Walking from 15th St., we trundled over the train tracks, tipsy and giddy in Thursday night laughter, donning cowboy-themed attire. We arrived to our destination, only to find a large, bearded 20-something guarding the entrance. Three others sat on a moldy and weathered yellow couch at the top of the stairs.
“Are you on the list?”
We didn’t respond because we weren’t, but we never had problems getting in before. “We know X, he told us to come!”
“Go around to the side, get on the list, then come back here.”
Ignoring him, my friend grabbed my hand and another’s, and we pushed through the mass of tight skirts and red-eyed expectant boys. There, the big and power-hungry bouncer, guardian of booze and exclusive fun, asked, “What sorority are you in?”
We were in.
The next day, I asked myself, what if I had lied? How would his perception of me changed? Would we have gotten in?
Do our identities change when we are initiated? Are we suddenly more fun, more interesting, more deserving?
When I joined my sorority last semester, I was overwhelmed and underprepared for the enthusiasm, forced bonding and 153 new Facebook friends crowding my news feed. When my dorm was invaded with balloons, streamers and bras tied together across our whitewashed ceiling, my hall’s perception of who I was changed.
Others struggled with the new identity as well. A friend of a friend claimed, “I’m not an Alpha, I’m in Alpha.” Where does the distinction lie between being a member of a group, and having that group define who you are to others? Once others no longer saw me as a person alone — when they become unable to separate me from my sorority — it was inevitable that I, too, would be unable to always make the distinction.
Coming into U.Va., I wanted to do everything. I signed up for the fencing club, the baking club, the Debate Society, mental awareness and journalism groups. My choice of major oscillated between English, pre-med and pre-Comm. Though I’ve since deactivated from most listservs and my desire for Comm School dissolved after my first Econ 2010 midterm, I still longed for community inside the vast barrage of students rushing down McCormick Road.
I found a community in a couple Greek letters printed on a t-shirt, but at what cost? At what expense have I given my identity to an organization?
Critics of the Greek system claim I “buy” my friends, that my life consists of nothing but “drinking and hooking up,” and that our camaraderie is a product of pledging, not actual friendship.
I’m not going to try and refute all of these arguments — largely, they stem from a lack of education about what Greek life actually contributes to this University. But still, at times, there is a kernel of truth in what they say.
The more pressing issue is one of what the Greek system does to a member’s self-perception. If you learn to identify yourself as a member of an organization before you identify yourself as a U.Va. student, the atmosphere becomes exclusive. The Greek scene is stigmatized for being insular, for not reaching outside of itself to form friendships — sometimes, a fair critique.
This is not a plea to avoid rush — I’ve loved my experience in a sorority, and I think in many ways, my time at U.Va. has been enriched because of the people I’ve met in Greek life. But that does not mean we cannot be critical. It is important to ask, beyond all the benefits, whether a compromise of a person’s self-perception is acceptable.
Grace’s column runs biweekly Fridays. She can be reached at g.muth@cavalierdaily.com.
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