Anyone who has lived on the University of Minnesota campus at some point has witnessed the spectacle of sorority rush week: the chanting, the matching clothes, the groups of freshmen lining up on the sidewalk.
Upon seeing this, most people probably wonder what influences someone to join a seemingly ridiculous and often-parodied group.
But for most freshman girls on campus searching for a sense of community in a new environment, it is almost impossible to not get roped in. Sorority recruitment, while almost certainly unintentional, uses psychological tactics that cults consistently rely on to build their following.
The process begins with evaluating the right target: an emotionally vulnerable person who is at a crossroads in their life and is susceptible to influence.
One of the biggest transition points in any young adult’s life comes during freshman year. Separation from family and friends is not just emotionally challenging: it compels the new student to naturally attempt to reclaim the safety net they have lost.
This internal struggle coincides perfectly with sorority rush week, when the sales pitch begins.
No matter their reason for joining, once the ideal candidate comes knocking at the doorstep, cult leadership begins the process by trying to foster a connection. This happens in a variety of ways — group activities, conversations — but it is paramount that the recruit is being “love-bombed” at all times. This term (coined by the leader of a famous 1970s Korean Christian cult known as “The Moonies”) involves bombarding candidates with affection, flattery and validation. It often includes current members feigning mutual interests, highlighting philanthropic work and discussing social causes they are “passionate” about, all in the name of improving their image.
Cult expert Ronald N. Loomis summarized this concept perfectly in a testimony for the Maryland Cult Task Force.
“They’re quickly trying to convey the message that, ‘I am your new best friend,’” Loomis said.
During rush week, this tactic reveals itself in various ways. Lauren Simpson, a former member of Alpha Chi Omega, described rush week as “a collection of introductions, discussions on values and motivations, presentations on sorority uniqueness and detailed discussions of philanthropy and personal passions.”
Crucially, Simpson highlighted the approach taken by sorority leadership during these activities.
“They’re trying to also sell the sorority to you … so they’re like, ‘This is what we do, and this is what’s unique to our sorority’ … they really try to emphasize how much you mean as a person and what you’re going to be there,” Simpson said.
During these activities, there is also no shortage of tears.
“It’s hit or miss whether or not they cry because each house has a different preference ceremony,” Simpson said.
However, the most concerning aspect of these interactions is that, in some sororities, tears are considered necessary.
In serving as a mentor during rush week, Ellie Berglin, a former member of Gamma Phi Beta, recounted a direction she received from the vice president of membership.
“She was like, ‘All right, guys, your goal is to make the girls cry,’” Berglin said.
According to Berglin, she and some of the other mentors expressed skepticism about being able to do this.
Discussing personal subjects with a recruit is one thing. Actively attempting to make them cry to create a dependency is more than emotional manipulation. It is a cult tactic. For these recruits, having that “emotional safety net” in the same room to love-bomb them with phrases like, “We love you,” and, “You’re special,” can leave them feeling indebted.
Following acceptance, the process begins by immersing newly admitted members into their new culture. Once you get a bid, sororities shower you with T-shirts, keychains, tumblers, stickers and plaques while forcing you to attend weekend retreats, weekly meetings in fancy clothes and parties that require fancy outfits.
It is hard to ignore the social pressure this creates for an 18-year-old. Many feel the need to reciprocate by devoting themselves to the group. Potentially, there is an element of fear — no one wants to be the one who abruptly stops hanging out with their sorority sisters, gets cold feet about living in the house during their second year or wastes the thousands they have already sunk into dues.
This dynamic is what allows cults to keep control over newly admitted members. Members who become fully immersed begin to peer pressure others, create enemies out of those who leave and effectively idolize the group or leader that gave them their platform.
In sororities, idolization and immersion often manifest in competitiveness rooted in the recruitment process, which involves numerous sororities selling themselves against each other.
Overlooking these concepts is natural. In a cult-focused episode of the Netflix series “Explained,” the show highlights how many new members often have such a need for a sense of belonging that they experience a lapse in judgment, causing them to ignore potentially harmful warning signs.
Nonetheless, the purpose of these comparisons is not merely to say that sororities are the college version of cults. Such a statement diminishes the potential for forming lifelong friendships and gaining rewarding experiences within these organizations.
Instead, sororities should reconsider the emotional toll they impose on vulnerable women during recruitment. Engineering situations that prompt tears, coupled with the promise of a social safety net and the fear of missing out, amount to emotional manipulation, regardless of the language used to rebrand it. Unnecessarily emotional interviews, peculiar chants and a substantial financial burden should not be prerequisites for making friends, especially when receiving a bid is not guaranteed.
While sororities can function effectively and be genuinely worthwhile with the right people, this should never come at the expense of emotional turmoil.