One night in college, in the height of pledging for my sorority, I was forced to dance for all the fraternities on campus to absurdly sexual songs, including Lil' Wayne's "Lollipop." The other pledges and I were split into groups and told to do whatever we thought the boys would like. I remember thinking that that night was one of the greatest nights of my college career to date. And it was fun! It was so, so fun! I hadn't hung out with a lot of the girls in my pledge class before, and as the night progressed I grew to really like all of them.

But when it was all over, and I finally crashed back in my dorm room, it hit me that not only am I a terrible dancer, but also that the catcalling and cheering I had gotten from the boys just an hour ago was definitely not nice. I felt ashamed and a little gross that I had thought that I looked good in my ridiculous skin-tight outfit and that I thought that the activity was meant to be fun. But I knew it was what I'd have to do if I wanted to become a sister in my chosen sorority.

Pledging a sorority was at once one of the best and worst decisions I've ever made. I can trace both my best friends in the entire world and the FOMO that haunts me every Friday and Saturday night to this day back to the term during which I pledged my sorority. I'm having it now just thinking about how my school is going through recruitment, and colleges across the country are in the height of rushing fraternities and sororities, hoping to be accepted — and that the benefits outweigh the hazing.

You go into pledging scared shitless. You hear the stories beforehand about never sleeping and having to drink everything you don't want to drink, and you triple-guess yourself about why you're even doing it in the first place. I vividly remember the first night of pledging: we were told calmly by our pledge masters (the two girls elected by the sorority to be in charge of the pledging process) that our priorities from then on were to be strictly 1) family, 2) academics, and finally 3) pledging. I remember relaxing at that moment, thinking, They totally get it, this is going to be fine.

Well, bullshit. From that moment on, I was made to feel pretty terrible about any activity that I was doing that wasn't sorority-related. We were constantly monitored and scheduled throughout the day. We had mandatory group lunches and library hours during which time we had to sign in and confirm that we weren't skipping any activity without a legitimate reason. It got to the point where I called my poor mother hysterical each time I had to about how I was missing out on what I had determined was going to be the most defining term of my life.

Actually, in hindsight, I realize there was a lot of crying. I cried when I didn't know where Sister Jen was when I was asked in front of everyone on the spot. I cried when I had to share one toilet with 42 other girls in the basement of the house when we weren't allowed to leave. I cried when I was told I wasn't nearly as cute as I thought I was. We were soon all given pledge names. These were meant to be either condescending or reflective of something we had done on campus. Some of them were just ridiculous and the whole point was to torment yourself wondering why you were called that in the first place. I even cried for no good reason when I found out Kate White was my pledge name.

From the very beginning, one message colors everything you do: if you want what we have, if you want to be worthy of our attention, if you want to be one of us, you'll do what we say. Oh, also? You are not to tell ANYONE about it. Even now, three months out of college, I am sitting here wondering if I'm going to regret exposing what I've been taught to believe are the secrets of a sisterhood that is almost one hundred years old. It still feels like some kind of huge betrayal. After spending time as a sister in the sorority, I realize it is this burden that causes my FOMO. In the end, I was initiated, which means I was worthy of this exclusive sisterhood (by the way, no one ends up not making it). Throughout college, I'd wonder if not participating in every event or party meant I was ultimately not worthy in the end.

Every night during pledging, we were on call. We were told to be totally accessible and not do anything that we couldn't drop immediately to get to the house. I remember the first email we got after accepting our bids (and celebrating drunkenly deliriously with equally excited sisters): "If you're early, you're on time, if you're on time you're late, and if you're late, you're fucked."

That was one of the better nights of pledging. About two weeks in, we became conditioned to fear what was called a "line-up." We'd get a mass email telling us to be at the house in seven minutes wearing all-white with our faces scrubbed clean of makeup. We'd have to line up in alphabetical order and take turns stepping into one spotlight in the middle of the house basement. All of the sisters sat in the dark. We couldn't see anything, but they could see all of us and our every imperfection. Those who wore makeup were scolded. Those who didn't follow some other rule were also scolded. During line-ups, I alternated between sweating and wanting to vomit. (I actually left the room to hover over the toilet just in case I did several times.) The sisters, who wanted to be amused and make us cry, asked us ridiculous and mean questions. "Do your sexiest dance," they once demanded. "Why aren't you working hard enough? Why are you doing that? You look so stupid." Well of course I looked stupid — I was gyrating by myself under a spotlight while another pledge pretended to be a stripper pole. "Why do you think you're better than us?" was commonly asked. "Who is the prettiest sister in the room? Which one of us is a lesbian and why do you think that?" At any given line-up, at least a third of my pledge class cried. I cried the first time. I tried to laugh through all the others — but we got yelled at for laughing.

Other nights we'd be blindfolded. Told to trust our future sisters unfailingly — and then put into the shower (again, wearing all-white). We were locked in rooms and screamed at for not trying hard enough, for not caring enough about the house. I can't even remember the amount of times I was told that I wouldn't become a sister because I just wasn't good enough. Reasons for not being good enough included not being able to recognize a sister's voice or hand or fuck buddy at any given moment. We were constantly told the sorority was special, that it was a privilege. And it is. To this day, I absolutely believe it is. That being said, I know now that I was being totally mindfucked.

Sometimes, post line-up, we'd have lock-ins. We'd have 15 minutes to get a pillow and a blanket from our dorms, and we'd have to scurry back to the house to be locked in the basement until midnight with strict orders to return to the house at 4:45 am. We could sleep from then until 7:45. If we weren't out by 8:00, we were woken up loudly, told we had fucked up, and ordered to leave immediately.

Pledging was constant. Activities took place every single night. I became mentally and physically exhausted — and I wasn't the only one. The school counseling center's intake of new students triples during the fall during pledging. About 90 percent of these newcomers are women. I was a proud advocate of the counseling center. Never to my pledge masters, who were anything but sympathetic — "it's not my problem if you can't handle it. Maybe you should reconsider your options because if you're not dedicated to this, I'm not so sure we want you." — but certainly to the rest of the girls in my pledge class.

There's a flip side to the trauma, though: like all the happy tears when I nailed my "sound-off" (a routine each pledge had to perform whenever asked) and earned plenty of snaps (exactly what they sound like — just like in Legally Blonde). Bonding was quick and intense when all of my new friends from pledge class revealed that they, too, were freaking out about shitting in the same bathroom. And I cried so many tears of joy when I was matched 1:1 with my big sister and my two baby little sisters. Bigs and littles are a right of passage in Greek life. Your big is your mentor, your idol, your best friend. Your littles are perfect and adorable and can do no wrong.

When I was finally a sister, I adored bossing around the incoming pledges. I was mean to the new girls during line-ups. I sat in on almost all of the pledging activities though some of my friends would have to leave the room because they didn't want to watch the newest pledge class squirm and cry. I hurled the same ridiculous questions at them that I'd gotten myself. I did it, so they have to too, goes the thinking. It's tradition so why should anyone be the exception? Etc. I could hear and see myself being mean and I hated it, but I also wanted these girls to love the sisterhood the way I did when they were done pledging. Hazing felt, in a twisted way, like some kind of service. (You'd have to ask them how that worked out, though. It's possible some aren't my biggest fans.)

I also knew that when pledging ends, the resentment and exhaustion passes, and being in the sorority is wonderful. I loved being part of the numerous sorority events that raised thousands of dollars for wonderful charities. All kinds of fun, Greek-oriented events (academic, philanthropic, sober, drunk) always kept me happily busy. Greek life on campus was an incredible network — I would never go anywhere without seeing a bunch of people I was friendly with. I also felt an automatic unspoken connection with the Greeks I didn't know. We'd all just been through the same strange and awful pledging ordeal, and that would always bind us.

Obviously, I am not best friends with the 42 other girls in my pledge class like I was told I would be at the beginning. But I did make a few best friends, who I don't go a day without talking to and whom I know will be in my life forever. It's cheesy, but true. Pledging and getting hazed is horrible. But there's a reason it's not going anywhere any time soon.

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Tess Koman Senior Editor Tess Koman covers breaking (food) news, opinion pieces, and features on larger happenings in the food world.

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