Pledged

by Alexandra Robbins

  It made sense, then, that Amy participated in so many sorority activities: she thought that the more time she spent with the sisters, the stronger their bond would be. But of the four girls I followed, Amy was also left the most heartbroken. The confidence she might have gained from belonging to a sisterhood was not enough to outweigh rejection from the boys she believed she needed in order to keep up with her sisters.

  Therein lies the contradiction of these all-girl groups. As much as sororities extol the value and virtue of a single-sex group, these sisterhoods are not necessarily designed to concentrate on sisters’ relationships with one another. The sisterhoods revolve around men. This was evident at State U, where semesters were divided between Crush Parties, Date Parties, and Formal, all of which required a date, and mixers—which existed essentially to find dates for those other events. This was also obvious at several other chapters, such as the sorority that held a lavish ceremony to celebrate the achievement of a sister who had acquired a steady boyfriend but gave only a bag of chips to the sister with the highest GPA. Lisa Handler, a professor at Temple University who studied sororities in the 1990s, told me that she found that “sisterhood is not as strong as brotherhood.” Sisters told her that “a brother would never give up a brother for a girl, but a sister would give up a sister for a guy. That’s a difference between sisterhood and friendship. A friend doesn’t sleep with your guy, but it was held up as a constant that in the sisterhood, women were going to stab your back. Sisterhood is not more powerful if boys can pierce it.”

  But what if boys are part of it? In the last thirty years, several national and local coed fraternities have sprung up across the country, groups that model themselves after fraternities rather than sororities. In order to discover whether female members of these groups find sisterhood, I visited Zeta Delta Xi, a coed fraternity at Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island.

  At Zete, Paul, the secretary, ushered me downstairs to a lounge where some undergrads and fraternity alumni—Zete alums return frequently, even years after graduation—were sitting on tables, chairs, and each other, girls on guys and girls on girls. These were friendly, unpretentious students, proud of their alternative status on campus and the way none of them, appearance- or personality-wise, was ever mistaken for a mainstream Greek.

  Like all-male fraternities, Zetes have rituals, weekly meetings, social and service activities, and rush. “In the process to decide who gets a bid, unless someone doesn’t seem interested or really pissed us off, they’re considered,” said Faye, Paul’s girlfriend and a Zete brother—both male and female Zetes are called brothers. During Brown’s Spring Weekend in April, the Zetes host “Spag Fest,” an all-you-can-eat-and-drink party for members of the Brown community. The thirty Zetes stay up all night slicing bread, making garlic butter, and cooking more than a hundred pounds of dry spaghetti. The Zetes provide table service for the usual turnout of five hundred people.

  Sometimes the girls in Zete have “girls’ nights”: female-only slumber parties to which they each bring a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Although they don’t often break off from the rest of the brotherhood, the girls believe that Zete women have “something special,” Faye said. “When I’m with women in Zete, I feel comfortable and relaxed. We have an intense, unique bond in common, along with the same underlying characteristics that made us want to become Zetes.”

  On a tour of the house, which is actually a wing of a dormitory building, the brothers pointed out the unisex bathrooms and the “damned” spots in the house. The damned spots were the items on which a brother had had sex (sex defined in Zete terms as “two or more people, one or more orgasms”). So far, the only items that were not damned, meaning nobody thought twice before sitting on them, were the pool table and a cooler. “Incest” is inevitable in a coed fraternity, many Zetes told me; in fact, several of them had experimented sexually with Zetes of the same gender. Faye, who wrote a paper on “fraternity girls” for a class project, said that sexual tolerance is a characteristic of many coed fraternities. When she interviewed female members of seven coed fraternities across the country, she found that many of the groups encouraged experimentation. The Zetes were the first fraternity at Brown to elect as president an openly gay man.

  Intrafraternity relationships led to a rumor among Brown’s sororities that in order to be fully initiated into Zete, pledges had to sleep with every brother. The Zetes were hurt by the falsehood but also at the same time seemed to be a little bit proud—there had been half a dozen marriages within the fraternity in the past decade. And some of the activities in the house were games involving nudity or a college version of Spin the Bottle. “We do more after two a.m. than most people do in a day,” a Zete officer told me. “Our motto is ‘Have a good time all the time.’” The officer, a self-described “Zete manwhore” who looked like an exotic, better-looking version of Sesame Street’s Ernie, had worked his way through both genders of many of the brothers in Zete. For the entire night he wore an expression of constant, unbridled delight.

  With the exception of 1998, the year when Zete females outnumbered the males, the fraternity’s ratio is usually two guys to one girl. This is evident in the Composites hanging on the walls, which blatantly differ from traditional sorority composites. There are few photographs of girls wearing family pearls and obedient smiles. Rather, the Zetes, prioritizing character over composure, wear props and strike poses that one imagines could be captioned the Thinker, Blues Brothers, or Pimp Daddy.

  The Zetes originally were affiliated with the national male fraternity Zeta Psi, which organized a chapter at Brown in 1852. In 1982, the Zetes at Brown decided to accept female members. When the national office found out, it sent word that it refused to recognize the female Zetes and that national rules prohibited the women from becoming Zeta Psi officers. Instead, Nationals suggested that the chapter consider the female Zetes only as fraternity little sisters. In response, the Brown chapter rebelled, electing women as fraternity officers in 1986. When Nationals threatened to revoke the chapter’s charter if the women were not removed from office, the chapter voted unanimously to withdraw from the national organization because it refused to recognize all of the chapter members. Nationals promptly declared the chapter defunct and sent over movers, who took most of the house’s furniture and the old Composites.

  A month later, the chapter resurrected itself as Zeta Delta Xi, “an independent, co-ed fraternity founded on principles of equality.” Since then, the Zetes have continued to refer to their female members as brothers—as Paul said, “leaving no question about the full and legitimate membership of women members.” Zete is now an open-minded house under the guise of a fraternity. Like any other fraternity, during my visit the brothers played beer pong, a popular fraternity drinking game during which a team tries to bounce Ping-Pong balls across a table into the other team’s full cups of beer—a quick way for brothers to get drunk from beer tasting like sweaty Ping-Pong balls. (The brothers were careful to play at an off-campus location, given that drinking games are prohibited at Brown houses.) The brothers who surrounded us, however, were a mix of races, genders, and clothing styles. A Zete in a wheelchair explained, “This was a fraternity that would accept me as a person.”

  “It just felt different here,” Faye said. Although her mother was in Alpha Epsilon Phi, Faye said she never considered rushing a sorority because it would be “unnatural” to isolate herself in an all-woman house when the rest of society isn’t that way. “I couldn’t stand to live only with women. I think I’d go nuts,” she said. “Zete is a very accepting, not exclusive house—there aren’t cliques. Zete women are liberated and aren’t afraid to be themselves.”

  When I asked Faye if she believed she had missed out on a sorority experience, she said she found something better than a sorority sisterhood: she found a pressure-free place to belong. “I definitely feel like I belong to something. That’s new for me because I felt like I didn’t belong for so long. And it doesn’t put p
ressure on me to live with the girl-group power kind of thing,” she said. “I don’t need a sisterhood because I have a brotherhood, a peoplehood, a siblinghood. I have a supportive, gender-nonspecific family.”

  Going “local,” as the Zetes did, is a popular alternative for women seeking a sisterhood outside of the twenty-six national sororities. At schools across the country, dozens of local single-sex sororities wear Greek letters and gather, hold meetings, and live in off-campus houses. The members of the local sororities with whom I spoke were just as involved in and enamored of their sisterhood as the national members were. “Being in a local is better because there are no national dues and we can pledge girls whenever we want,” said a local sister at a New Hampshire university. A local sister at a Pennsylvania school explained that she preferred a sorority that did not have to follow Nationals’ rules—a double-edged sword that lets the local girls evade, say, dress codes, but also leaves them unsupervised during events that may involve hazing. “In a local you don’t have to answer to national reps. It makes us unique,” she said. Locals, she said, escape the way people try to apply stereotypes of one campus’s national sorority to every chapter, even though the chapters vary by campus. “We’re more independent. It’s more intimate.”

  Melody Twilley’s sorority at the University of Alabama is also a local. Given the intolerance she experienced within the Greek system, I wondered why she would want to model her organization after the white sororities on her campus—and, for that matter, why she needed to institutionalize her relationships at all. Why did she need a sisterhood rather than a club?

  “Well, that’s not as much fun. You don’t get to keep secrets from everyone else! It’s like being in a gang, but not illegal. You have stuff that identifies you as part of a group,” she said. “We knew we were going to be a Greek sorority. You can’t be recognized by the university if you don’t take men unless you’re part of a Greek organization.”

  Keeping in mind that her group had not yet been officially accepted into the Panhellenic community on campus, I asked if Melody considered her fellow Alpha Delta Sigmas sisters. “Oh my God, yes. If we’re not sisters, I don’t know what we are. We have gone through more than any of the sororities on campus could understand. We’re sisters because we’re friends. I don’t have any friends who are like family here who aren’t in my sorority. These guys are like my family on campus.”

  “What does sisterhood mean to you?” I asked.

  “It means having a family that you don’t have to love,” she replied, “but you do anyway.”

  Advice Dispensed

  APRIL 11

  SABRINA’S IM AWAY MESSAGE

  Gettin’ mah hair did

  SABRINA AND CAITLIN WERE SITTING ON THE BATHROOM counter at Louie’s, their favorite bar, drinking and chatting with a few sisters when Bitsy walked in.

  “Bitsy,” Caitlin asked, “where exactly did you get pierced?” The other sisters circled Bitsy with interest while she cleared her throat. Several sisters had gotten similar piercings since Bitsy had done it in September, but Bitsy was widely considered the Jedi Master of nether-region rings.

  “Well. So I didn’t get my clit pierced. I got my hood pierced.” Bitsy rounded her thumb and forefinger and held up her hand so everyone could see. “This is your clit.” She pointed. “This is your hood—it’s this little piece of skin. One ball goes here and one goes here, and since this ball sits on your clit, it’s called a clit ring.”

  “How long did it hurt for?” asked Caitlin.

  “Not long. Every time you pee, you clean the wound, so it healed quickly,” Bitsy said. “I’m getting my nipple pierced tomorrow.”

  “Can I come get my hood pierced?” Caitlin asked, to Sabrina’s horror.

  “Definitely.”

  “Do you guys want to do it, too?” Caitlin asked the other sisters. Several were enthusiastic.

  “Why would you do that?” Sabrina said, though she already knew. Caitlin was struggling to prove her growing independence from her mother’s control. In Sabrina’s opinion, it was a bizarre way, but at least it was something Caitlin wanted to do for herself that her mother would never discover. Caitlin’s mother probably didn’t even know it was possible for a girl to get pierced down there. “I’ll just keep you company,” Sabrina said.

  The next day, the other sisters (now sober) all conveniently had something else to do.

  At the piercing salon’s front desk, the receptionist brought out a mold of a vagina spiked with various rings. “Point to the area you want pierced,” she said to Caitlin.

  “Bitsy!” At Caitlin’s call, Bitsy stepped forward and pointed to one of the rings.

  When they got to the piercing room, the man with the needle told Caitlin to strip. She handed Sabrina her denim shorts and underwear, and put her feet in the stirrups. Bitsy rushed around the chair to Caitlin’s feet, where she watched the proceedings intently. Noticing how tense Caitlin was, Sabrina began to sing an old Prince song to her; Caitlin always laughed when Sabrina sang because she couldn’t carry a tune. As Caitlin squeezed her hand so tightly it hurt, Sabrina tried not to think it strange that her friend was lying half naked next to her while a strange man was piercing her hood.

  Afterward, Caitlin and Bitsy turned to Sabrina. “Do you want one, too?” they asked her.

  “Hell, no.”

  ON A WARM MID-APRIL EVENING, CAITLIN AND SABRINA joined Amy and Beth to prepare for Spring Formal. This time, Sabrina planned to attend. Sabrina hadn’t spoken to her professor since she broke up with him in February. She wasn’t angry with him—he was just another guy whom she had dated, and from whom she then moved on. She had forced herself to stop thinking about him by going to Greek parties, drinking more, and telling herself that she would do fine on her own. Gradually she found that she was happier when she was with people her own age. Over the last six weeks, Sabrina had hooked up with a fraternity brother and two non-Greek friends with whom she and Caitlin often smoked. Because none of the boys were Formal-worthy, Amy had convinced Sabrina to go to Formal with Jake. Amy would take one of Jake’s gay friends instead.

  “Hey! What are y’all wearing tonight?” Amy asked when Caitlin and Sabrina walked in wearing T-shirts and boxers. Amy was sitting in her Victoria’s Secret robe watching MTV as Beth pinned up her curls.

  “I don’t know. I don’t like my dress anymore. I gained weight,” said Sabrina.

  “Honey, it’s only Jake,” Amy smiled. “He’ll be more concerned about everybody’s dates anyway.”

  “It’s not the boys I’m worried about,” Sabrina said.

  “Oh, yes.” Amy realized Sabrina was referring to the Alpha Rhos, who were far more critical of each other’s looks than any male would be. “And the photos.” Amy started to sing “Sweet Home Alabama” into her flatiron.

  “Head back!” Beth yanked Amy’s shoulders. As she lurched backward, Amy grabbed a protein bar from the table. “What’s with you and the protein bars?” asked Beth. “There are four boxes in your room.”

  “I can eat only protein bars this week because I ate so much last week,” Amy said, taking a bite.

  “I think this is the first time I’ve participated in my sorority all year,” Sabrina said as she handed out “pre-pre-game” drinks.

  “No, you did Homecoming stuff,” Amy pointed out.

  “I’m talking about fun party stuff,” Sabrina said.

  Beth finished Amy’s hair and abruptly stood up from her perch on the couch, screaming, “Agh! There’s a bra on me!” A lacy black bra was hooked to the back of her sweater just far enough out of reach that she couldn’t swat it off. The girls doubled over in hysterics.

  “Hey, that’s mine!” Sabrina gasped.

  “How’d it get there?” Beth asked.

  “I put it there!”

  “On my back?”

  “No, on the couch. I was wondering what had happened to it.” Sabrina plucked the bra from Beth’s back. “Do you have a clippy thingy?” she asked Bet
h shyly. “I wanted to put my hair half up today.” She turned to Caitlin. “And could you maybe give me a little makeup?”

  As Caitlin led Sabrina into her bedroom, Amy said to Beth, “Can you believe Sabrina’s getting her makeup done?”

  “Tonight I want to be pretty, too,” Sabrina said.

  “Put on a little shimmer stuff,” Amy suggested before muttering to herself, “I need to fix my ‘boobage.’”

  Sabrina settled on Caitlin’s bed and closed her eyes, opening them just in time to see Caitlin about to poke at her eyelid with an eye pencil. Sabrina flinched. After several more attempts to introduce Sabrina to eyeliner, Caitlin applied subtle hints of eyeshadow, mascara, blush, and lipstick. When she was finished, she handed Sabrina a mirror. Sabrina’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Hey, I look pretty!” she said, surprised at her first foray into cosmetics.

  Amy came in wearing a resplendent plum gown and heels that matched her eyes. “We’re going to be late for pre-game, girls. Let’s go,” she said.

  Caitlin looked at her plastic cup. As she and Sabrina followed Amy out the door to a satellite house, Caitlin muttered, “What’s the point of getting to pre-game on time if we’re already pre-pre-gaming?”

  At the pre-game, Sabrina stayed close to Andrea, the newly initiated sophomore with the funky wardrobe. The two of them watched from the periphery as Alpha Rhos glided around the room in Armani and Chanel dresses, with their “Louies” and “Kates”—Louis Vuitton and Kate Spade handbags—on their arms.