networking, decorum, and consensus-building, which are valuable for maintaining and slightly tweaking systems, but less useful for tearing them down to start anew.

Are there exceptions? Certainly. Some high-status institutions have fostered revolutionary ideas and people. The 19th-century Russian intelligentsia who challenged the Czarist regime, for example, often came from the elite University of St. Petersburg. Many anti-colonial leaders were educated in the universities of their colonizers (think of Gandhi in London, or various African independence leaders at Oxford). But one could argue those institutions failed to fully inculcate conformity in those cases – those individuals turned the tools they learned toward dismantling the master’s house, so to speak. And notably, they often faced pushback or ostracism from their peers and professors at the time. bell hooks, influenced by Paolo Freire, spoke of education as the practice of freedom and intentionally positioned her pedagogy against the notion of schooling as mere indoctrination​

However, her very stance of resistance highlights how common the opposite tendency is: education as a practice of conformity, grooming students to fit neatly into the pre-existing social order.

In a sense, conformity is the product that elite institutions mass-produce, even if unintentionally. It’s a refined, sophisticated conformity – graduates often think of themselves as independent-minded, and in micro ways they are, yet they largely uphold the macro structures. This is why critics sometimes say we are educating managers, not leaders – if by “leaders” we mean people who lead society somewhere fundamentally new. True paradigm-breakers are as likely (if not more) to be outsiders: dropouts, autodidacts, marginal voices. The credentialed elite, for all their intelligence and work ethic, often lead in a way that stays within known bounds.

This dynamic is also evident in how elite institutions handle internal dissent. When students or junior staff challenge the administration or culture, the response is often to absorb and defang the dissent rather than wholeheartedly embrace it. For example, if students protest for a cause, the university might form a committee with some student representation, engage in dialogue, make a moderate reform, and declare the issue addressed. Rarely will they cede to demands that fundamentally alter power relations or values – that would be “too radical” and risk the institution’s stability or reputation. Similarly, in companies, when young employees push for change (say, ethical policies, or new directions), leadership might entertain the conversation, but movement will likely be incremental unless there’s external pressure. Institutions are inherently conservative entities; by design they exist to preserve certain knowledge, practices, or profits. So, they encourage just enough fresh thinking to adapt and avoid stagnation, but not so much that they subvert their own identity.

It’s illuminating to look at how even purportedly rebellious ideas are packaged by high-status institutions. The concept of “social entrepreneurship” is a good example. Many elite universities now champion social entrepreneurship – encouraging students to start ventures that tackle social issues. On the surface, this is wonderfully non-conformist, breaking the mold of just going into a traditional job. But notice how it’s framed: it’s still entrepreneurship (a very establishment-approved mechanism), often supported by business school initiatives or venture funds. The “rebellion” of trying to solve poverty or climate change is routed through market-friendly, innovation-friendly channels that don’t actually confront larger power structures head-on. It’s change with the grain of capitalism and status-building, not against it. A truly radical approach (like grassroots community organizing or civil disobedience campaigns) gets much less support or hype on campus. Thus even rebellion comes in a pre-approved form that maintains a degree of conformity to the overall neoliberal worldview: that change happens via startups and scalable tech or policy tweaks, rather than mass political movements or profound lifestyle shifts.

In branding themselves, elite institutions also sell a kind of ideology of exceptionalism: Our people are the best, and thus they deserve to lead. This can translate into a subtle arrogance among graduates – a belief that “We’re in these roles because we’re the most qualified.” Bourdieu would call this a misrecognition that masks the advantages and networks that greased the wheels. Regardless, that mindset is stabilizing: those who think they earned their spot at the top by merit are likely to uphold the system of meritocracy without questioning its flaws. They become, in a phrase, “high-achieving followers” of an ideology that keeps them at the top and others out. They may think of themselves as leaders (and they do lead their departments or teams), but they are followers of the grand narrative that the current system is just and that their institution sits righteously at its pinnacle.

None of this is to suggest a grand conspiracy by universities or companies to quash originality. It’s more of a structural by-product. High-status institutions got where they are by excelling in the current system, so naturally they perpetuate it. It’s akin to how a successful tech platform will encourage developers to build apps that enrich its ecosystem, not to create a new platform altogether. Or how a reigning championship sports team encourages players to fit into its proven playstyle rather than experiment wildly on the field. The conservatism is often implicit and well-intentioned – “we have a good formula, it works, it produces capable people who do good things, why change dramatically?” The trouble is, this logic can blind these institutions to their role in maintaining societal conformity and stratification.

The brand of conformity can also be geographic and global. The “elite model” of education and professional life – with its attendant mindsets – has been exported worldwide. Local high-status institutions often mimic the Ivy League/Oxbridge model in curriculum and culture. Global corporate culture, too, has a homogeneity in its upper echelons. Walk into an executive boardroom in New York, London, Mumbai, or Tokyo – there will be local differences, but also a common ethos of how a suited “world-class” executive conducts themselves. This global elite class, largely products of high-status institutions, arguably share more in common with each other than with the average citizens of their own countries. That is conformity on a grand scale: an international “best practices” conformity that smooths out cultural quirks in favor of a transnational managerial class. It’s why critiques of global elites often note that they are “cosmopolitan” in taste and outlook – which is not inherently bad, but it does speak to a convergence of worldview that can be disconnected from local grassroots concerns.

In summary, elite institutions pride themselves on creating leaders, but those leaders often end up being caretakers of the current order. They might improve it, tinker with it, even humanize it – but rarely do they overturn it. This built-in purpose of replication keeps the institutions themselves at the top of the prestige hierarchy. And as long as their brand rests on producing society’s winners, they have a stake in defining success in a way that their graduates can easily attain by following the given program. The question becomes: is this what we really want from our halls of “excellence”? Is preserving a polished status quo the pinnacle of achievement – or could these institutions dare to measure success in bolder terms?

Feedback Loops: Homogeneity, Grade Inflation, and Safe Rebellion

As these patterns of conformity and success-seeking play out, they create self-reinforcing feedback loops within elite environments. Over time, the culture can become more homogeneous, the benchmarks of success can become distorted, and even attempts at rebellion can get co-opted into the system. Let’s examine a few of these loops:

1. Intellectual Homogeneity and Groupthink: When similar kinds of people are selected and rewarded year after year, it’s no surprise that a certain intellectual homogeneity develops. High-status institutions often gather brilliant minds, but those minds may start to think alike because of shared training and socialization. In elite universities, for instance, despite housing diverse disciplines, there can be a prevailing campus culture that leans in a particular ideological or methodological direction. Whether it’s a largely left-liberal consensus in social sciences or a technocratic, quantitative bent in policy programs, students and faculty sometimes find themselves in an echo chamber. Dissenting viewpoints – whether politically or in terms of academic approach – might be present, but they’re frequently marginal. This can lead to groupthink, where challenging prevalent assumptions becomes difficult because everyone you dine with, work with, and study under broadly agrees on key points. Scholar bell hooks noted how “obedience” was expected in her integrated school experience​, which speaks to how even in a space that should encourage debate, there was pressure to not stray beyond accepted boundaries. In modern terms, this could manifest as an unspoken consensus that certain debates are “settled” or that some questions aren’t worth asking – not because they truly aren’t, but because the community has circled around particular orthodoxies.

In corporate settings, intellectual homogeneity appears as “culture fit” hiring and promotion that over time yields a leadership team with very similar worldviews and problem-solving approaches. This is the classic “hire in our own image” trap. A company might pride itself on its strong culture, but if that culture is too monocultural intellectually, it can miss out on innovation and be blindsided by external challenges. Yet, if an environment subtly punishes those who voice minority opinions (be it through exclusion from informal networks or slower promotions), the smart strategy for individuals is to conform intellectually. Thus the loop continues: conformity is rewarded, which encourages more conformity.

2. Grade Inflation and the Illusion of Excellence: Many elite academic institutions have experienced significant grade inflation over the past few decades. For example, at Harvard College nearly 80% of all grades are now in the A-range​. A recent Harvard report noted the average GPA is around 3.8 (out of 4.0), up dramatically from earlier years​. Similar trends are observed at other top universities. This creates a feedback loop of its own. When almost everyone gets an A, the signal of an A becomes weak – it no longer differentiates the truly exceptional from the merely competent. As faculty realize most of their class expects an A, they may be reluctant to give lower grades (to avoid hurting students’ futures), which further cements the inflated norm. The definition of success shifts to everyone must be excellent, all the time. But of course, not everyone is excellent at all times, so standards quietly adjust to make that mathematically possible.

Grade inflation reflects a kind of conformity too: a convergence toward the top. It’s partly born of compassionate motives (not wanting to jeopardize students’ opportunities) and partly from consumerist pressure (students at an expensive elite college arguably “expect” top marks for their investment). The result, however, is a bit perverse: if everyone is special, then no one really is – at least in the eyes of that metric. And so new “shadow” metrics emerge to separate the super-stars: exclusive internships, professors’ recommendation whispers, maybe even illicit gossip about who the “real geniuses” are. As one Harvard dean noted, grade compression forces students to rely on “shadow systems of distinction” like extra honors or networking to stand out​. This, in turn, pressures students to pad their resumes even more outside of class, feeding the cycle of overachievement and busyness.

Grade inflation also intersects with the conformity issue: if challenging a student with tough feedback risks complaints or a hit to their GPA, instructors might shy away from truly pushing intellectual boundaries. Students, aware that an “A” is almost expected, might avoid courses or professors reputed to grade harder, even if those might teach them more. Thus, intellectual risk-taking in coursework diminishes. The feedback loop here is that the appearance of uniform excellence perpetuates practices that dilute real excellence. It’s telling that some employers and grad schools now discount GPAs from certain institutions, knowing they don’t mean much – they instead look for other differentiators, which again makes students chase those differentiators (often in conformist ways, like the “right” prestigious extracurriculars).

3. Early Grooming and Pre-Approved Rebellion: We touched on this earlier with the notion that even rebellion can be made to conform. Elite environments have gotten savvy; they recognize that a total suppression of youth’s urge to question authority can backfire. So, many have carved out acceptable channels for dissent – often termed as “student voice” or “innovation initiatives” or “feedback sessions” in companies. Students might get to sit on committees with faculty, or employees contribute to internal surveys, etc. These mechanisms give a sense of participation and can lead to incremental changes, but they also serve as pressure valves. They channel discontent into forms that won’t threaten core power structures or reputations. For instance, a college might allow a radical student art display on campus – showing it’s “open to controversy” – but if students want to change the curriculum to include more marginalized perspectives, the process bogs down in years of reviews. A company might celebrate an in-house “hackathon” that encourages wild ideas, but proposals that challenge the company’s main profit engine will be quietly sidelined.

This phenomenon can create a false sense of rebellion. Students and staff feel like they are pushing boundaries, but often they’re doing so within safe zones set by the institution. It’s reminiscent of the concept of “manufactured dissent” – letting people blow off steam in ways that ultimately don’t change much. Over time, those who repeatedly engage in these pre-approved rebellions might either get co-opted (rewarded for their energy with some token position that ties them closer to the institution) or burn out and leave. Meanwhile, the institution touts their involvement as proof of diversity of thought, without having truly altered its DNA.

4. Network Echo Chambers and Elite Grooming: Another feedback loop arises from the networking culture of elite circles. Success within the institution grants access to powerful networks, which then help secure future success (jobs, opportunities), which in turn reinforces the prestige of the network. If you conform and excel as a student at a top university, you might be tapped for a Rhodes scholarship or a venture capital introduction – not just because of talent, but because mentors in the network open doors for you. Once you’re through those doors and flourish, you reflect glory back on the network (and institution), reinforcing to current members that playing by the rules yields rewards. It’s a reinforcing cycle of “trust the system; it will take care of you.” Those who don’t play along – maybe they alienated professors by being too contrarian or didn’t cultivate mentors – might not get those same network boosts, which then “proves” to observers that being contrarian doesn’t pay. And so future cohorts see that and choose conformity.

5. The Credentials Arms Race: As more people pursue the standard pathways and checklists, credentials as markers become inflated. A basic college degree from an elite school used to guarantee distinction; now perhaps a master’s is needed, or multiple internships, or a dual-degree fluency. There’s an arms race where everyone is trying to outdo each other in approved ways, leading to credential creep. This loop makes the whole enterprise of high-status achievement more demanding and, arguably, more conformist. If everyone now needs two Ivy League degrees and a stint at McKinsey to be considered a top candidate for certain roles, you’ll get a pool of people who all did roughly the same thing until age 25. They might be immensely qualified, but they’re also homogenized by the process.

What suffers in these feedback loops is true diversity of thought and experience. Not diversity in the superficial sense (institutions have rightly improved in including people of different races, genders, nationalities – though there’s progress yet to be made), but diversity in worldview and approach. If the collective culture prizes consensus and continuous affirmation, intellectual diversity can flatline. There’s research in psychology showing that groups of very capable people can still make poor decisions if they lack dissenting perspectives – they become victims of groupthink, confident but wrong. An elite group, brimming with intelligence yet lacking internal critique, is especially prone to this because their confidence is bolstered by a history of success.

Is there any corrective to these loops? Some institutions try. For intellectual homogeneity, a few colleges have instituted programs to ensure viewpoint diversity, inviting speakers and faculty from different ideological backgrounds. For grade inflation, some professors (and even students) are pushing for a return to meaningful grading, or at least a narrative evaluation that gives more nuance. However, these solutions often run against the entrenched incentives. No professor wants to be the lone holdout giving low grades if it severely harms her students’ futures. No hiring manager wants to bring in a “cultural misfit” if it might disrupt team cohesion in the short term.

Interestingly, the feedback loops of conformity can sometimes break in moments of crisis. External events – economic crashes, political upheavals, technological disruption – can force institutions to change by rendering the old ways untenable. For example, if a prestigious industry suddenly becomes obsolete, the pipeline feeding it must adapt. If society undergoes a massive value shift (imagine, say, a broad rejection of materialist success by the next generation), elite institutions would face pressure to redefine their metrics. Short of such seismic events, changes are usually glacial.

It’s crucial to note that some feedback loops aren’t entirely negative. Homogeneity can mean strong community and shared language. Grade inflation, cynically viewed, means less stress on students (since almost everyone does well) – though it introduces other stresses around differentiation. Pre-approved rebellion at least keeps the spirit of activism alive, even if tamed, and might plant seeds that later grow beyond the confines. Networks of elites, for all their exclusivity, can do great things when mobilized for good (philanthropic projects, for instance). The key is whether these loops allow for self-correction. A healthy institution would periodically ask: Are we hearing enough new ideas? Are we maintaining rigor? Are we just paying lip service to innovation? Unfortunately, institutions can be self-congratulatory, assuming that because they’re “the best,” whatever they do must be correct – which is itself a dangerous form of groupthink.

In sum, the interplay of conformity and success creates loops that reinforce more conformity. It’s like a hall of mirrors: the institution sees its image reflected in its members and likes what it sees, so it doubles down, producing an even stronger reflection. Breaking out of that hall of mirrors requires conscious effort – or someone throwing a stone. Which brings us to the ultimate provocations about where all this leads.

Leaders or Followers? Credentials vs. True Intelligence

After examining these themes, we arrive at some provocative, open-ended questions about the nature and purpose of our high-status institutions. Are they truly fostering the independent, visionary leaders that society needs, or are they mass-producing high-achieving followers – brilliant yes-people who excel at navigating systems rather than transforming them? And when we look at the glittering credentials so prized in our world – the degrees, the titles, the honors – we must ask: Do these actually signify deep ability and insight, or merely a mastery in the art of system fluency?

Are we educating leaders or high-achieving followers? On the surface, it’s paradoxical to call the graduates of famous leadership programs and elite colleges “followers.” Many go on to head organizations, run governments, pioneer research. In their roles, they are leaders, making decisions that affect thousands. But the critique here is about how they lead and what direction they take. A true leader, in the visionary sense, might be someone willing to challenge fundamentals, to lead people somewhere new even at personal risk. A follower – albeit a high-achieving one – might simply steer expertly within the lanes provided, leading their team or society in the same direction it was already headed, just more efficiently.

If we examine the track record, many alumni of elite institutions indeed become what one might call system-reinforcing leaders. They rise to the top of existing hierarchies and largely maintain them. Think of the number of heads of state or CEOs who cycle through with impressive résumés yet largely preserve the policies or business models of their predecessors. Contrast that with the relatively few who dramatically changed course – those are often the outliers (and sometimes products of less orthodox backgrounds). A striking historical example: Nelson Mandela helped overturn a system (apartheid), whereas countless other well-educated politicians perpetuated it for decades. Mandela did have formal education, but his most important schooling was life experience and struggle.

In our modern context, consider climate change. We have plenty of leaders with credentials from top schools in charge, but progress was slow for a long time – maybe because truly confronting the issue requires a break from the economic and political orthodoxy that those very institutions embed. The boldest voices on climate in recent years have been activists and scientists who often had to pressure or circumvent the establishment, not the leaders groomed by it.

It’s telling that even within elite cohorts, sometimes the real visionaries are those who had a streak of non-conformity. They might have gotten in trouble in school, or taken an unconventional career detour. These are the ones who, when they reach leadership positions, occasionally do break the mold. But one wonders: did they succeed because of their institutions or in spite of them? Perhaps they always had a bit of a rebellious spirit that survived the process.

Conversely, many high-achieving followers exhibit a kind of institutional loyalty and caution. They trust the numbers, the experts, the way it’s always been done – because that’s how they themselves succeeded. This can make them less inclined to heed voices from outside the bubble or to pursue disruptive ideas. They are the generals who fight the last war, the CEOs who stick to business-as-usual until a startup eats their lunch, the policymakers who tinker at edges. It’s not that they lack intelligence or good intentions; it’s that their entire formation has optimized them for stability and incremental progress.

Another way to frame it: Do our elite systems produce enough originals or mostly excellents? The term “excellent sheep,” coined by writer William Deresiewicz (himself an Ivy League graduate and professor), captures the notion of people who are superb at doing what's asked of them but have trouble charting their own course. He worried that the Ivy League was churning out such sheep – diligent, agreeable, accomplished, but timid in thought​. The counterpoint is that maybe society does need many “excellents” to keep things running, and only a few “originals” to spark changes now and then. Yet, if too many of the potential originals are being domesticated into excellents, we might be throttling our collective creativity and progress.

Credentials: markers of real intelligence or just system fluency? This question strikes at the heart of meritocracy. We assume that someone with a doctorate or a fancy job title is highly competent, possibly brilliant. Often that’s true. But it may also be true that those credentials measure a person’s ability to navigate and persist in structured environments more than their raw intellect or creative capacity. Economist Bryan Caplan provocatively argues that education functions mostly as a signaling mechanism – signaling traits like intelligence, conscientiousness, and conformity to employers​. In his analysis, the actual skills learned might matter less than the demonstration that one could climb the ladder successfully​. In other words, a diploma from a top school says “I’m smart and I can play the game really well.” Intelligence tests could perhaps identify smarts, but only lengthy schooling (with all its hoops and hierarchies) can signal a person’s willingness to comply and persist – that they can handle bureaucracy, follow instructions, meet deadlines, and assimilate into a professional class​. If Caplan is right (even partially), then credentials might be telling us less about a person’s original intelligence or capability and more about their training and conformity. Being fluent in the system – knowing how to ace exams, write academic papers, polish a CV, speak the jargon – is a distinct skill. It’s a valuable skill, but different from, say, wisdom, creativity, or practical problem-solving intelligence. We all know of people who are brilliant in non-traditional ways but don’t shine on paper, and vice versa.

There’s a classic critique here: Does our system pick the smartest people, or the smartest test-takers? Standardized tests, from the SAT to the GRE to job aptitude tests, are often good at measuring a certain analytic reasoning ability. But they can’t fully capture qualities like ingenious creativity, emotional intelligence, or real-world improvisational skill. And yet those test scores heavily decide who gets into the credentialed club. Similarly, someone who diligently accumulates experiences that look good (internships, fellowships, etc.) may get a leg up over someone who, say, spent years self-teaching or building a business from scratch – even though the latter might have more real capability.

Fluency in systems includes things like understanding bureaucratic expectations, knowing how to network elegantly, and even embodying a cultural style of the elite. These are often byproducts of privilege – taught informally in well-to-do families or good schools – and not necessarily correlated with raw ability. Thus, credentials can sometimes reflect cultural capital as much as merit. Bourdieu would point out that what we call “merit” often hides the transfer of advantages. A student from a wealthy background might get into a top university partly because they had refined speech and confidence and an essay about violin lessons in Vienna – none of which mean they are inherently smarter than a kid from a village who didn’t have those opportunities​. But once admitted and graduated, the credential treats them as if purely merit selected.

This isn’t to dismiss credentials entirely. Many credentialed experts truly know their stuff and have advanced knowledge that an uncredentialed person likely lacks. The danger is over-relying on credentials as proof of worth. We might ignore a great idea from a junior or an outsider because they lack the title, while overvaluing a mediocre idea from a decorated individual. History has examples: the person who invented a new technology or theory but was initially ignored because they weren’t part of the establishment, until later vindication. Meanwhile, those entrenched in the establishment can suffer blind spots – as happened when Einstein’s revolutionary papers were initially met with skepticism by some academic gatekeepers who were steeped in Newtonian credentials (Einstein himself was a bit of an outsider working in a patent office when he made his breakthroughs).

So, what is “real intelligence” and does our system reward it? Real intelligence arguably includes creativity, critical thinking, adaptability, and wisdom. The current high-status pathways reward analytical intelligence and perseverance highly – which are components of intelligence, but maybe not the whole. We’ve all met highly educated individuals who struggle with out-of-the-box thinking, and un-schooled individuals who have remarkable savvy. If credentials mainly certify that one is very good at the scholarly or corporate game, there’s a risk that we conflate that with overall merit.

Yet, it’s also true that those who are fluent in the system often end up wielding the most power and influence, precisely because the system elevates them. So even if credentials don’t measure everything, they become self-fulfilling tickets to positions where decisions are made. This calls into question our societal design: should critical roles (like leading a nation, or innovating in science) be almost exclusively held by people from a narrow credential pipeline? Or would a broader mix – including outsiders and unconventional thinkers – yield better outcomes?

As a counterpoint, some might argue: the alternative to a credential-based meritocracy is nepotism or chaos. If not credentials, what then? This is a fair concern; we do need ways to identify and empower talent. The critique is not that we should throw away all standards, but rather that we should broaden what we consider “merit” and be wary of how conformity can masquerade as merit.

In a reflective, Medium-style tone, it’s worth considering personal anecdotes or insights. Perhaps you, as the reader, have experienced some of these tensions. Maybe you jumped through all the hoops and got the gold stars, only to feel disillusioned at the end. Or perhaps you were an outsider who didn’t follow the formula, and you’re watching the game from the sidelines with frustration and clarity about its absurdities. These provocations are not meant to diminish the hard work of those who succeeded through elite channels – rather, it’s to invite those very people (and the institutions they hail from) to pause and introspect.

What is the ultimate aim of education and high achievement? Is it to maintain a polished version of the world we have, or to empower people to dream up a better one? If it’s the latter, some things likely need to change. We might need to redesign admissions and hiring to value real diversity of thought and experience, even when it comes in messy forms. We might need to protect and encourage dissent within institutions, treating it as a sign of health, not disloyalty. We might need to redefine success for students and employees in terms of learning and impact, not just narrow metrics. And perhaps we need to tell young people explicitly: “We don’t just want you to follow the path we’ve laid out – we’re giving you tools so you can create new paths. It’s okay to challenge us.”

One can imagine, for instance, an elite college that instead of boasting how many billionaires or presidents it produced, boasts how many social paradigms were shifted by its community, how many times its alumni collectively said “no” to a harmful norm and forged a new one. Or a top company that measures its success not only in market share, but in how much it empowers employees to become thinkers and leaders who could even leave and challenge the company if it went astray. In short, are these institutions secure enough in their legacy to produce revolutionaries and gadflies, not just devotees?

As we conclude this expansive exploration, the goal is not cynicism but clarity and balance. High-status institutions have immense resources and talented people; they could be engines of profound positive change – but to do so, they may need to get comfortable with a bit more irreverence and unpredictability in their ranks. That means adjusting definitions of success to include failure as fertile ground, embracing some rebels even if they make the brand a bit uneasy, and recognizing when the emperor of prestige has no clothes.

We circle back to those initial themes with a nuanced understanding: Yes, competitive institutions often inadvertently favor rule-following, but they also have the potential to foster originality if they choose to value it. Yes, high-status selection processes tend to pick cultural mirrors, but awareness of that bias can lead to corrective efforts to seek true outliers. Yes, standardized pathways can dull dissent, but creative educational models can be introduced alongside to keep authenticity alive. Yes, optimizing for approval has psychological downsides, but individuals and mentors can counteract that by cultivating intrinsic purpose and courage. And yes, conformity is part of the DNA of elite branding, but even the most tradition-bound institution can evolve – if it sees that the future of leadership demands more than superb followers; it demands individuals who can question, create, and uplift in ways we can’t yet fully script.

In the end, the challenge and opportunity for high-status institutions is to become truly meritocratic in the broadest sense: to reward not just those who are fluent in the existing system, but those who have the talent and audacity to reshape it. That might mean taking chances on the unconventional, tolerating more failure, and rethinking what we celebrate as success. It’s a tall order – essentially, asking institutions to, in some measure, act against their own ingrained instincts. But if they rise to it, the payoff could be enormous: leaders who are not just the best of the present, but the pioneers of a better future.

Are our elite institutions up to that task? The jury is still out. It may well depend on pressure and insight from people within those institutions – people who achieve great things by following the rules, and then have the wisdom to know when to break them. After all, systems don’t change by themselves; they’re changed by individuals – sometimes the very individuals the system produced. Perhaps the ultimate mark of success for a competitive institution is when its alumni feel confident enough to critique it, to transcend it, even to defy it in service of a higher good. When that day comes, we might finally see a blending of excellence and originality that truly rewards both the rule-followers and the rule-breakers in their proper seasons, and in doing so, propels society forward in ways that neither pure conformity nor pure rebellion alone could achieve.

So Who Goes to Ivy?

The typical Ivy-bound student is a high-performing institutional loyalist, fluent in the language of success, shaped by parents, schools, and cultures that prize achievement over insight.

They don’t just play the game—they become the game.