When my best friend was a Rho Chi, comforting countless girls who cried after being rejected from their favorite houses, she told them all the same thing. “Don’t worry about one specific sorority. We’re all the same.” This is repeatedly the very thing sorority girls everywhere are trying to deny. As if they’re so offended by the notion of being viewed as the very thing they wanted so badly to become a part of, girls will tell you with vigor “I don’t fit the stereotype.”
I’ve never said that.
I am a sorority girl. I have big boobs and a little waist. I wear a lot of makeup. I go tanning. I straighten my hair and curl it on special occasions. I don’t wear pants. I drink vodka sodas, and I drink a lot of them. I like to party. I like guys who like to party. I like to party with guys and girls who like to party. Even after graduation, I am endlessly obsessed with my little, and like a proud parent, when I talk about her, I’m compelled to pull up her photos to show to my friends. I think my big is the smartest person in the world.
My voice is high, and I touch my hair too much. I have a weird obsession with hashtags. I look like a bitch. Sometimes I act like one. I have an abbreviation problem and I don’t know if I like Starbucks, because I genuinely like the taste more than other coffee, or because it looks better with my outfit. Sometimes, the label is the best part. My favorite color is pink and I like to bedazzle things. I currently have two Disney Princess coloring books in my craft drawer, and four tiaras in my costume box. I also have a craft drawer and a costume box. I celebrated July 17, April 25, and October 3.
I’m a little boy crazy and a little “girl crazy.” I am not low-maintenance. My father can’t say no to me, not that he’s ever tried. I’ve made “bad decisions,” because I wanted to, and then I’ve made them again. I call everyone my best friend, and when I’m with my 30 best friends, we take shots of ourselves with the skinny arm, we take shots of ourselves doing the “sorority squat,” we take shots “throwing what we know,” and we take shots of tequila. A lot of times I can’t even, and I literally don’t know the meaning of the word literally.
None of those things define me, but they are all unwaveringly true. And you know what? I don’t see a damn thing wrong with it. So, I fit a mold on the outside? So, I look and sound exactly like you’d expect me to look and sound? So, I do and say things you’d guess I’d do and say? So what? These things are what I am, not who I am, and what I am is something I’m pretty proud of — a sorority girl.
People think there are negative connotations that come along with Greek life, and maybe there are. But maybe I don’t mind the things that other people hate. Maybe I like them, even. Maybe I like being high-maintenance. I call it having standards. Maybe I like to go out. I call it being social. Maybe I like wearing makeup, and doing my hair, and keeping my clothing trendy. Maybe I like being girly. Maybe I like being a sorority girl. Sure there are haters, but I’m not going to pretend I’m not absolutely obsessed with my life because of them. I’m not going to try to force them to see that their preconceived notions have nothing to do with what’s on the inside. I’m not going to apologize for them making judgments about me based on what they see. And I’m not, just to appease people, going to say “I don’t fit the stereotype.”