The University of Georgia campus is fraught with sorostitutes. They fill the Milledge bus, sit together in the dining halls, and cram the classrooms, the sidewalks and the bars like lonely preteen girls at a midnight release party for the latest book in the Twilight series.
How is it so easy to identify them, you ask?
Well, besides the obvious red flags like various articles of clothing and accessories ridden with Greek letters that mean nothing to you if you aren’t “Greek” and the “Greek” terminology that sorostitutes use that to you sounds like jibber-jabber (e.g. “OMG met this guy at the cowboys and Indians social who I thought was SAE’s rush chair but he was actually a GDI. Sucks because I really wanted to take an SAE to Braves. Maybe I’ll take that Pike. But he’s a Pike so idk… Maybe I’ll get Sarah to set me up with one of her KA friends from Southern”… sorostitute say what?!), there is another way to tell who’s in the system. In a word: outfits.
My theory? One historic day, all of UGA’s sororities’ presidents met in some bright, poorly concealed, elaborately themed and color-coordinated (with pink as an accent, of course) lair.
“On to our most important matter of discussion,” one said, “we need to come up with a wardrobe that identifies us and separates us from the average students. It can’t be anything that flaunts our wealth or social status. It should achieve the exact opposite. Let us come together as sisters to formulate the least attractive code of style conduct we possibly can; we shall thwart everyone’s expectations and show the world how well put-together we really aren’t! Marvelous, marvelous indeed.”
The women nodded in agreement, eyes and mouths agape, deeply moved by the proposal they had just heard. They proceeded to shout examples back and forth as the ideas flooded their heads.
“Black and white Nike track shorts! With Ugg boots!”
“Or cowboy boots! With even the most casual ensemble!”
“Plastic wayfarers with our letters on the side!”
“Leggings as pants!”
“Outdoor wear! Made by North Face or Patagonia! Even though we never go outdoors!”
“Muscle tees with witty sayings about our sorority!”
“Oversized t-shirts that swallow us whole and leave no evidence of our feminine figures!”
And that was that. There you have it, friends. The sorostitute dress code was born.
Sometimes sorostitutes mix elements of the code to suit their own personal style. This is something I respect and admire. For our sisterhood retreat, for example, my own sorority sister Chelsea blended soros chic with granola style.
Work it, girl. Lookin’ sexy as always.
And sorostitutes don’t only flaunt their look in Athens; it goes with them, especially when they travel in herds. Like to Frat Beach on the day before Georgia/Florda. It’s UGA’s Greek mecca and a site of full-fledged sorostitution.
And speaking of beaches, the look goes on Spring Break with sorostitutes, too.
Libby, Kristen and Kristy, some of my dearest sorostitute friends, repped in Gulf Shores, AL. Well done, ladies. Props for keeping it classy.
Here’s the thing about sorostitutes and what they wear–I get it completely. Like I said, I’m in a sorority. I am, in essence, a sorostitute. There are certainly aspects of the code I opt not to follow, for instance I try to stay away from shirts that are too baggy so I don’t look like I need to hit up the nearest fat camp pronto, but other aspects I rock and look unattractive in on an almost daily basis. Sorostitute garb so frequently overtakes me with its irresistible allure. It is is so. Damn. Comfortable. It is mind-bogglingly snug and conversely loose in all the right ways. And leggings? Oh my god. What can’t be said about the miracles of spandex? A good pair of leggings is as freeing as being naked. It might actually be better. As someone with perpetually cold feet (literally and figuratively), too, I have yet to find a better solution than the unrelenting warmth of the inside of an Ugg boot. Furthermore, I’m often too lazy to spend minutes of my precious time piecing together a cute ensemble for class, especially when I wake up at 7:45 on a Tuesday morning on four or five hours of sleep. I know I’m not alone in that regard.
When I think about it, I’m almost impressed with the sorostitute way of life in terms of fashion. While some girls only dress this way to fit in with their panhellenic counterparts, the rest of us do it because we simply don’t care what people think. As my wise friend Katie noted, “It’s comfortable! I don’t care if I look like a parachute!” One could say that, by virtue of how we sorostitutes dress, it proves that many of us aren’t entirely shallow. Or one could say that I am over-analyzing this whole thing completely.
And yes, dressing like this might nix any chances of me meeting a future husband in class seeing as how I rarely look presentable, but I came to grips with the fact that I will die an unmarried dog lady long ago. So it’s not much of an issue anymore. All I can say is kudos to whatever think-tank is behind this awesomely bad trend. Is this a local phenomenon or a universally unwritten law of sorostitution?
Oh, and my best friend Elizabeth was berating me for not having given her a shoutout in the blog yet. So here’s to you, biffle! Love you.
Who needs to dress like a sorostitute when you already look like this?