Rush is an endurance event.

Or, at the very least, like a tournament of sorts. For comparison, my freshman year of college, I’d spend weekends getting up early, meeting my teammates, groggily boarding the bus with all my gear, and driving several hours to compete as a D3 fencer. Now, once a year, there’s a different kind of stamina test: a weekend spent in nonstop conversations.

Instead of rounds of fencing, there are rounds of interviews. Girls line up outside the doors of sorority houses (Sears, Harkness, Goddard, and Diman on Wriston and Patriots Court) for three days of continuous, organized mutual judgment. There is no gear, but there are coordinated outfits. I’ve swapped a silver fencing lame for a purple sweater, a blade for a red carnation. 

I am aware of the fact that rush at Brown is tame in comparison to many schools. At Brown, Greek Life comprises a small percentage of the student population, and chapters are substantially smaller than at other schools, with our sororities ranging from 50 to 70 members, even as involvement has been increasing in recent years. There are only four officially recognized National Panhellenic Council sororities at Brown—Kappa Alpha Theta (Theta), Kappa Delta (KD), Delta Gamma (DG), and my own, Alpha Chi Omega (AXO). Compare that with Dartmouth, which boasts 11 in spite of a smaller student body, or the infamous University of Alabama, which has 18.

My brother’s girlfriend is an AXO at UT Austin. Her rush process looks a lot different from mine, involving showing up a full week before classes (and paying to do so). And I’m sure her chapter looks different too—at almost 300 members, it is about six times the size of mine. 

But Brown Greek Life involvement has been on the rise. This semester, more than 250 Potential New Members (or PNMs, as sororities call them) participated in Spring formal recruitment—record numbers for Brown rush. 

***

I remember thinking about my first ever fencing tournament—This is literally a nightmare.

I did not mean it idiomatically. You know those dreams where you end up in a situation in which you are completely and totally unprepared and unqualified to do the things expected of you? Somehow, I found myself at a collegiate competition at Vassar for a sport I had maybe a month or two of experience in. I struggled to put the equipment on quickly. I forgot to salute the refs and my opponent before starting a bout. I barely understood the rules. I was defeated time and time again.

Fencing is a unique and niche sport, and Haverford’s was a unique and niche team. At Haverford College, there is a physical education requirement. Though I initially figured I would just fulfill mine with independent running, at the last second, I signed up for a fencing class, hoping that I could meet some new people. At the end of the six-week class, the coach of the varsity team invited me and a few others to walk on. Because the sport is so small and so specific, at the D3 level, there was room for a few beginners. Also because the sport is so small, occasionally D3 teams will compete at the same tournaments as D1 schools and even club teams.

It is the only sport I can think of in which a person with maybe two months of experience can wind up competing against a nationally ranked opponent, directed by a ref with a silver Olympic medal. 

It felt like one of the greatest boondoggles of all time to devote myself to practice five days a week and tournaments that ate an entire day on the weekends, all for a sport I had no prior experience in. But high off the “do it for the plot” mindset that had carried me through my gap year, I figured that if it all went terribly wrong, I could always quit. It seemed like a grand adventure, the opportunity to do something interesting. And I’d been looking for a source of community on campus, and they all seemed so tight-knit, so friendly, so welcoming. 

***

As usual, the amount of attention paid to sororities—and Greek life in general—spikes in February and will probably dissipate again come March when the snow melts and people realize that Brown is no Bama. Candidly, many of the people I’ve met on this campus have told me they know nothing about Brown’s Greek Life when I tell them I’m in a sorority. Some have even said that they didn’t know we had sororities here. In my experience, while I’m a huge advocate for Greek life, at Brown, it doesn’t seem to have a huge influence on those not involved in it. It’s not the worst setup in the world. Those who feel called to Greek Life here can pursue it. Those who don’t feel it is right for them don’t have to feel pressured to participate due to large percentages of Greek affiliation or the dominance of Greek Life over the social scene. 

This, however, does not stop fits of Sidechat hysteria. My sorority, in particular, tends to get a lot of hate. We’re not the only ones, though—I have seen maybe dozens of posts attacking KD, DG, and Brown Women’s Collective (BWC). One post depicted a scared dog in front of an aggressive dinosaur, reading “going to axo for pref without a septum or a subaru.” Another, with over 700 upvotes, said, “walking by KKKD in harkness and seeing they’re setting up a screening of the turning point halftime show.” Perhaps the reputations of the four sororities can be summed up from one post summarizing, “What I learned last night is that KD and DG think they’re in the confederacy, AXO is full of gay women who will touch me (??) and Theta is irrelevant to the conversation.”

Others noted the strange and sudden obsession with Greek Life ranking, given its limited role in Brown’s social culture. One states, “No b/c why has each new freshman class gotten more obsessed with Greek life? If you wanted a college experience where 80% of the social scene revolves around frats/soros, you should have went to Dartmouth.” Truthfully, parts of the message resonated with me. If you’re looking for a more traditional sorority experience, there’s nothing wrong with that, but you might be at the wrong school. 

Rush is not just strenuous for the conversationally inept or frustrating for those weary of the (admittedly somewhat accurate) “Gay-Chi-O” reputation. It’s also ludicrously time-consuming. This year, call time for recruiters was over seven hours on Saturday and Sunday each, and about five on Monday. Bid day, in which all the new members discover which house they are joining, happens Tuesday evening. Sisters must also sign up for a two-hour cleanup and setup session at some point during the weekend—I adore the way our clothes match all the decorations of the room, but switching the themes for each day does take some work. At least during fencing tournaments, they give you breaks. Recruitment rounds are spaced out by fifteen-minute gaps, but you spend the first five writing comments about the girls you talked to, and the next ten lining up. Snacks are provided, but lunch or dinner is not, and honestly, there wouldn’t be much time for either anyway. 

It’s a time-intensive labor of love, but it’s worth it for the community. 

***

Eventually, I got better. I started winning a few bouts here and there, figured out what I was doing, and developed a true love for the sport. But it wasn’t the victories that made me love fencing or the team.

I remember one tournament in particular, fumbling as I stepped onto the fencing strip and awkwardly plugging my cord into my sabre, facing my squad leader as she gave me some advice for the upcoming bout. 

It was the last match of the day, and what a day it had been. The Penn State Invitational hosted some of the best D1 schools in the country, and us, the only D3 school there. Though our team did include some A-ranked fencers, there were also new walk-ons like me, who had been playing the sport for less than three months. I had been losing all day. Right before this match, my nose had started bleeding. Beneath my mask, there was a tampon up my left nostril. 

My opponent and I met each other in the middle of the strip, tapped our blades against each other’s masks, waited for two lights to flash on the scoring box indicating our equipment works, saluted the ref, and prepared for battle behind the en garde lines. The ref raised his arms. 

This particular team was one of the best, and had the egos to match. With every other touch that we scored on them, they demanded to check our equipment again, and argued with the ref’s calls. 

“En garde. Ready, fence!”

I scored the first touch with one light—objectively mine—and sure enough, my opponent tapped her blade against me to check. Even after my equipment passed, she continued arguing with the ref. 

“I know I hit her. If I hit her, why didn’t the light go off?”

She finally accepted it, scored the next five touches, and won the bout. 

But with each touch I scored, my squad, and often other members of my team, erupted into cheers. After each bout, regardless of whether I lost or won, I was congratulated on smart actions and counseled on how to improve. When my teammates weren’t fencing bouts of their own, I could be certain they were watching somebody else on the team’s bout, possibly even taking videos for later careful analysis. At the end of each tournament day, we toasted to each other’s successes. Everything was always framed positively, with honest feedback, but unconditional support.

In fencing, a supportive and healthy team culture is not a given, but at Haverford, new close friends fostered just that. I would never have been able to face such challenging opposition as a beginner had I not known that my team would be behind me no matter what, cheering on my victories and ready to help me turn my losses into growth. 

The moment I stepped off the strip, I was eagerly awaiting my teammate’s next bout, excited to cheer her on the same way my team cheered for me. 

***

Rush at Brown is organized into three days—Open House, in which PNMs tour all the chapters; Philanthropy, in which the sororities wear the color that represents their cause and talk about their philanthropic involvement; and Preference, the last night in which you’re supposed to have the most meaningful conversations before both parties make their final decisions and Panhel determines who goes where. As recruiters, we all wore red dresses and black heels, matching one of AXO’s colors as well as the carnations dotting the room that would be used in a ceremony later that night. 

I was ready for it to be over, sick of spending hours and hours talking to new people (not one of my strong suits, as someone who used to be extremely introverted) just to read unkind words on Sidechat. Going into the night, my mind was on the PSETs I hadn’t gotten the chance to do, the runs and rehearsals I skipped to be there, and the fact that I don’t think I look that great in red. 

I started talking to my first girl of the night, and before I knew it, it was time for a few sisters to give speeches about what AXO has brought them and why PNMs should join. My friend Katie, who has studied with me for hours in the IAPA classes we’ve taken together, talked about AXO preparing her for her first date. Clarissa—the girl whose dress I was borrowing because I didn’t have a red one of my own—gave a speech about her Big being there for her when her mom was diagnosed with cancer. Vanessa, a senior I’ve always looked up to, spoke about how difficult her freshman year was, but how grateful she was to have found a community as welcoming as AXO as a sophomore. Finally, the president, Rebecca, told us about how she had been considering transferring out of Brown because she couldn’t find her people, but was glad she stuck it out. AXO had become the community she always wanted to find. 

I tell people I transferred from Haverford because it was tiny. This is true. With a student body of about 1,400 total, Haverford was substantially smaller than my high school. Brown had classes, academic programs, and extracurricular opportunities I wouldn’t have been able to find there. It also just felt a little more like the typical college experience I had been looking for. 

However, the truer answer is that I didn’t feel like I belonged at Haverford. 

I made individual friends but remained lonely throughout my freshman year. Something just wasn’t clicking. The one place this wasn’t true was the fencing team. With them, I had an automatic group of people to get dinner with, people to wave to on campus between classes, people I knew would always cheer for me. We bonded over broken blades and tough workouts. 

Though it’s been over a year since I transferred, I’m still in touch with a few people from the team. They tell me about the ways it’s changed—a new coach, more practices, graduated athletes that I knew, and newly matriculated ones that I don’t. I watch snippets of their bouts on Instagram and smile at a skillful touch, or a win against a tough opponent. When I announced in the group chat that I was leaving, one of the outgoing captains texted that I would always be a part of their family. I like to think that’s true to an extent, but everything and every organization is destined to evolve, and if you’re not there to evolve with it, you miss the changes that make a place what it is. If you don’t know what a place is anymore, can you really say you’re a part of it? Half the people on the current team don’t know who I am. 

The Haverford fencing team I was a part of is not the team that exists today. But I guess I’m not exactly the same girl I was at 19 either.

At Pref, you are supposed to give your “heart sell”: explain why you chose to join AXO and what you’ve gained from it. I tend to give the same spiel (but leave out a few critical details).

“As a transfer student, I was looking to find community on campus and make new friends.”

I was terrified that there was something not right with me and that I’d never feel like I belonged anywhere. Transferring was a last-ditch effort to prove myself wrong.

“I’d been a member of Haverford’s fencing team, and I wanted to find a community that mirrored that same team dynamic. A group of people who I know always have my back.”

Transferring was undeniably the right choice and has made me happier than I ever thought possible. And still, I don’t know how to get over the pain of leaving a community you love behind. One day, I will graduate. Will I be a part of AXO then? Of Brown? What will happen to the life I spent so long cultivating?

“At AXO, I found that community. I made some of my best friends, and some of my most treasured college memories.”

Brown Greek Life did what D3 fencing did and more. You need community to survive. Find it here or find it elsewhere. Just be a part of something.

Greek life is matching outfits and curated Instagram feeds. It’s expensive dues and a dubious history interlinked with racism and classism. It is also the girls who show up at your orchestra concerts with a specially curated bouquet, the people who get you through breakups and breakdowns, nights out, nights in, days spent sledding in the snow, cups of hot chocolate, and Arcane watch parties. It’s carnations and lounges with cutesy decorations, and naps on a comfy couch, and late night study sessions, and trips to pumpkin patches in the fall, and picnics in the spring and beach trips in the early summer, and hundreds and hundreds of aesthetic photos, and secret rituals, and love that takes the form of a shared motto, a symbol, a promise. 

The national Alpha Chi Omega website states that “Alpha Chi Omega is not just four years, but a lifelong experience…the bonds of sisterhood are everlasting.” Most sororities have national alumnae pages that read variations of the same sentiment. The Zeta Theta chapter of AXO here at Brown will undoubtedly be wildly different in 10 years, or 20, or 50. But I’ll always have that one year at Haverford, that one year as a fencer and student-athlete, as a piece of me. I like to think that the connections and memories I’ve formed through sisterhood aren’t going anywhere anytime soon, either.