Kylan Darnell can’t walk out of her sorority house without being stopped by fans. She can’t actually walk out of any house without it happening.
Darnell, 21, is the standard bearer for a lucrative new kind of fame. She is a third-year student at the University of Alabama, a member of Zeta Tau Alpha sorority and the “Queen of RushTok”, the frenzied corner of TikTok which charts the trials of aspiring sorority girls during their August recruitment, or “rush week” and the campus lives that they go on to lead.
“I love my sorority,” said Darnell. “I’ve definitely met my bridesmaids. And it’s also given me a career.”
Darnell now has over 1.3 million followers on TikTok and makes six figures a year. In fact, she added, “I’ve made six figures in a month.”
Sororities are social organizations, typically all-female and secretive, on college campuses for which members have to go through a formal recruitment process. These groups are most entrenched at universities in the south—Alabama, Arkansas, Auburn, Kentucky, Mississippi State, Georgia—and were often established at the same time as the colleges themselves in the 1800s.
They are associated with eliteness and exclusivity, indicators of class, wealth and, historically, whiteness. (The University of Alabama only de-segregated its sororities in 2013.)
Students pay membership fees, as well as costs for living in the houses, which can amount to up to $5,000 (£3,725) per semester. Until very recently their members were well known only to other people at the same university.
Then, in August 2021, RushTok went viral. Polished young women posted videos about what they were wearing to rush week—Hermès bangles, athleisure and florals—and then shared the elation of acceptance and the emotional turmoil of their inevitable rejections. For viewers online, it became a blood sport with blow-dries.
Today #RushTok has 128.2 million posts on TikTok and 1.5 billion views, and is in what fans call “season five” as if it is a reality TV show, with new “characters” breaking out and old ones returning.
As a result sororities are seeing a surge in applicants and brands are racing to recruit these young women to sell their products. Sororities have become influencer factories.
Darnell is impossibly charming, bouncy, upbeat and sweet as pie. She also looks like a prom queen. The combination is commercial gold. “The amount of stuff companies send to our sorority house is insane,” she said, speaking between classes. “Boxes and boxes of make-up and hair stuff, giant boxes of Zeta-personalized Poppi [a fizzy drink].”
Darnell grew up competing in dance and pageants as a teen and though no one else in her family was involved in Greek life (sororities and fraternities, their male equivalent, are generally known by combinations of letters from the Greek alphabet) she wanted to be in a sorority for the friendship and the networking opportunities.
Rush week is a multi-day process with PNMs (potential new members) attending interviews and parties. After each round, applicants are cut, leading up to “bid day” at the end of the week during which PNMs open an envelope with — hopefully —an invitation from a sorority. Last weekend was the University of Mississippi’s bid day, this weekend is Southern Methodist University, Texas.
Once they are in, there is a considerable amount of pressure to uphold the sorority’s culture. Darnell talks about the “rules”, mainly around conduct, though she is sworn to secrecy on the specifics. “My sorority will text me all the time saying, you need to take this down [from social media], if something might be shining the wrong light,” she said. “They really do protect my image and I’m very grateful for that. They’re like a PR agency. They keep a close eye.”
Though she loves the group enormously, she has taught herself to resist its monolithic culture. “When I was a freshman [first year], I lost my individuality and everything I talked about was sorority-sorority-sorority,” she said. “I talked the way I thought people wanted me to and felt the pressure to be perfect and to always say the perfect thing. I didn’t voice my opinion, didn’t want to seem like I was ‘too much’. I’ve got an outgoing, outspoken, goofy personality and I felt like I lost that.” She has since “found myself”, wanting to be a sports reporter when she graduates next year.
This year, Darnell’s younger sister, Izzy, 20, who already has over one million followers on TikTok, rushed at Alabama—to fervent conjecture from the online audience—then decided to drop out. It was the drama of the season.
“I felt like I would be changed [in a sorority],” said Izzy, speaking on the phone after her public relations class, “like I would have to dim down my personality, because you have to be like everyone else.”
There was always a fascination with the secrecy and glamour of sororities but it has been supercharged by social media. Choreographed dance routines filmed outside enormous antebellum sorority houses and featuring chapter members with matching outfits, mountains of blonde hair and sparkling white teeth can now get millions of views.
Maureen Lehto Brewster, an assistant professor of fashion merchandising at the University of Maryland Eastern Shore, has studied RushTok for a number of years. She is “not surprised” that it blew up under the Biden administration in 2021, when culture was more woke and popular feminism ascendant.
“To see something that was so about hyper-femininity and hyper-consumption, it was this object of cultural fascination, it was shocking, watching these young women get ready in the morning like they were going to war,” she said. “You can look at it as being in partnership with trad wife content going viral.”
Lorie Stefanelli has been a “sorority consultant” since 2013. Based in New York, her company Greek Chic coached 13 girls in 2023. This year, they had 40. She is planning to employ at least five more consultants for 2026.
“Girls want to be in a sorority more than ever,” said Stefanelli. “Joining Greek life in the nineties was very passé, it was all grunge and being cool. But it’s making a huge comeback, 1,000 percent down to social media.” She is also seeing a decrease in the number of young women who are “legacy”, meaning their mothers or grandmother pledged. The reach is getting broader.
According to the National Panhellenic Conference, which represents 26 national and international sororities, there has been a 5 percent increase in undergraduate membership in 2024-25 compared to the year before, the second consecutive year of growth.
Stefanelli charges between $1,500 and $3,000 depending on the number of sessions, helping her clients prepare their outfits, social media and applications, as well as training them on “how to mind their Ps and Qs” during rush week.
“I say, no crying … because I don’t want them to ruin their make-up,” she said. “But also if they go in with a sourpuss face it’s going to be a turn-off for the sororities. I instruct my girls to smile and act excited.”
For clothes, it’s lots of pastel, florals, ruffles and pretty sun dresses. “And appropriate,” continued Stefanelli. “We don’t want to be showing everyone our goodies. Not too short, not too low.”
The popularity of outfit videos has made many sorority girls a magnet for brands. Princess Polly created a rush collection of dresses and Kim Kardashian’s Skims released a line of sorority-inspired loungewear. Sorority houses have also partnered with brands after being given, and sometimes, paid to advertise their products. Brands featured throughout the RushTok content include Poppi, GymShark and clothing company Altar’d State.
Nick Drabicky is the senior vice-president at January Digital, the marketing agency which represents Texas-based jewellery brand, Kendra Scott, which is a RushTok favorite, mentioned in nearly every “OOTD” (outfit of the day) video. “RushTok has put kerosene on our sales,” he said. They have seen “double-digit” growth year-on-year during rush weeks in August. “It is really the first holiday of the season for us.”
Megan Agnew is a features writer at The Times and The Sunday Times of London
