Last Friday, my friend Sarah and I briefly retired from the traditional first-year nightlife routine of frequenting frat parties. A fleeting dance floor make-out with an upperclassman had landed her an invite to what was supposedly a huge house party on a street we’d never heard of. We shrugged and figured we’d give it a shot.
After a quick spin on the Inner Loop, I found myself approaching the venue — a full house with music and new faces pouring in and out of the entrance. Sarah and I walked in with open minds and commenced preliminary party protocol: take a lap around the first floor, locate the punch and mingle.
I’d only been flaunting my wit and charm with other guests for a few minutes when I found myself in conversation with the owner of the house. We ran through the logistical questions that are seldom asked out of genuine interest and rarely generate answers that are actually to be committed to memory by the asker. He asked what year I was.
“Oh, a first-year? That’s sweet. I mean, there are tons of older sorority girls here. You should take advantage of it. It’s the best thing you can do for yourself.”
Pause. Really? The best thing I can do for myself? At Thomas Jefferson’s university, full of ample prestige and nationally recognized rigor and opportunity, the best thing I can do for myself is attempt to charm a girl in greek letters into inviting me out to lunch with some of her sisters who “totally want to meet me?”
But the guy at the party surely isn’t alone in holding that sentiment. Not a day goes by when I don’t cringe at the corniness of the phrase “so sratty” being used in association with anything chevron or Vineyard Vines. Philosophical query: if a new member of a sorority doesn’t make it known to the whole Twittersphere how much she loves her big, is she really a sister?
To be clear, I am in no way bashing the tradition of greek life. I have every intention of rushing next semester and I am genuinely looking forward to being a part of the community greek life creates on Grounds. At the same time, can I be blamed for being unsettled by the prospect of assessing my character based on a few minutes of fleeting small talk and the level of “snappiness” evident in my attire?
Personally, I’d like to think there’s a lot more substance to my personality than can be communicated by what color bubble necklace I pair my Lilly with. And there’s something demeaning about feeling like I should be particularly friendly to a classmate because of the symbols on her frocket. I was once told by a friend at a party, “I think these girls are mostly greek, so be nice. Gosh, I’m so glad I dressed classy tonight.” Needless to say, I made a conscious effort to refrain from eye rolling and audible scoffing.
It’s clear there’s potential for the system to be corrupt in certain ways. As much as we like to focus on the ideal of greek life — one of true connections and friendships — the reality decidedly less cheery. The system is marred by an unspoken tier system. With first-year girls effectively attending job interviews for friendships, it starts to seem like just another way for girls to create a hierarchy among themselves and feel they’re better than others.
Then again, I can’t bring myself to associate this ugly idea of elitism with any of the greeks I’ve actually encountered at the University. Quite the contrary, the sisters I have gotten to know are among the most genuine, intelligent and powerful women I’ve met. There’s something rather moving about seeing the engineer, the actress, the writer and the aspiring athlete all coming together as sisters under one roof.
Victoria’s column runs biweekly Tuesdays. She can be reached at v.moran@cavalierdaily.com.
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