Asking AI to write your college essay is like relying on a microwave to provide a gourmet meal

When Alex and I teamed up to launch a writing support program through Prologue Academics, I was met with more than a few raised eyebrows. The logic seemed simple: “With the rise of AI, why does a student need a human coach? Can’t AI just generate the essays for them?”

Fair questions. But asking “Why hire a human?” in the age of AI is like asking, “Why bother cooking a gourmet meal when microwave dinners are in the freezer?” They’re quick, consistent, and reliably filling—same processed ingredients, same predictable results every time. No extra thought or effort required.

But, would you really serve a microwave turkey dinner at your own Thanksgiving table? Probably not, because the goal isn’t just caloric intake. It’s genuine connection, heartfelt care, and the irreplaceable warmth of true hospitality—something no frozen meal can ever convey.

While AI can replicate a task if fed the right prompt, it lacks the palate to taste the nuance.

Choosing a human coach over AI for writing support follows the same principle. While AI can replicate a task if fed the right prompt, it lacks the palate to taste the nuance. It offers the “average” of all the data it has consumed, much like mass-produced meals designed to be palatable to the masses but impactful to no one.

In college admissions, essay readers aren’t looking for a timeline of achievements or a summary of events—they’re hoping to discover the human behind the story. AI can help brainstorm ideas or polish grammar, but it can’t coach students through their experiences to uncover the content or words that reveal who they truly are.

We’ve seen it time and again. When students first start with us, the stories they’re most eager to share are often the same—their most impressive activity, the one they think will wow admissions readers. But that experience is already prominently displayed on their activities list, and more often than not, it echoes the tales of thousands of other applicants.

Admissions officers already know what students have done—it’s right there on their activities list. What they’re searching for is the human behind the story.

The truth is, those aren’t always the best stories to tell. Admissions officers already know what students have done—it’s right there on their activities list. What they’re searching for is the human behind the story. They’re listening for the voice behind the accomplishments: the humor, the vulnerability, and the curiosity. A powerful essay doesn’t just highlight achievements; it reveals how the student got there: how they think, what they care about, and the presence they’ll bring to a campus community. Ultimately, they’re not admitting stats—they’re admitting future roommates, lab partners, collaborators, friends, and leaders.

We’ve grown accustomed to seeing well-worn narrative paths that feel overly familiar. These essays often utilize the standard narrative arcs or formulaic anecdotes: sports injuries, volunteer trips, and trophy wins. But the magic ingredient of any compelling essay is the narrative that results from digging beneath the surface to reveal something deeper. The most memorable story isn’t about the courses or internships that align with the pre-med track; it’s about the student who nurtures a duckling in his homemade aviary to learn about the fragility of life. It’s the unlikely bond between a Palestinian student and an Israeli student forged through a love of engineering and cars. It’s the tranquility found at the end of a fishing line that quiets the anxious “noise” of academic pressures. It’s the “dancing” of crochet needles through the art of amigurumi that brings joy to a student as she expresses her true creativity. Sometimes, it’s a bold choice to do a “wolf” haircut that leads a student down an unexpected path of self-discovery.

It is only through this human connection that students move past the clichés and uncover a narrative that sounds unmistakably like them, transforming an ordinary draft into something worthy of a Michelin star.

Much like the palate and soul a gourmet chef brings to a meal, a skilled writing coach infuses heart and genuine connection into the writing process. They ask the questions that AI can’t while looking for the spark that appears when a student lights up about a topic. They listen for the pause in conversation that signals deeper reflection. It is only through this human connection that students move past the clichés and uncover a narrative that sounds unmistakably like them, transforming an ordinary draft into something worthy of a Michelin star.

While AI can produce the microwave-dinner equivalent of a personal essay—fast, uniform, but lacking human soul and depth—a human coach helps a student craft something far richer: a story simmered with the warmth, flavor, and personal touch of a home-cooked meal. A story that admissions readers will savor long after the last line.