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International Journal of Qualitative

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Bullshit as resistance: justifying

unearned privilege among students at
an elite boarding school
a
Rubén Gaztambide-Fernández
a
Department of Curriculum , Teaching, and Learning, Ontario
Institute for Studies in Education , Toronto, ON, Canada
Published online: 26 Sep 2011.

To cite this article: Rubén Gaztambide-Fernández (2011) Bullshit as resistance: justifying unearned
privilege among students at an elite boarding school, International Journal of Qualitative Studies in
Education, 24:5, 581-586, DOI: 10.1080/09518398.2011.600272

To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09518398.2011.600272

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 International Journal of Qualitative Studies in EducationAquatic Insects
Vol. 24, No. 5, September–October 2011, 581–586

Bullshit as resistance: justifying unearned privilege among

students at an elite boarding school
Rubén Gaztambide-Fernández*

Department of Curriculum, Teaching, and Learning, Ontario Institute for Studies in Educa-
tion, Toronto, ON, Canada
Downloaded by [University of Hawaii at Manoa] at 11:28 27 December 2014

(Received 22 January 2011; final version received 22 June 2011)

Resistance is typically framed around the experiences of youth with oppression

within institutions and through “intersecting” systems of domination. Resis-
tance among those who benefit the most from current institutional arrange-
ments, like students attending elite schools, has rarely been considered in how
resistance is theorized. This postcard is based on two years of ethnographic
research into the process by which students at one elite boarding school inter-
nalize elite status and convince themselves that they deserve the privileges of
an elite education. Drawing on interview and focus group data, I explore the
role of what the students describe as “bullshit” as both a form of resistance as
well as a key lesson in the process of becoming elite while disguising the
appearance of unearned privilege. I draw a parallel between “having a laff” as
a form of working class resistance, and bullshit as a form of resistance among
ruling elites.
Keywords: elite prep schools; youth resistance; privilege; class reproduction

Education at elite prep schools can be characterized with three words: expansive
(because of the wide range of opportunities and resources provided); demanding
(because of the high levels of achievement and hard work expected); and engaging
(because of the constructivist theory of learning that underlies the teaching). Osten-
sibly, to be a student at an elite prep school means not only to desire such learning
experiences, but an agreement to engage them fully and to live up to the expecta-
tion that students admitted to elite schools are “the best of the best.” Engaging these
curricular demands and achieving excellence gives students a sense of entitlement
to the privileges given to them and to envisioning an elite future. This is the prom-
ise of the meritocracy.1
Students develop many strategies for dealing with the expectations of an elite
education, and they say that these experiences are key for their future success. As
Frank puts it, “if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere . . . there are not
many places that will make you work harder than I’ve worked here.” And they do
work hard. During two years as a researcher at Weston I witnessed this first hand:
students staying up late or working for hours at the library; rushing from one event
to another; making long “to do” lists; studying on a bus ride to a lacrosse game.

*Email: rgaztambide@oise.utoronto.ca

ISSN 0951-8398 print/ISSN 1366-5898 online

Ó 2011 Taylor & Francis
http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09518398.2011.600272
http://www.tandfonline.com
 582 R. Gaztambide-Fernández

Yet students also admit – often with pride – that “bullshit” was necessary for their
success. Whether they are unable or unwilling to give what the school demands,
they “bullshit,” and as I hope to demonstrate, bullshit is not only a strategy for
“survival”; it is a crack on the ideological apparatus that undergirds elite status,
pointing to the hidden seams that attach meritocracy and exceptionalism to the gar-
ment of elite schooling. Bullshit is a form of resistance.

Everyone bullshits
“I’m sure everyone does it from time to time,” says Wilbert, who suspects that stu-
dents bullshit “’cause we’re all worried about being really efficient.” Wilbert has
been at Weston long enough to know “the system of how to B-S.” When students
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fail to do the reading, he says, “they can listen to other people’s points . . . and kind
of take what they like from it, and mix it together, and then repeat it as a second
point.” Michael expands on how to bullshit without doing the readings: “You might
read a paragraph and then choose that paragraph and say some crap about it.” In
math, says Wilbert, “if you did one or two problems, you put one of those up on
the board, sit down, and wait to do the rest of them in class.” In science, “if it’s not
hand-in homework, a lot of people don’t do it at all. You know, they’ll skim the
reading for ten minutes.” Scott says students have many tricks to avoid getting
caught without homework, like sitting across from the teachers, “because that way
they can’t see your paper.” When he is too tired to pay any attention at all, he sits
next to the teacher, “because when you’re next to the teacher you can go like this”;
he puts his elbow on the table and leans his chin into his fist, slouching, with eyes
half closed.

Just playing up for other people

In his treatise on bullshit, Frankfurt (2005) sheds light on its purpose. When bull-
shitting, “the orator intends these statements to convey a certain impression of him-
self. He is not trying to deceive anyone . . . What he cares about is what people
think of him” (18, italics in original). Deborah illustrates the point: “Sometimes I’m
just so B-S’ing everything.” She laughs, describing herself at the seminar table: “I
have no idea what I’m talking about, and I’m just playing up for other people.”
Frankfurt notes that although bullshit is “produced without concern with the
truth, it need not be false. The bullshitter is faking things. But this does not mean
that he necessarily gets them wrong” (2005, 47–8). Indeed, getting it “right” while
bullshitting is the ultimate goal. For Scott, his “crowning moments” at the seminar
table are when “I basically explain everything without having read it.” He shares a
story about deciphering the metaphorical meaning of roses in a Toni Morrison
novel. He is not quite sure if it was Beloved or Song of Solomon, but it doesn’t
matter – after all: “I didn’t read it, [but] I can vividly remember going,” he grunts,
“I’m awesome!”
“Kids here just procrastinate,” says Wilbert, “but it’s interesting that some stu-
dents can pull it off, because they have that level of intelligence, and that stuff
flows when they get going. Often times you’ll hear someone bragging about the
fact that they never opened the book that the class was reading.” Wilbert tells a
story about students using sparknotes.com to bullshit their way through class,
tag-teaming to give the impression that they “came up with this.” “That’s kind of
 International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education 583

ridiculous,” he adds, “but it’s very entertaining, I suppose, to an outsider.” Perhaps

Wilbert is trying to entertain me, as an outsider, with a story about how inventive
Westonians can be when it comes to bullshit. True or not, the story illustrates how
bullshit is wrapped in the notion of being smart and its ambiguous relationship to
working hard, a relationship that is central to how elite identifications are con-
structed (Gaztambide-Fernández 2009). Wilbert’s story also points to the importance
of learning to give the impression that nothing involves hard work and that things
like academic work come easily. As elite subjects, Westonians must appear at ease,
but not so at ease that it might give the impression that they have not earned the
right to the privileges of elite schooling; thus, they bullshit.
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Learning how to talk your way

Learning how to bullshit is not just about bluffing your way through a class. It is
also about mastering a particular language and about learning to “play” a particular
game. Linda considered leaving Weston when she was a sophomore, because the
social demands of the school proved detrimental to her academic work. Yet, there
were crucial lessons she says she learned during those first two years. “I think if I
had left here after my sophomore year,” she notes, “I would’ve come out knowing
how to do” – she pauses for a moment to think about the right words for an inter-
viewer – “the least amount of work to get by with the best results.” This is “one
thing that you can learn here . . . how to get through and talk your way through
things.” Noting her hesitation, I prod: “I’ve heard other people use the expression
‘bullshitting your way through on the seminar table.’ Is that what you refer to?”
She concurs, “Oh yeah, can be done very easily. I mean, we learn how to talk, but
we also learn how to talk our way out of anything.”
This distinction between learning “how to talk” and learning “how to talk our
way out of anything” is important. It points to the close relationship between learn-
ing the cultural practices associated with the elite, and learning how to bullshit. This
points to the larger significance of bullshit as both a form of resistance as well as a
central aspect in becoming elites. In fact, a parallel can be drawn between bullshit
and what Willis’ (1977) lads describe as “having a laff.” For Willis, “having a laff”
is both about resistance through “the space won from the school and its rules,” and
about “the shaping development of particular cultural skills” (29). While the laff is
a way to command the informal, bullshit is a way to succeed everywhere; it is
about learning to rule.
If the informal spaces of the school are the primary stage of the laff, the class-
room is the primary stage for bullshit. For Victor, to claim otherwise, is “complete
B-S.” “You know, you offer your stuff, and someone says, you know, ‘oh, yeah,’
you know, they try to agree with you, and they’re like, ‘oh, yeah,’ you know,
‘you’re so right,’ and stuff like that, they’re just trying to look good.” Giving the
right impression is crucial, particularly to the teacher, who will ultimately give a
grade. “Everything here is politics,” says Victor, “you’ve gotta find what the teacher
likes, even though you don’t like it yourself, and just to get that better grade. That’s
the name of the game”:

If you learn anything at Weston, it is how to B-S. And it sounds kind of bad. When
you get a Weston education, what did you learn? Oh, I learned how to B-S . . . I think
 584 R. Gaztambide-Fernández

it’s something that you’re gonna need in life anyway. You’re gonna have to learn how
to B-S and play other people’s cards.

It might be an exaggeration that performing for an audience is the most impor-

tant lesson Westonians learn through their very expensive and resource-rich educa-
tion. Surely this is not part of the explicit curriculum of any elite prep school. What
Victor clarifies is that bullshit is not just about resisting high expectations while
appearing at ease, but about getting ahead. “How are you gonna get anywhere if
you don’t play the politics?” Like many students of color, Victor is suspicious of
the language he must learn to succeed, recognizing it explicitly as bullshit.
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Future bullshit
During a focus group, students ponder whether the school’s recruitment materials
resonate with their own experiences. Looking through an admissions brochure,
Deborah points out a sentence: “volunteer service is an important part of our life in
Weston.” She claims that while she would “sacrifice work to help other people,”
she “wouldn’t make a general statement like that about the campus.” William
agrees: “I’ve never volunteered once in my time here.” For Roland, while the
school claims to influence students’ altruism, “it just makes you focus on yourself a
lot.” The students debate whether, as Jack puts it, “for most people, if they’re going
to do volunteer service, it’s also indirectly benefiting themselves.” With a chorus of
“yeahs,” the group concludes that the one reason why most students volunteer is
what they call “college suck.”
Students justify volunteering to enhance their college application by drawing a
parallel with the way the school talks about community to recruit new students. “If
there’s this idea of community, also, if that’s bogus,” says Sandy, “then it’s also
probably pretty bogus that, this idea that we all wanna help out together.” During
another focus group, Ken makes a comparison between the long list of extracurricu-
lar clubs the school claims, and the expectation from colleges that students should
be active in extracurricular activities. Students “will say they’re doing a lot when
they’re really not,” and Ken says the school does the same, “with the whole ‘one
hundred student-run clubs meeting regularly.’ Like, how regularly?” The students
laugh with Ken, as he adds that exaggerating extracurricular activities is “a resumé-
booster for both,” school and students. “It’s not really in the best interest of the
school to crack down on that because it’s nice being able to have them.”
Students understand the complexity of crafting an application that will yield
admission to an elite college or university. They know that it takes more than
made-up extracurricular activities. Explaining that bullshit does not end with pro-
ducing an application, Laurie describes how a college interview might require her
to bullshit:

they’ll ask you, be like, “oh, so, what do you think of this, and this, and this social
event? . . . how has that affected you?” And you know, if you’ve never heard of it,
you’re just like, “oh, well, my grandma.” You know, so, it works out well.

The notion of “college suck” – giving colleges what they want in an application –
as a particular kind of bullshit sheds a different light into the production of the
elaborate application required for gaining admission to an elite college (Stevens
 International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education 585

2007). Moreover, Laurie extends her understanding of the importance of bullshit

well beyond college and into her future. “It’s taught me how to get around stuff,”
she says, “I can definitely B-S my way through stuff . . . just being able to, like,
think on your feet, and talk about something you know nothing about as if you are
an expert in it.” Laurie’s words clarify how learning to bullshit – ostensibly a form
of resistance to the impossible demands of an elite education – is about learning
how to appear that one belongs everywhere and deserves the privileges attached to
an elite education.

Bullshit and unearned privilege

For Wilbert, the students who bullshit the most are the ones who least appreciate
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the education they are receiving, and legacy students are the biggest culprits. With
seven family members in three generations having graduated from Weston, Wilbert
does his best to distance himself from the possibility that he is one of those for
whom attending Weston is “completely a family tradition”; “I mean, I have family
that has come here, but I’m one of [many] grandchildren that has come here,” and
he clarifies, “myself and four others.” Wilbert tries to distance himself from bullshit
altogether, yet his slippage between pronouns (we’re all worried about being really
efficient, but they are the ones who bullshit) and his ability to describe “the system
of how to B-S” suggest that he is much closer to bullshit than he admits. He works
hard to avoid the impression that he is another of those legacy students (itself, per-
haps, a bullshit practice) who bullshits his way through a class.
When talking about their own admission to the school, students offer elaborate
narratives in which they position themselves as the agents, downplaying the role
that parents or that other kinds of resources (such as alumni networks, admissions
counselors, and test preparation) played in their ability to gain admission to Weston.
“As I remember it,” says Frank, a second generation Westonian, “one morning I
woke up and decided I wanted to apply.” Positioning his parents as reluctant sup-
porters, Frank downplays his childhood trips to alumni reunions at Weston, under-
scoring instead his own effort and commitment as the driving source of his
admission and overall success. These narratives – like the appearance of hard work
or being at ease – are about justifying the privilege of an elite education while
obscuring how privilege engenders more privilege.
As students move on to college and envision their future in other elite settings,
the narratives of innate ability, self-direction, and hard work, become central to how
they underplay the privileges of their Westonian status. “I guess I’m ashamed of
having gone to Weston in some way,” says Steve, who ironically, is widely recog-
nized by his own peers as one of the few students they would deem a “perfect Wes-
tonian.”2 Growing up surrounded by affluence and educated in elite schools all of
his life, Steve will be attending Ivy University, his father’s alma mater. Steve can
describe in detail the elite social and academic networks that paved his way to Ivy
University. Yet, he is ambivalent about this privilege: “I sort of wish that I could
say that I did it all by myself. I sort of feel like I haven’t accomplished anything.”
Steve wants to be able to prove that he earned the right to an elite education on his
own:

I don’t wanna be able to walk up to people and say, like, “I went to Weston and Ivy,”
and have them be like, “ok, you know, we respect you.” I don’t want that to be the
 586 R. Gaztambide-Fernández

case. I like it when I walk into a room and people are like, “oh, here’s the new kid,
he’s dumb,” and then you just take them, because that’s like, that’s what’s important,
is earning people’s respect in that way. And that’s much, that’s much more worth any-
thing than having a name that gives people a false respect for you – or a false hatred,
right?

Steve’s words reveal the complexity of the affective anxieties of privilege – whether
one might be hated or respected without earning either, simply by having attended
elite schools. But what is important is his resistance to acknowledging his privilege,
even as it is implied in his ability to walk into an Ivy League classroom and “take”
his peers. If others see him as “new” (i.e. an outsider to elite schools) and “dumb”
(i.e. unlike the rest of the ostensibly smart elite students) he can then demonstrate
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that it is only by sheer ability, talent, and effort that he has earned the right to claim
his elite status.
Like Wilbert, Frank, and Steve, Westonians are ambivalent about the privileges
that enabled their access to elite schooling, such as legacy status, access to the
admissions process, or the sheer ability to pay. They consistently downplayed – or
entirely ignored – the role that being embedded within elite social networks,
immersed in cultural practices, and advantaged by economic resources played in the
formation of their elite status. What is at stake is the legitimacy of the entire ideo-
logical apparatus on which elite schools are premised and on which the privilege of
the select few who can receive such an education is justified. Internalizing elite sta-
tus requires the confirmation that one has earned the right to become elite – to earn,
rather than inherit, other people’s respect (or hatred, as the case may be). In this
sense, bullshit is not just about the maintenance, but also about the obfuscation of
the role that privilege plays in the schooling of elites. Indeed, in light of the gross
inequalities that characterize schooling in the United States of America, and in lieu
of any reasonable explanation, becoming elite requires a great deal of bullshit.

Notes
1. For an elaboration of the key points in this paragraph, see Gaztambide-Fernández
(2009). Proper names throughout are pseudonyms.
2. See Gaztambide-Fernández (2009).

Notes on contributor
Rubén Gaztambide-Fernández is an associate professor at the Ontario Institute for Studies in
Education. He is the author of The Best of the Best: Becoming Elite at an American
Boarding School and co-editor (with Adam Howard) of Educating Elites: Class Privilege
and Educational Advantage. His current research focuses on the experiences of students
attending specialized arts programs in public high schools in Canada and the United States.

References
Frankfurt, H. 2005. On bullshit. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Gaztambide-Fernández, Rubén. 2009. The best of the best: Becoming elite at an American
boarding school. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Stevens, M. 2007. Creating a class: College admissions and the education of elites.
Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Willis, P. 1977. Learning to labour: How working class kids get working class jobs.
Farnborough, UK: Saxon House.