It was slightly embarrassing to be in Greek life when I was at college. Or maybe I was just slightly embarrassed; I really needed to pay dues to have access to friends? Weren’t sororities kind of retrograde, and the people who inhabited them vapid and conforming? Wasn’t the point of college to branch out on your own, instead of sheltering in place with a bunch of people more or less identical to you?
To rush, which is the process by which Greek houses vie for freshman and vice versa, you had to haul ass all day down the main drag off-campus where all the sorority and frat houses were, wearing the same T-shirt as thousands of other Greek hopefuls, smiling and tugging down jean shorts from wherever they’d migrated to on your person. The actual recruitment felt like a hyper-feminized job interview. There was singing, clapping, the kind of hug where torsos don’t touch, and many forced conversations and fake compliments. A girl might tell you, “I love your hair!” and then to the next girl in line, “I love your hair!”
I’ve been having flashbacks this month because videos of rush from across America have been going viral on TikTok; the trend, which has earned the name “RushTok,” is a modern fragmented reality show, told from multiple perspectives. New girls on campus film themselves nervously getting ready to embark on the days’ tight schedules—their eye trained on a specific combination of three Greek letters out on the horizon. The houses themselves put out high-energy agitprop for Delta Delta Delta, or Kappa Kappa Gamma, or whatever. The moms of the freshmen, or Rush Moms, have emerged as bit characters to speak out about the stress it causes them to watch their daughter compete in a social obstacle course.
