Being part of a real-life Old School knockoff didn't just compel me to leave the sisterhood, it convinced me I needed to transfer somewhere that didn't even have Greek life. I didn’t feel smug or self-righteous; I was just baffled why no one else seemed to find anything off-putting about hungry frat boys commissioning a bunch of women to wrestle for them. The girls had been flattered, honored even, that the cool guys had asked our sorority to participate in their grimy basement grapple, and not another house.
But college was turning out exactly as I’d imagined it from watching Van Wilder, Legally Blonde, Road Trip, Animal House, and that '90s movie featuring an actually-kind-of-cool Jeremy Piven. And I'd wanted it that way! I wanted toga parties, and studying in my sorority pool just like Elle Woods (all sororities have pools, right??), but none of this felt how I thought it would. I was envious of the carefree way the girls were able to jump into the situation and actually enjoy it, and I admired their ability to appeal to frat boys, as much as those chosen sons of Long Island’s upper middle class disgusted me. I didn’t need these boys’ approval, but thought it would be cool to have it all the same. And being aware of that envy made me even more unhappy. My ambivalence clarified: this wasn't where I wanted to be.