I should have known sorority life was not for me.
My gut reaction was telling as I walked down the checkerboard floors of the veranda at the Carolina Inn. I sat at a small table, one of 20 or so, in one of the Inn’s elegantly furnished banquet halls. I was provided with a glass of water, a box of tissues, an index card on which to list my sorority preference, and an attentive alumna ready to help me make my choice. It was the fourth and final day of rush at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and I had a decision to make. Having only been called back by one sorority out of 10, I would have to choose whether or not Greek life would be a part of my experience as a student. I hesitated as I ran my finger across the blank space on the card where my signature would be. I signed my name and then I cried.
As a young woman born and raised in North Carolina, attending UNC had always been a dream of mine. In the fall of 2011, I took my chance and transferred in as a junior. I tried to do all the things a new Tar Heel is supposed to do, including rushing a sorority. Close to 12 percent of UNC Chapel Hill’s undergraduate students go Greek, but, surrounded by fraternity and sorority houses, the campus seemed optimized for Greek life. So, I became a part of a system that not only promoted outdated gender stereotypes and an attitude of exclusion, but is also correlated with members having increased episodes of poor self-esteem and disordered eating. And during the spring of 2012, these tendencies of the Greek system came barreling into my personal life, when my sorority sisters started discriminating against me because of my weight.
The night I joined, I barely had a clue what a huge impact being involved in a sorority was going to have on the next few years of my life. I knew that I was joining a group that almost 9 percent of undergraduate women were a part of in the United States and I knew about the purported benefits of having a built-in network after graduation. What I didn’t know was how stressful and demoralizing the experience would be for me. From the outside of the beautiful sorority and fraternity houses that surrounded my campus, I couldn’t see the sexism and discrimination that waited inside.
From the minute I got my “bid” (my formal offer to join), I felt like I didn’t belong in my sorority. I was an outsider who had somehow gotten the code for the lock on the door. It was obvious that a few of my new “sisters” didn’t want me there and that there was a standard of womanhood that I would need to meet to be accepted. If I had been thinking clearly, I would have left, but something kept me there, made it matter way too much to me. I wanted to belong and to find new friends in an unfamiliar city.
I’ve always had issues with my weight, but I had always done what I wanted to do, regardless of what my body looked like. My sorority put my positive body image to the test. We were supposed to wear coordinated outfits for rush, and the sisters in charge of putting them together had, for the most part, chosen pieces that I could not wear. Most did not come in a size larger than 12 (which would be a problem for a few of the women in my sorority, not just me). When this came to light, instead of letting me pick my own clothes, or finding something similar to what they’d chosen in my size, they chose to put me in a “kitchen job” where I wouldn’t be seen by the potential new members as they went through the house. Even though they technically included me by giving me something to do, I felt betrayed, like they were hiding me because I didn’t fit the perfect image of a woman they were trying to project. I should have been angry, but first I felt ashamed. The anger came later, when my guilt and frustration was met by sisters who acted as if I should suck it up, be happy they gave me anything to do, consider myself lucky to be part of such an exclusive group in the first place.
Research has shown that women with higher BMIs have a bad experience even before joining a sorority—they report more negative feelings during rush. Studies show that sorority membership has a negative effect on eating behavior and correlates with disordered eating. Although sorority members have lower average BMIs than the rest of the population, researchers believe that it is partially because of the increased social pressure for thinness.
Former Daily Tar Heel editor Henry Gargan says in his article for Thrill City about UNC Greek life that the system itself permits discriminatory actions, regardless of individuals’ intentions. These discriminatory actions, in my case, were not just about what my body looked like, but the fact that I, as a woman, wasn’t serving my implicit purpose of attracting fraternity men. Where male and female relationships are concerned, Gargan argues that the system caters to privileged individuals (especially men) and that “the relationship between fraternities and sororities is hierarchical and reinforces the subservience of women.” Sororities serve as a kind of finishing school where fraternity men can have their pick of equally privileged but subservient women. “The codes of sexual and romantic conduct between sororities and fraternities,” Gargan maintains, “deprive sorority women of the agency ideally enjoyed by both parties of a romantic relationship.”