prestige = probability increase

NOT a guarantee

Welcome back to Of Counsel, my monthly advice & asks column. If you ever find yourself wondering, “What would Cece do/think?” then you’ve come to the right place! You can find previous columns here and submit questions here. And if you appreciate the work that goes into this newsletter and want to help ensure that my educational and informational content remains free for all, you know what to do!

Prestige—it can make your hair look good, but you can’t eat it or take it with you when you die. (Photo by John Karlo Mendoza on Unsplash)

Hi Cece! This question is more to dissuade my own insecurities or ground myself a bit. I attend a SUNY that is considered prestigious WITHIN the SUNY hierarchy but not outside of it. I am a little concerned about applications to T10 law schools, due to the fact I won’t have as much prestige factor when it comes to applications. I could have attended NYU or BU, however it was not financially viable, but now I only wonder that I’ve set myself back in the long run in terms of my law school aspirations. If you have any guidance to offer, whether it be in my favor or not, it would mean a lot! Thank you so much.

- Karen

I am heavily considering going to Law School with the intention of getting hired by a Big Law firm after graduation. Is going to a T14 school necessary? I have 6 years of military experience and am graduating from the University of Iowa in the Spring. I was fortunate enough to have my undergraduate degree paid for by the military and am hesitant to get into a lot of debt. Please get back to me when you have the chance.

- Paul

I group Karen and Paul’s questions together because although ostensibly about different prestige concerns—undergrad prestige and law school prestige, respectively—the underlying anxiety is the same: prestige. The fear that one needs to stockpile endless shiny names and accolades and resume line items that are sufficiently “prestigious” in order to get where one wants in life. And I do mean that: there are endless prestige points to collect. You could spend your whole life chasing, and amassing, prestige.

But first, the short answers to the questions:

• Karen: The prestige of your undergraduate institution does not matter for law school admissions. (A 4.0 at a SUNY is better than a 3.1 at Harvard, in the eyes of the law school admissions committee.) You have not set yourself back in the long run, I promise. Even not getting into a T10 law school doesn’t mean you’ll have set yourself back—remember that aspirations must go beyond terminal institutions like law school—and there are many paths to getting where you want to be in life (with the exception of very few career goals, like becoming a Supreme Court justice).

• Paul: Going to a T14 is extremely helpful, but not necessary, for working in Big Law after graduation. All ABA-accredited law schools are required by the ABA to publish employment statistics for its graduates. For example, the University of Miami School of Law employment stats for 2022 graduates shows that 56 of its graduates will be working in law firms with 501+ lawyers, which is definitely Big Law. This means about 14.4% of Miami Law’s graduating class will be working in Big Law. If you look at that percentage and find it workable in light of however much you’re paying (or not paying!) for Miami Law, then Miami Law will be a great place for you. But if you prefer Duke Law’s employment statistics, where 132 graduates out of 214 (61.7%) will be working in Big Law, then maybe the greater debt burden for a T14 will be worth it for you. The central question here is: money or probability/stress? Everyone’s answers will differ. For more details on how the prestige of your law school impacts your future career prospects, I go into way more depth in this YouTube video, as well.

And now the longer answer: always remember that prestige is an instrument to an end. Think back to when you were a child. What was it that you wanted? Safety, to have fun, to be happy—these are all pretty universal human desires. Remember that these are the true aims in life—these feelings. Hold onto that thought—we’ll come back to it later.

As we grow up, we learn that the world unfortunately is not always safe, fun, or happy. In fact, there is a lot of danger, dullness, and sadness. And our nimble human brains, always making connections and trying to problem-solve, discovers that certain things in life—like money, prestige, and achievement—seemingly keeps danger, dullness, and sadness at bay.

This is true to a certain extent—money helps us buy food and housing, which helps our feelings of safety; prestige increases the probability that we will be paid more and have access to new, potentially fun experiences; achievement is internally satisfying and externally validated, which contributes to feelings of happiness. But these instruments that we’ve identified as having a connection to our true aims in life do not, and cannot, ever guarantee that we will achieve our true aims in life.

All the money in the world will not prevent you from dying in a freak accident. Going to MIT does not guarantee that you will have a stable, fulfilling career. (Neither does going to Stanford.) And adding line item after line item of impressive awards to your resume does not logically lead to happiness.

What, then, are these instruments good for? Increasing the probability of achieving our true aims in life—of being safe, having fun, being happy. It is much, much easier to achieve these aims when you have enough money for your needs and most of your wants, when you are seen by society as “highly employable,” and when you have a track record of “achieving.” Should it be that way? No—but this is unfortunately the world that we live in at the moment. As unfair, as cruel, as senseless as it is, these instruments we’ve identified—money, prestige, achievement—are undeniably helpful when it comes to our overall life aims.

But somewhere along the way, the instruments (money, prestige, achievement, etc.) became the goal. We lost the forest in the trees. So let’s get real specific about what instruments like prestige actually are: it is an increase in probability.

That’s it. Money, prestige, and achievement are not inherent goods—they are increases in the probability of achieving inherent goods.

And the tricky point with probability is that it makes sense to increase probability sometimes and doesn’t make sense at all to increase probability at other times. In the late 2000s, college grads earned 66.6% more than the typical high school grad—a substantial increase in money, and by extension, the probability of safety, having fun, and being happy. Under those circumstances, obtaining the “prestige” of college is likely worth it as an instrument to achieving the true aims of life, especially if you’re a first-generation college student. The marginal increase in probability is higher than if, say, you’re already independently wealthy. (Which is why the Varsity Blues scandal is so wild to me—all that risk for, what, a 0.5% increase in life happiness?)

Moreover, we all have different risk tolerances. Is hardcore studying for the LSAT for twelve months worth it to you in order to increase your life happiness probability by 2%? 5%? 20%? There’s a line somewhere, certainly, but we’ll all disagree about where, exactly, it is. Especially when there’s a vertical asymptote at 100%, which means none of us will ever reach 100% probability of achieving the true aims in life.

Some of us will think that doing anything and everything to get to 99.99999% is worth it; others will consider getting to 60% good enough. And much to everyone’s chagrin—because we all love being “right”—no one will be wrong.

So the next time you feel anxious about needing more money, more prestige, more achievements, ask yourself: How will more money, more prestige, and more achievements really advance your likelihood of achieving the true aims in life? Of safety, having fun, being happy? And then act accordingly. ◆

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