The Demise of the Personal Statement

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For years, I have advised undergrads on how to strengthen their applications to healthcare-related graduate schools—principally, medical schools. I tell them that due to the volume of applications received by programs, most of the materials within incoming applications meld into an amorphous mass of similar grades, test scores, community service activities, research activities, leadership efforts, and healthcare experiences. Unless one is a Navy SEAL in their summers, or a first cellist in the New York Philharmonic, it’s hard to make one’s application stand out or even just differentiate it from the rest. They all pretty much look the same. Thus, despite all the hours of diligence in and commitment to their building of a hopefully impressive identity, one’s individual personality blends in with the rest.

That is, until we get to the obligatory personal statement and supplemental essay questions.

The Personal Statement

The personal statement and any essay questions potentially offer evaluators a glimpse into the actual person behind the application. To appreciate who they are and what motivates them. To detect, perhaps, a level of emotional intelligence and maturity, and thoughtfulness and insightfulness. To detect a certain “right stuff” for the profession in question.

The profession in question. I tell my students that this is what they’re actually applying for—not the graduate school, per se, but entry into a profession, a sacred guild, in which personal intelligence, industry, integrity, honesty, dedication, and sacrifice are highly valued. And it is through the personal statement and essay questions that they might be able to demonstrate at least a modicum of these personal qualities.

Furthermore, it is the reviewers’ first opportunity to sniff out the sociopaths, of which there are plenty. People of challenging personalities can be remarkably disruptive in a school, in a residency (seven years for us neurosurgeons), or in a profession. The earlier they can be weeded out, the better.

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I therefore advise applicants to put much effort into these essay components. To spend some time soul-searching. To say to themselves, in applying to enter a profession, “I must somewhere deep inside believe that I will be good at this profession. Nay, great at it. That I will be a superlative physician, or PA, or PT." And once they admit that to themselves, I ask them to come up with the elements of their personas, of their beings, that make them believe this. What is it that they particularly excel in? Are they masters at problem solving? Are they wonderful at explaining complex concepts to the general population? Are they great leaders?

Then, I tell them to spell it out in the personal statement: “I believe I will be a kick-ass professional for these reasons.” And then, they must back up their assertions with supportive examples, probably form their thousands of hours of mandated extra-curriculars.

I think it is decent advice. As a member of a medical school admissions committee and formerly the head of a neurosurgery residency program, such are the essays that catch my attention, at least. And the ones that seem to move my colleagues. Because, I believe, they give us an opportunity, amongst all the background noise of the thousands of applications, to peer into the souls of the individual applicants.

Disruption by Artificial Intelligence

But here’s the rub: Generative artificial intelligence. It’s everywhere. And the universal application companies have apparently hoisted the white flag, instructing applicants that AI is cool for “brainstorming” and proofreading but, of course, the ideas should be original, and solely coming from the applicant. (Eye roll.)

Think about it. With a few reasonable prompts, gone is the soul searching, gone are the genuine self-reflections on individual core values and drivers. Gone is the honest assessment and portrayal of a piece of one’s personality. Instead, a lovely essay of complete fabrication is instantly available. And it probably will read better than anything the student can come up with. Believe me; I’ve read thousands.

So I ask: What’s the point? AI has destroyed this measure. And there is no putting the genie back in the bottle. We can’t ban its use: Detection and enforcement will be near impossible and fraught with legal challenges.

I move, therefore, that we take all essay-style components out of the applications. They have become useless. They have become a veil that the applicant can hide behind. There will no longer be any plumbing of his or her inner being with the “written” application. Everyone will become angelic, perfectly adjusted, exquisitely motivated, English majors.

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The Need for More Interviews

Yeah, scrap the essays. Why waste a minute reading them? In fact, we should consider completely automating the “written application.” Give that to AI too. Let it sort through the claimed thousands of hours of this activity or that. With all the freed-up time for reviewers, perhaps schools can significantly expand their interviews. Grant twice, thrice as many as before. Or more. Most can be done online—although I suppose we would have to figure out how to determine if the interviewee has some sort of live AI feed going into their earbuds or flashing up on their screens. So, I guess, maybe they would all have to be in-person.

One way or the other, it will be our only opportunity to learn a bit about the applicant. The actual person. To assess their qualities and motivations and gauge their fit. And, hopefully, to weed out the sociopaths.