What Is a “Good” College?

(And Why That Might Be the Wrong Question)

Every spring, as college admissions decisions roll in, the same tired conversations surface: What’s the best school they got into? Is it a top 20? How selective is it?

We rank, compare, and obsess.

And we rarely stop to ask: What does “good” even mean?

Here’s the thing: “good college” isn’t a real category. It’s marketing. It’s legacy. It’s algorithmic popularity dressed up as fact.

There are nearly 4,000 colleges and universities in the U.S., and only about 1,600 are not open admission. That means there’s a vast landscape of schools with different missions, student bodies, teaching styles, resources, and goals. Trying to sort them into “top,” “best,” or “elite” is like arguing about the best pizza in New York — passionate, subjective, and often missing the point.

The Cult of Rankings

Want a school with a vibrant LGBTQ+ community? One where mental health is actually prioritized — not just promised on a pamphlet? Curious about mentorship or how often undergrads actually get to work with faculty?

Good luck finding that in the U.S. News algorithm.

What’s worse, the rankings don’t just reflect prestige — they reinforce it. Schools that are already well-known, well-funded, and well-connected continue to rise, while others doing deeply meaningful, equity-centered work are ignored because they don’t “score well” on an arbitrary formula. The rankings reward schools for being exclusive, not necessarily excellent.

And as colleges chase rank, they often shift their priorities to play the game — spending millions on glossy marketing, admissions tricks, and campus perks that impress donors more than students.

The result? A warped perception of what “good” looks like. And an entire industry that feeds anxiety instead of helping students find the right fit.

Selectivity Isn’t the Signal You Think It Is

We tend to treat low acceptance rates like gold stars — as if the harder it is to get in, the more valuable the experience must be. But that logic doesn’t hold up. Selectivity measures demand, not quality. It tells you how many people applied and how many were turned away — not what happens once you're there.

A school in Los Angeles will naturally attract more applicants than one in rural Maine — that’s geography, not excellence. A college that floods the Common App pipeline with promotional emails and waives application fees can drive up its application numbers overnight, lowering its admit rate in the process. That’s marketing, not merit.

And yet, we continue to confuse scarcity with value.

Why? Because we've been taught to. Somewhere along the way, we absorbed the message that “hard to get into” means “better.” That exclusivity equals prestige. That you should be grateful to be chosen, rather than choosing a place that’s right for you.

But admissions isn't a prize — it's a process. And prestige doesn’t guarantee an experience that will help you grow, explore, or feel like you belong.

Some of the most selective colleges in the country enroll mostly wealthy, well-resourced students. That’s not a sign that they’re transformative — it’s a sign they’re drawing from a narrow band of applicants already set up to succeed.

Meanwhile, incredible schools are doing life-changing work with students from a wide range of backgrounds — but because they admit more students, they’re labeled as “less competitive.”

It’s backwards.

When we fixate on prestige, we risk missing the most important question: What kind of place will help me thrive? That might be a big-name university — or it might be a small regional college with professors who know your name and go the extra mile for you.

You don’t have to play the scarcity game. You can choose differently.

And yes — it’s okay to opt out of the obsession.

Outcomes Are More Than a Number

Is a college “good” because its graduates earn high salaries? Because it boasts a high graduation rate?

Maybe. But we need to ask a deeper question:

Who are the students being measured — and what did the college actually contribute to their success?

Many of the highest-ranking colleges enroll students who already come from wealth, stability, and strong academic backgrounds. They arrive with support systems, connections, and confidence — so it’s no surprise they leave with high-paying jobs and polished résumés.

That’s not a transformation. That’s a continuation.

The same goes for graduation rates. A college that admits mostly high-achieving, well-resourced students will naturally have high completion numbers. But that doesn’t tell us anything about the support systems in place, or how well the school serves students facing real challenges.

Now compare that to a public university that admits a broader range of students — first-gen, low-income, working adults. Graduation rates may be lower, but the impact could be far greater. Helping someone cross the finish line who wasn’t expected to even show up? That’s real work.

If we only measure outcomes without considering context, we end up rewarding privilege — not progress.

Better questions to ask:

How does this college support students who don’t have a roadmap?
What kind of mentorship, advising, or community is available — not just for the top 10%, but for everyone?
Are alumni doors open to all students, or just the ones who already know how to knock?

And when you look at numbers, don’t stop at graduation rates. Dig deeper:

Transfer rate — Some schools are meant to be stepping stones. A student who transfers is often making a smart move, not signaling failure.
Withdrawal rate — This can reveal whether students feel supported, seen, and equipped to stay — or whether they’re quietly slipping through the cracks.

A “good” college should move students forward — not just reflect where they started.

So What Is a Good College?

Here’s a radical idea: It depends on you.

Not on rankings. Not on prestige. Not on what your neighbor, teacher, friend, or extended family thinks sounds impressive.

Just you.

Because “good” isn’t one-size-fits-all. It’s personal.

What do you actually want from your college experience?

A place to build community — to find your people, identity, and sense of belonging?
A launching pad for a specific career — with hands-on experience, mentorship, and a path that makes sense for your goals?
A school where mental health is more than a line in the brochure, where support is real, and burnout isn’t the norm?
A price tag that won’t leave you drowning in debt for the next 20 years?

These questions are bigger than selectivity.

Bigger than reputation.

Bigger than “what sounds good on paper.”

The better question isn’t what’s the best school I got into? It’s: What’s a good college for me?

That shift — from chasing validation to claiming agency — changes everything.

It reframes the entire search. It quiets the noise. It opens the door to choice, clarity, and purpose.

And once you start asking the right questions, the pressure starts to lift. Because suddenly, it’s not about being “good enough” for a college — it’s about finding a college that’s good enough for you.

Help Us Change the Conversation

At Forget the Rankings, we help students start with what matters most — their values. Not someone else's idea of prestige. Not a magazine's algorithm. Just real conversations about what you care about, what you need, and where you want to go.

We built this platform because we believe college should be about fit, not status. About purpose, not pressure. About students — not rankings.

This isn’t just about college lists — it’s about student well-being, equity, and pushing back against a system that often forgets who it's supposed to serve.

If this resonates with you — as a student, a parent, an educator, or just a human who wants better for the next generation — we’d love for you to take a look at what we’re doing.

We’re not here to sell you on a dream school. We’re here to help students build their own.

And if you believe in that too, help us spread the word.

Explore the platform.

Bring us to your school or organization.

Or just tell someone you know: You don’t have to play the game.

Let’s make space for students to lead with curiosity, values, and vision.

Because every student deserves more than a ranking.

They deserve a path that fits them.