We’ve all heard David Brooks’s news: The meritocracy is dead. Like a haphazardly built house of cards, the previous sliver of meritocracy at elite institutions has collapsed into nothingness. With admissions serving as a system “undermined by a 'hereditary aristocracy of wealth,'” and elite schools’ campus cultures reaffirming status through social hierarchies, modern students are navigating a system where status matters more than skill.
Brooks outlines higher education’s Sisyphus-like struggle with meritocracy — the rolling ball of privilege pushing it down each time it may prevail. The American meritocracy, first created by admissions offices at elite colleges like Harvard and Princeton looking to sort our genius, has reverted back to a measure of sorting the wealthy families from those less fortunate. In 2017, 71% of Penn students hailed from the top 20% of America’s wealth distribution; 19% of which were in the top 1%. Despite Penn's, and the other Ivies’s reputation for academic excellence, it’s improbable that 71% of American geniuses come exclusively from the wealthiest area codes.
Obviously, nepotism doesn’t stop at admissions. When Penn’s students arrive during New Student Orientation, they bring along their parental wealth, inherited influence, and “clubbableness.” You might think these students are practically guaranteed entrance into Penn’s elite clubs and Greek organizations. Brooks must be right; all meritocracy at Ivy Leagues is gone.
I used to think the same. It was comforting to believe that my opportunities at Penn were predetermined, a direct reflection of my background — fixed and unchangeable. Didn’t get into that club? Must be because I didn’t go to private school with the president. Didn’t get invited to that date party? Obviously, I don’t summer with the right crowd. But over time, I started noticing glitches in the matrix — people slipping into elite circles without the birthright, and others, seemingly born for it, left on the outside looking in.
It appeared that among the ashes, a new meritocracy was rising: a new skill gaining rewards. One built not on legacy, wealth, or credentials, but on something else entirely. The magic ingredient? Likeability.
I observed that the most charismatic and socially adept individuals were securing spots in prestigious clubs and holding high positions, even when the skill supposedly being measured paled in comparison to the other applicants. Not all of their success was handed to them based on their backgrounds — it took effort, skill, and, yes, merit.
Stay with me here: networking and being likeable isn’t an inheritable genetic ability. Of course, the fact that students live in Westchester, summer in St. Barts together, and went to school at Exeter or Trinity open Penn’s exclusive doors, but it’s their cultivated social skill that actually gets them inside. Having the skills to approach the right person, keep them engaged, and use them to get your foot in the door takes confidence, emotional intelligence, and determination.
These are skills that wealthy Americans are taught from a young age. They’ve found, nurtured, and honed the ability to be likeable; not just extroverted, the right kind of sociable. Malleable, but never desperate. Charming, but not overbearing. They know how to strike the perfect balance of social finesse. They've been practicing over years of dinner parties, summer camps, and country club introductions. When these students arrive at Penn, they've mastered the right words, they already know the right parties, and have coffee chatted with the right organizations before the rest of us know what coffee chatting is. They’re in the room where it happens, and not by happenstance.
For those who don’t inherit this birthright, it can feel like you’ll never break into the same opportunity. But, with such a value on networking, it also means the door isn’t entirely closed. Social skills can be learned, connections can be built, and access can be earned.
As I watched Penn students around me drop names, vacation spots, and elite prep schools in conversation, I found the behavior fake and “sweaty.” But these small actions — networking, using connections, and being eager — worked. Even those not born into wealth and influence, were landing positions because the board loved them and finding their way into circles with Penn’s academically and socially powerful.
Believe me, if you had asked me before I came to Penn whether I would support tweaking personalities or using connections, I would have vehemently denied it. Coming from a small town, and being the first from my high school to attend Penn, I place deep importance in the value of meritocracy. Nothing I earned came from eliteness, in fact being elite, social climbing, and inauthenticity was taboo.
It felt like a betrayal of my values to engage in the networking culture, like it was cheating the dedication and authenticity that got me into Penn in the first place. But these people weren't getting ahead only because of where they were from; they knew how to present themselves, build trust, and make the right impression. And if they could do it, so could I. If anyone can learn this skill, doesn’t it challenge the idea of elitism. Is it something accessible, not just exclusive?
Meritocracy at Penn isn’t entirely dead. It’s just gone corporate. Success at Penn may no longer entirely bloom from our intelligence and dedication as imagined by thinkers like David Brooks. Yet, from its withered roots, a new seed of meritocracy has taken hold. Not the one we might wish for, but one that, with the right cultivation, can grow, thrive, and bear rewards of its own.
The rules have been changed, but they’re not impossible to learn. Perhaps the true test — the real demonstration of merit — is our ability to succeed in this bubble built on privilege. It’s not about who you were born to be, but about how well you can navigate this world, adapt to its new rules, and prove that success, in its most authentic form, is still earned.
PIPER SLINKA-PETKA is a College first year studying health and societies from West Virginia. Her email address is pipersp@sas.upenn.edu.
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