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We all had photo shoots done while we posed in suits, trying to look academic or, in my case, like I just farted but am fully committed to denying it. Those images were plastered all over billboards and bus ads. We became mini-celebrities, no obscenely rich parents, grueling career in pop culture, or blurry sex tape required.

Some ads promised that children who learned English would become Harvard graduates. That's really why we were there -- as living, breathing testaments to the fact that Harvard is a place that people can theoretically attend.

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Columbia Pictures

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My school's principal would often tell parents, "If [your child] comes here, they will be an Ivy League graduate." He was essentially a used-car salesman, and we were his run-down Geos.

Our presence as Americans made that dream believable for desperate parents. But even putting aside the fact that Ivy League admission is a crapshoot for many homegrown American valedictorians, we did not represent our country's best and brightest. Some of us barely had GEDs and weren't fit to mow Harvard's lawns, but we were the subject of awe for parents far more educated than we were. We worked 20 hours a week, were paid for 40, and were given free furnished apartments. That's a pretty sweet gig for someone who got rejected by the downtown Kansas City Chipotle.