One required essay (Question 1) and one required extended essay (Question 2, choose one prompt).
How does the University of Chicago, as you know it now, satisfy your desire for a particular kind of learning, community, and future? Please address with some specificity your own wishes and how they relate to UChicago.
My desire for learning is not just to find answers, but to find better questions. In my high school classes, I was the student who always asked “why” one level deeper, sometimes to the frustration of my teachers. I don’t want an education that gives me facts; I want one that teaches me how to think. UChicago’s Core Curriculum is the only place I have found that truly celebrates this kind of inquiry. The idea of debating Plato in a Socratic seminar and then walking to a physics class to discuss the nature of the universe is my ideal form of learning. I wish to be part of a community where late-night conversations in the dorm lounge are as intellectually stimulating as the lectures. I have read about the tradition of Kuvia, and the image of students training for sunrise fitness while also discussing philosophy perfectly captures the kind of intense, quirky community I want to join. I see myself contributing to this by joining the Chicago Debate Society, not just to compete, but to engage with peers who enjoy the art of argument as much as I do. My future goal is to work in public policy, and I know that the most effective policies are born from an interdisciplinary understanding of the world. UChicago will not just prepare me for a career; it will prepare me for a life of the mind, equipping me with the critical thinking skills to tackle complex problems from multiple angles.
I have always been drawn to the spaces where different fields of knowledge collide. My passion for learning is not for a single subject, but for the unexpected connections between them. I spent last summer reading about the history of mathematics and was fascinated by how philosophical ideas influenced the development of calculus. This is why UChicago’s interdisciplinary approach is so compelling to me. I want to major in physics, but I am just as excited to take courses in the history and philosophy of science, and to learn from professors who see these fields as deeply connected. I am looking for a community that values curiosity for its own sake. I want to be surrounded by people who will happily spend an evening debating the ethics of artificial intelligence or the meaning of a single line in a poem. I hope to find this community at UChicago, perhaps by joining a student group like the Aca-Demons, where intellectual curiosity is a team sport. My future is not set on a single path, but I know it will involve solving complex problems. UChicago’s rigorous, inquiry-based education is the best preparation for a future that is unpredictable. It will teach me not what to think, but how to approach any problem with a curious and analytical mind.
Inter-species Telepathic Communication: In an ideal world where inter-species telepathic communication exists, which species would you choose to have a conversation with, and what would you want to learn from them? Would you ask beavers for architectural advice? Octopuses about cognition? Pigeons about navigation? Ants about governance? Make your case—both for the species and the question. Inspired by Yvan Sugira, Class of 2029
I would speak with a slime mold. Not an individual, but the entire, decentralized organism. My question would be simple: “How do you decide?” A slime mold has no brain, no central nervous system. Yet, it can solve mazes, anticipate periodic events, and choose the most efficient path between food sources. It is a community of single-celled organisms that acts with a collective intelligence that rivals creatures with complex brains. Beavers can teach us about building, but they have a blueprint. Ants can teach us about governance, but they have a hierarchy. A slime mold operates on a different plane of existence. I want to learn about a form of consciousness that is completely alien to our own. How does it weigh options? How does it form a memory without neurons? Does it experience a sense of self, or is it a pure, selfless network of information? This conversation would be more than a biological inquiry. It would be a philosophical one. It would challenge our most basic assumptions about what it means to think, to be, and to exist as a community. It is the kind of profoundly strange and fundamental question that I believe is worth asking.
Uninvent One Thing: If you could uninvent one thing, what would it be — and what would unravel as a result? Inspired by Eitan Fischer, Class of 2027
I would uninvent the “like” button. At first, the world would feel strangely quiet. The constant stream of validation, the tiny dopamine hits that structure our online lives, would vanish. Social media would unravel. Without the simple metric of a “like,” platforms would have to find a new way to measure engagement. Perhaps they would prioritize comments, forcing a shift from passive approval to active conversation. The nature of our online identities would change. We would no longer be able to curate our lives for a quantifiable response. A photo of a sunset would just be a photo of a sunset, its value determined by its beauty, not by the number of people who clicked a button. The pressure to perform, to present a life worthy of “likes,” would decrease. Perhaps we would become more honest. Most importantly, our definition of connection would unravel. We would be forced to find more meaningful ways to show appreciation than a simple click. We might have to use our words. We might have to reach out to a friend directly to tell them we enjoyed their post. Uninventing the “like” button would be a small act, but it would force a global re-evaluation of what it truly means to connect with one another.
Explore a Contronym: "Left" can mean remaining or departed. "Dust" can mean to add fine particles or to remove them. "Fast" can mean moving quickly or fixed firmly in place. These contronyms—words that are their own antonyms—somehow hold opposing meanings in perfect tension. Explore a contronym: a role, identity, or experience in your life that has contained its own opposite. Inspired by Kristin Yi, Class of 2029
My role as a tutor has been a contronym. The word implies a one-way flow of information. I, the tutor, am supposed to teach, to fill a gap in someone else’s knowledge. And I do. I explain the Krebs cycle and the Pythagorean theorem. But for every concept I have taught, I have also been the student. My role contains its own opposite. When a student asks a question I cannot answer, I am reminded of the limits of my own understanding. When they see a connection I missed, I am humbled. I once spent twenty minutes trying to explain a physics problem, only for my student to point out a simple, elegant solution that was hiding in plain sight. In that moment, he was the teacher, and I was the one learning. To tutor is to be in a constant state of tension between knowing and not knowing. It is to have the confidence to lead and the humility to be led. This experience has taught me that true learning is not a monologue, but a dialogue. It is a process where the roles of teacher and student are not fixed, but are constantly, beautifully, in flux.
Object Phasing Out: The penny is on its way out—too small to matter, too costly to keep. But not everything small should disappear. What’s one object the world is phasing out that you think we can’t afford to lose, and why? Inspired by Ella Somaiya, Class of 2028
We cannot afford to lose the handwritten letter. In an age of instant communication, the letter is seen as inefficient, a relic of a slower time. But its inefficiency is precisely its value. Unlike an email or a text, a letter requires a commitment of time and thought. The act of putting pen to paper forces a different kind of communication. There is no backspace key, no easy way to erase a poorly chosen word. You must think before you write. The physicality of a letter also matters. The feel of the paper, the unique slant of the handwriting, the smudge of ink—these things carry an emotional weight that pixels on a screen cannot replicate. A letter is a tangible piece of a person, a moment of their life captured in ink. Losing the handwritten letter is not just about losing a form of communication. It is about losing a way of thinking. We are losing the patience for careful composition, the appreciation for a well-crafted sentence, and the unique human connection that comes from holding a piece of someone’s thoughts in your hand. In our rush for speed, we are losing the art of slowing down.
Unexpected Product/Service: From Michelin Tires creating the Michelin Guide, to the audio equipment company Audio-Technica becoming one of the world’s largest manufacturers of sushi robots, brand identity can turn out to be a lot more flexible than we think. Choose an existing brand, company, or institution and propose an unexpected but strangely logical new product or service for them to launch. Why is this unlikely extension exactly what the world (or the brand) needs right now? Inspired by Julia Nieberg, Class of 2029
LEGO should launch a line of professional urban planning kits called “LEGO Cityscapes.” This is unexpected because LEGO is a toy company. Their products are for children. But it is strangely logical. At its core, LEGO’s brand is about creativity, modularity, and systems thinking. These are the exact same principles that underlie modern urban planning. LEGO has spent decades perfecting the art of creating complex structures from simple, standardized blocks. The world needs this right now because our cities are facing immense challenges, from housing shortages to climate change. The LEGO Cityscapes kits would not be toys. They would be sophisticated modeling tools for architects, city planners, and community activists. Each kit could be themed around a specific urban problem, like “Sustainable Transit” or “Affordable Housing,” and would include specialized pieces to model green roofs, bike lanes, and mixed-use developments. This service would allow communities to physically build and visualize potential solutions to their problems, making the abstract concepts of urban planning accessible to everyone. It would be a powerful tool for collaboration and civic engagement. For LEGO, it would be a natural evolution of their brand, moving from teaching children how to build to giving adults the tools to rebuild their world.
Spurious Correlation: Statistically speaking, ice cream doesn’t cause shark attacks, pet spending doesn’t drive the number of lawyers in California, and margarine consumption isn’t responsible for Maine’s divorce rate—at least, not according to conventional wisdom. But what if the statisticians got it wrong? Choose your favorite spurious correlation and make the case for why it might actually reveal a deeper, causative truth. Inspired by Adam DiMascio, Class of 2025
My favorite spurious correlation is the one between per capita cheese consumption and the number of people who die by becoming tangled in their bedsheets. Conventional wisdom dismisses this as a statistical absurdity. I believe it reveals a deeper truth about the relationship between comfort and risk. The argument is simple. An increase in cheese consumption is a marker of a society with more disposable income. People are not just buying basic cheddar; they are exploring artisanal goudas and complex blues. This same affluence translates to the bedroom. People are investing in higher thread count sheets, luxurious duvets, and an abundance of decorative pillows. The bed is no longer just a place to sleep; it is a nest of comfort. Herein lies the causative link. The more complex and luxurious the bedding, the greater the statistical probability of a fatal entanglement. The very pursuit of comfort creates a new, albeit absurd, form of risk. The correlation is not about cheese causing death. It is about how our desire for small luxuries, whether a piece of brie or a new set of sheets, can have unforeseen and even dangerous consequences. It is a reminder that in a complex world, every choice, no matter how small, is connected.
Classic Choose Your Own Adventure: In the spirit of adventurous inquiry, choose one of our past prompts (or create a question of your own). Be original, creative, thought provoking. Draw on your best qualities as a writer, thinker, visionary, social critic, sage, citizen of the world, or future citizen of the University of Chicago; take a little risk, and have fun!
Waldo is not a person. He is a moment. In a world of overwhelming visual information, of chaotic beaches and crowded castles, Waldo is the fleeting instant of clarity. He is the successful conclusion of a search, the brief flash of recognition when our brain finds the pattern it has been looking for. We think we are looking for a man in a striped shirt, but we are really searching for a feeling: the quiet satisfaction of finding order in chaos. Waldo exists only in the space between seeking and finding. Before you spot him, he is nowhere. After you spot him, he is everywhere, so obvious that you cannot believe you missed him. He is the answer to a riddle that seems impossible one moment and simple the next. Really, Waldo is a metaphor for the life of the mind. He represents the act of focused inquiry, the deliberate effort to find a single, meaningful detail in a world of noise. To ask “Where is Waldo?” is to ask how we find truth, how we create meaning, and how we train our minds to see the one thing that truly matters in a world full of distractions.
All the best!
