@somemoretrees , you might misunderstand the New Yorker test and why it is so useful. The purpose of the test is really to see if your writing sample abides by the rules that don’t change, the rules that were followed since writing was invented. They are things like preferring concrete images to abstractions. Don’t explain too much. Dialogue is not for exposition; narrate for exposition. Few adverbs. You can open a long craft book and get a list. These rules are called craft. You call them recycled formulas. MFA schools do not want you to be inventive by breaching them.
Unimportant writing conventions do change a little. The average sentence length has changed. If you took a writing from the 1800s, it will stick out against New Yorker articles today because the sentences will be longer. (This is why you use New Yorker stories from this decade.)
It is pretty meaningless to talk about these permanent rules in the abstract sense. Consider the stories @koechopheposts here. He says a lot of things like “Hundreds of different memories try to surface, and with the comb continually brushing my hair, it’s hard to shove them back down. Every single strand of hair stores different memories, different bits of knowledge and emotion. And I really don’t want to have him cut them in half.” Compare it with the stories of the girl who just got into Brown; she says things like “I painted a white porcelain bathtub overflowing with water, the faucet still running. I painted an aloe vera plant in the desert, a piece of itself broken off and lying in the sand. I painted a knife inside an orange, the blade completely hidden, its blue handle sticking out like a nose.” The Brown writing explains a lot less. It passes the New Yorker test.