Matthew didn’t just write his Common App essay—he staged it. Literally.

It was a bold, creative choice that set him apart from other applicants—but it wasn’t without risks.

Matthew wasn’t writing for prestige. He was writing for fit. He leaned into the kind of school that would appreciate his interdisciplinary, creative approach—and he knew which schools probably wouldn’t. Looking back, he realizes that creativity is a tool, not a crutch. He believes the advice of “show, don’t tell” cuts both ways:

When it came to writing his college applications, Matthew made a choice that would define his narrative: he focused on his work as a content creator.

Matthew knew that without context, content creation could easily get misread or dismissed.

What made his application stand out wasn’t just his unique activity—it was his ability to reflect on it deeply and meaningfully. Still, not everything was perfect.

In hindsight, he realized what many applicants miss: the goal isn’t to sound impressive—it’s to sound like yourself.

Matthew’s biggest advice?

Matthew’s application process wasn’t driven by a dream school or a fixed path. He didn’t apply early decision anywhere. He didn’t know what my top choice was until about two weeks before the deadline. His approach ran against the grain of his competitive D.C. prep school environment.

Matthew faced peer pressure and the internalized hierarchy of “better” schools.

He went to Cornell, and thrived. His story is a case study in betting on yourself—and proving everyone wrong.

Cornell’s motto, “Any person, any study,” was more than a phrase for Matthew—it was a living reality. But what most students miss is that Cornell is not just one school—it’s a federation of distinct colleges with unique vibes, curriculums, and cultures. Matthew discovered this too late to know it fully as a high schooler.

For Matthew, Cornell became the right fit because he ultimately embraced the school for what it really was—not what it looked like on the surface.

Matthew’s college journey wasn’t a search for prestige; he didn’t try to “hack” the system by applying to easier majors or pretending to be someone else. Instead, he connected his real passions—hospitality, media, leadership—with the school that valued them. And when he got there, he more than participated. He left his mark.

At his core, Matthew Merril is a Masterpiece—a creative whose passions are deeply tied to expression, performance, and the art of storytelling. Whether it was writing his Common App essay in the form of a play, becoming the creative director of a century-old hospitality club, or leading his a cappella group, Matthew has always pursued spaces where creativity isn’t just encouraged—it’s essential. But being a Masterpiece archetype isn’t just about being artistic. It’s about why you create. For Matthew, the drive to create wasn’t about showmanship—it was about building something meaningful, something fully him, an act of self-discovery.

A dream university for a Masterpiece student isn’t just a place to perform—it’s a place to refine, evolve, and amplify their art. He did so within his essay itself, talking about his experience with the ego death of realizing TV and fame wasn't what he wanted. He dealt with this shift as it unfolded, using artistic expression as therapy—his essay was art itself. For Matthew, Cornell’s unique blend of hospitality, leadership, and creativity provided the perfect stage. He didn’t try to be the loudest voice in the room. He became the one you remember.

Matthew is undeniably a Wildcard. In a world where most applicants carefully color inside the lines, Matthew’s instinct was to break the frame entirely. His boldest move was writing his Common App essay as a play—structured in Acts—exploring his journey toward ego death and self-acceptance. The Wildcard isn’t just about being creative—it’s about being unpredictable. Matthew’s application didn’t fit the typical mold: he talked about content creation, social media, and hospitality. He didn’t present himself as a traditional academic powerhouse chasing Ivy prestige. He positioned himself as someone who would make campus life more vibrant, more unexpected, more alive. That’s classic Wildcard energy: the ability to surprise, entertain, and captivate—not by force, but by simply being fully, unapologetically yourself. Cornell didn’t just admit Matthew for his grades or his list of activities. They admitted him because they knew: this is someone who will do interesting things. This is someone who will make our campus better. Wildcard applicants don’t blend in. They don’t play it safe. They’re the people others talk about years later, not because they checked all the boxes, but because they changed the game.

Q: What advice would you give prospective students? “Actually research the schools. Cancel out the noise. Don’t waste four years of your life thinking you’re ‘better’ than where you ended up.” Q: What would you tell your younger self? “There’s always more to your story. Don’t let the process define you.”

Matthew’s journey didn’t stop with getting in. It became the foundation for leadership, creativity, and joy. He made Cornell his own—not because it was his first choice, but because he chose to invest in it.