OPINION 4 Page 6 The Michigan Daily Thursday, June 16, 1983 Confessions of a sorority dropout 4 By Jayne Hendel It started as a game. I had done my requisite teen reading, dozed through the idyllic T.V. sagas, so clothed in pure prep, I plunged into sorority rush. A million rationales coated my nonconformist conscience - I was a transfer student from a tiny, very liberal-artsy college in the East feeling overwhelmed by the Univer- sity corporation facing me...I was searching for the comraderie I had found in my freshman year housemates, who ranged from the bulimic actress to the South American princess...and, naturally, the instant social life beckoned to me. If the country could go conservative, I guessed I could plunge into a personal regression, and be collegiate from my football tickets to my penny loafers. My cynicism dissolved, however, once the contageous hysteria of rush parties began. I was playing for real now, my competition: the 799 other "girls" (we were called "women" in my former college) I planned to charm out of the contest. The Michigan Daily Vol. XCIII, No. 17-S 93 Years of Editorial Freedom Managed and Edited by students of The University of Michigan Editorials represent a majority opinion of the Daily Editorial Board They've landed T'S THAT TIME of the year again. Time for hoards of minature students carrying brightly colored folders, time for naive and confused questions, time for arrogance by those who already call Ann Arbor home for at least eight months of the year. Incoming freshman, "orientees", descenaea on town this week and if you thought there were a lot of them contemplate that a new group this size will arrive in town every three days for the remainder of the summer. It's easy to chide those with their names marked conspicuously on telltale nametags. To forget that there was a time when we wondered what CRISP meant, thought we would never find our ways back to the dorm, when we first moved away from home. Many of these freshmen don't realize what they have to look forward to, or for that matter what they have to worry about. Freshman counseling, roommate problems, and those ever- present long lines are among the amenities of life at the 'U'. So orientees, enjoy the time you have before September, endure the stiffled laughs of those who may pass you, and try not to be over- whelmed by 'the University bureaucracy around you, Just remember tlat come Fall you will virtually blend into the 36,000 students who comprise the University. For those of you tolerating this University ritual, grit you teeth (the two months will fly by), be patient (try not to drive through the walking tours), and be glad it only happens once each year. Besides someone has to sit in the stadium end zone. With strained smile muscles and a swollen bladder from too, many politely accepted cups of lemonade, I immersed myself in the mentally draining and physically exhausting set of rush parties. My fellow rushees and I became strained allies rather than adversaries from the highly pressured situation - playing mirror to each other's flawed make-up in each house while ner- vously awaiting the cheering welcome at each sorority and talking all night about our in- secure chances of success. None of us were naive enough to accept the line that "there's a house for every girl," we knew it depended on our appearance and the quality of our small talk skills. Three weeks and many blisters later, it was over. I walked slowly to the Union to pick up my bid, confident my strategy had suc- ceeded, though still uneasy about becoming a "Susie Sorority." Af- ter the initial gasp, those of us deemed for future social success stifled triumphant expressions in front of the less fortunate red- eyed rejects and dreamed of our first pair of satin monogrammed sweatpants. From following the conveyor belt of puckered fraternity lips leading to my new "home," to posing for the endless photos, I smiled a lot and cursed my decision. I realized how disen- chanting it was to become a sister. But optimistically, I shrugged off my premonition of failure as beginners' jitters and wore my pledge pin con- spicuously, if not proudly. I resented my pledgehood treatment. I didn't want to be a "little sister" once more - I'd had enough of my real siblings. The obligatory pseudo-familiar attitudes disgusted me. I didn't want to be coddled, simply respected. But ironically, the respect of my sisters was reser- ved for exhibiting the most han- dsome date or the trendiest out- fit. The shallowness disturbed me. Just as clothes, fashions have retreated to the 50's, Greek life today imitates the narrow- mindedness of that era, which revelled in racism, sexism, and anti-intellectualism. Today, even equality-minded women sit in clasped-handed cir- cles, waiting to see which sister was pinned by which boyfriend in which "approved" fraternity. This seems to be the highpoint of sorority existance - to set up one's social security, both for now and the future. Beyond the comfort of being in- stantly classified, I felt angry at how little my individual per- sonality mattered. As part of a group that depends on instant recognition, I couldn't drop my personality to merge with the group. So, I suffered the discom- fort of not fitting in. But the more I clashed, the moreI regained my individuality and self respect. It was at the final formal fun- ction where I realized I had to quit. What boringly false comfort to be with mirror images of one's self. Conversation revolved around the label in one's dress and how much alcohol (in the ac- cepted varieties of mixed drinks, naturally) had been consumed prior to the event. We were all playing dress up into prematured middle-age. With no imagination and a few wrinkles added, the evening could have been 25 years in the future. We'd be sipping the iden- tical vodka tonics, and discussing our daughters' legacies in the sorority. They fit in so well, we'd say. I'm glad I was "Greek" for a year. Just the switch to three let- ters from a 10-digit I.D. number made me feel more human. My yellow computerized credit card, however, doesn't pre-judge and identify me the way those foreign symbols did. I think I'd rather be my own number than have my identity emblazoned in satin on others' sweatpanted posteriors. Hendel is a Daily staff repor- ter. 4 4 4 Letters and columns represent the opinions of the individual author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the attitudes or beliefs of the Daily. Sinclair \ELCornE To -LA, NOLFATiU! IT IS M PUTY To RUMID DU - ~OF THE COND TONS , Rte LEE, AND SIM ITATIlONS of OUR \VISIT -'-ERL 'al 9r