3 Great Sample College Essays from Top Universities

The college application process can feel overwhelming for students and educators alike. For teachers, guiding students in writing their college application essays can be particularly daunting. Learning how to teach essay writing effectively can empower educators to equip their students with the tools they need to craft compelling personal statements. Reading these examples gives students a better idea of what their target colleges are looking for in a college application essay. In this article, we'll explore some helpful insights about using sample college essays to help students write their own.

We'll also look at how EssayGrader's grading software for teachers can help instructors quickly and efficiently assess college application essays to provide helpful feedback for improvement.

3 Sample College Essays From Top Universities

1. The Gospel of Steve

"In sophomore year, I struggled with depression. I felt like I was constantly battling against the darkness that seemed to be closing in on me. Until that is, I found solace in the teachings of Steve Irwin.

When I first discovered Steve Irwin and his show "The Crocodile Hunter," I was captivated by his passion for wildlife. He was fearless, jumping into danger without hesitation to save a needy animal. But more than just his bravery inspired me; it was his infectious energy and love for life. Watching him on TV, I couldn't help but feel better about my struggles.

But it wasn't until I read his biography that I truly felt Steve’s impact on my life. In the book, he talked openly about his struggles with depression. He spoke of the dark moments when he felt like drowning in despair. But he also spoke about how he fought back against the darkness, how he refused to let it consume him, and how he turned his depression into a career that allowed him to follow his biggest passions.

After reading Steve’s words, I saw he spoke directly to me. If someone as brave as Steve had faced similar challenges, I wouldn’t be alone in my struggles. And that gave me the courage to keep going. I started visiting a therapist, exercising regularly, and practicing mindfulness meditation. Day by day, I lifted myself out of my depression–all with a healthy dose of “Crocodile Hunter” each evening after I finished my homework.

One of the things that I admired most about Steve was his ability to find joy and laughter in the most unlikely places. He was always cracking jokes, even in the face of danger. He taught me that laughter and humor can be a powerful tool in the fight against depression. I went looking for the humor in my struggles. I started learning how stand-up comedy works, and I wrote my five-minute skit to find the humor and silver lining in my depression. I wasn’t a great comic, let me tell you. But channeling my experience into something positive that helped others laugh was highly gratifying to me.

Depression is a bizarre thing. One day, you’re besieged by it from every side, and it looks like there’s no way out. Then, two months later, if you’re diligent, you look around the world and wonder what you ever had to be upset about. You find goodness and light in the things around you—your friends, family, habits, and hobbies. These forces act as buttresses to keep you standing up and moving forward.

As silly as it may sound, I credit Steve Irwin with that first buttress. His experience and outlook on life gave me the push I needed to cultivate bravery and resilience in the face of my struggle with mental health. My eternal goal is to practice Steve’s gospel—to consistently pass along humor, passion, and encouragement to others, especially those who seem down and out. Thank you, Steve."

2. Poetry Slam

When I first met Simon, he was neither speaking nor singing. He was doing something in between. With words that flowed together like an ancient tributary, he spoke music. His hands grasped a microphone, and he swayed slowly from side to side. He was a poet. But unlike Yeats or Dickenson, Simon’s poetry wasn’t meant to be read on a page—it was meant to be experienced like aural art. And I had never experienced anything more beautiful. Disheartened, I realized that my words would never sound like Simon’s.

I sat in my on-deck seat. Forgetting that I was up next, I admired his craft. The crescendos and decrescendos that mirrored his pacing, the quick staccatos that punctuated each stanza, the rhymes so subtle they almost disappeared—every second of his spoken word pulled me further from reality. I listened to his words like a devout in church. Closing my eyes, I joined my hands together to count the syllables. From the outside, it probably looked like I was praying. And maybe I was. When Simon’s poem ended, the audience, though betrayed by the silence, erupted into applause.

It was my turn. I had spent an entire year perfecting my poem. My sister had grown accustomed to kicking me under the dinner table when someone asked me a question. She knew my mind was in my beloved poetry notebook, mentally analyzing my latest draft. I’ve never been one for living in the moment. My report cards usually feature comments like, “She’s a good student but has trouble paying attention.” I’m always the first in dodgeball because my mind is absent from the school gym. But what seems like inattention to my teachers is a profound focus.

When writing slam poetry, I become completely consumed. I like to start with the words. The rhythm and intonation come with time. For me, it’s about translating a feeling into language. It’s no easy task, but it feels like an obligation. Once the words come into being, they’re like a twister in my mind. They spin and spin, destroying every other thought in their path. I can’t focus on anything else because nothing else exists in the aftermath of a twister.

And there on the stage, nothing else existed besides me and my poem. I spoke it into existence. Like Simon, I wrapped my hands around the microphone, willing my poem to be heard. The twister exited my mind and entered the world.

A few weeks ago, I watched the recording of my first poetry slam. That slam was two years ago when I saw Simon perform for the first time. I saw myself climb on stage from the dark abyss of the audience. I looked small, all alone on that big stage. My voice shook as I began. But soon, my poem rendered the stage smaller and smaller. I filled the darkness with words.

As I watched myself on my computer, I thought about how I felt that day, awe-struck by Simon’s work in the audience. I felt like I’d never be able to sound like him. And I was right. My poem didn’t sound like Simon’s, and none of my poems ever would. But in that moment, I realized that they were just as beautiful. My words sounded like me.

3. The Stop Sign

While some high schoolers get in trouble for skipping class, I get in trouble for arguing with my local government officials on Twitter. But when lives are at stake, I can take the heat.

I live at the intersection of 33rd and Spruce. The intersection sits between a large bend and a bundle of white oak trees—a recipe for obstructed views. Drivers careen around the corner, Indy 500-style, and are abruptly met with oncoming traffic. Neither can see the other through the oaks. What is otherwise a beautiful intersection makes for hazardous driving conditions.

Living by this intersection my whole life, I’ve heard countless crashes and collisions. The screeching tires and cacophony of crushing car parts are seared in my mind. As neighbors, we are often the first on the scene. With my cell phone in hand, I ran out to help several motorists who didn’t know what was coming. After the most recent crash, where a car flipped into the ditch, I knew something had to change. We needed a stop sign.

I began with a Google search, which led me to my local Stop Sign Request Form. According to the form, a government official would contact me. We’d assess whether the intersection qualified for a stop sign if they deemed it appropriate.

Their response took months. While I waited, I began collecting evidence on my own. After noticing that the security camera on my house pointed toward the intersection, I decided to put the skills I’d been developing in AP Computer Science to work. I wrote a simple code that tabulated the number of cars passing through the intersection daily. Reviewing the footage each night also helped me determine how many vehicles were likely going over the posted speed limit of forty miles per hour. Alongside these statistics, I went back into our cloud history to find footage of the crashes.

I was ready to make my case when I finally heard back from the city. My confidence deflated when I opened the email: Thank you for filling out a Stop Sign Request Form, the email read. We do not have reason to believe that the intersection of 33rd Street and Spruce Street meets the criteria for a two-way stop sign. The city disagreed with my recommendation and denied my request.

I took a moment to collect myself. How could the city not care about the safety of its citizens? Were human lives not worth looking into a simple stop sign? I took to Twitter, posting statistics from my research, photos of the obstructed view, and a security camera compilation of cars speeding by. I tagged my local representatives, and I asked for help.

While not all of them were receptive to my post, one invaluable representative connected me with my city’s City Engineer. The representative instructed me to send the City Engineer all the evidence I had collected and another copy of my Stop Sign Request Form.

The engineer was impressed with the code I wrote and the tracking system I’d put together, and she agreed to meet me at my house to inspect the intersection. I accompanied her on the inspection so I could watch what she did. After working so hard to advocate for my community, it felt good to have my opinions heard.

In the end, I got my stop sign. Drivers still occasionally speed, but I was astounded by the outpouring of thanks I received after my neighborhood was alerted of the change. My foray into local government was an eventful but rewarding one. And even though I’ve secured my stop sign, I’ll still be doing stop sign research this summer—this time as an intern at the City Engineer’s office.

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