At Boston College, the visions of a typical college—Maruchan ramen and red solo cups—quickly fade to something out of a Pinterest board. When I visited as a high school senior, I was not only left gasping at the staggering gothic architecture and perfectly manicured lawns, but also by the seemingly perfect students. They were abnormally attractive. Like the grounds, they didn’t have a hair out of place, and if their puffer wasn’t Canada Goose, it was Moncler.

This memory didn’t turn out to be an illusion