Questions Every Student and Parent Should Ask Before Paying for an Honor Society
The crisp gold-embossed envelope slid out of my 11th grader Javi’s backpack last month, landing right on top of the pile of sweatshirts I was folding. “I got invited to an honor society,” he said, grinning. “All my friends got one too. It’s $65 to join, looks good for college apps, right?”
I used to work as a high school counselor before switching to part-time when Javi started high school, and I get this question at least once a month from other parents in our neighborhood parent group. It’s easy to see the appeal: an invite addressed directly to your kid, fancy paper, the word “honor” front and center. It feels like recognition for all the late nights studying, and it’s hard to say no when you’re already worrying about how your kid will stack up next to other college applicants. But I told Javi we’d sit down for 10 minutes and work through a few questions before we pulled out the credit card. No harm in checking, right?
First, I asked who qualifies for this invitation? We pulled up the group’s website, and eligibility was open to any high school student with a 3.2 GPA or higher. Javi has a 3.4, so he checked the box, but that bar is low enough that half of his junior class qualifies. Most kids applying to four-year colleges have a GPA that high, so this wasn’t some special, selective recognition. It was just a mass mailing to any kid who meets a basic cut-off.
Next, what benefits do you get that you can’t get for free? Javi read off the marketing list: exclusive scholarships, college planning webinars, a professional resume line, a graduation honor cord. We dug a little deeper. The scholarships: only three $1,000 awards are given out each year across the entire organization’s 12,000+ members. The odds of winning are worse than winning a small local raffle. The college planning webinars? Generic sessions on writing personal statements and choosing majors that are available for free every week from College Board, our state’s university system, and hundreds of admissions counselors on YouTube. The honor cord? It cost an extra $20 on top of the membership fee, anyway.
I texted my old coworker Lila, who now works in undergraduate admissions at our local state university, to ask what she thinks of these paid groups. She wrote back two minutes later: “If it’s not your school’s official chapter of the National Honor Society (the real one, that charges like $10 max if anything), we don’t even blink at it on applications. We know most of these are pay-to-play.” That’s a point most people don’t realize: admissions officers see hundreds of these memberships every year, and they don’t carry any weight because they know how easy they are to get.
I suggested Javi ask his own school counselor about the group the next day, just to confirm. When he got home, he said his counselor told her this particular organization has been mass mailing invites to every kid in our district with a 3.0 or higher for the past three years, and she tells every student to save their money.
We scrolled all the way to the bottom of the sign-up page next, to check the fine print: are fees refundable if it’s not what you expect? Sure enough, there was the line: all membership fees are non-refundable, no exceptions. So even if you pay and never hear from the group again, you can’t get your money back.
Then I asked Javi how this fits his actual goals. He wants to study mechanical engineering, and he already has two years of robotics club under his belt, a part-time after school job at the local auto shop, and he’s taking AP Physics and AP Calculus this year. All of that is way more meaningful to an engineering program than a line that says “paid honor society member.” I pointed out that $65 was exactly the amount he needed for a new motor he’s been saving for his robotics competition robot. What do you get out of this that you don’t already have? He paused, then admitted “I guess it just sounds cool to say I’m in an honor society.” That’s a fair feeling, but it’s not worth $65 when he has something he actually needs the money for.
Last, we checked what kind of group it is: non-profit educational organization, or for-profit business? The about page said it was a for-profit company registered in Utah, with no local chapters, no in-person events, no volunteer requirements – just pay the fee and you’re a member. Legitimate honor societies that matter for college are almost always non-profit, affiliated with schools or national educational groups, and charge just enough to cover basic costs, not turn a profit.
Javi ended up declining the invite, and put the $65 in his robotics savings envelope. Three of his best friends went ahead and joined, and last weekend one of them told me he still hasn’t gotten access to the member portal, and the only email he’s gotten since paying was an ad for that $20 graduation cord.
I don’t blame any parent or kid for falling for these. They look official, they play on the universal stress of college admissions, and it’s easy to think “it’s just $50 or $100, why not?” I also don’t say all honor societies are bad – Javi’s school’s official NHS chapter charges $15 a year, requires service hours, and it’s totally worth the fee for kids who qualify. It’s the random, mass-mailed invitations from for-profit groups that are the problem.
Right now, Javi doesn’t regret his choice. He bought his motor last week, and he’s busy testing it for his first competition next month. The fancy gold invitation is sitting in our junk drawer, next to old TV remotes and expired grocery coupons. Next year, when he starts drafting college applications, I’m sure we’ll get half a dozen more of these invites. We’ll just sit down, work through the same questions, and decide what makes sense for him. There’s no rush to pay for a title that doesn’t actually add anything to what he’s already built.
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