Stanley Fish’s February 3rd NY Times blog, “All You Need Is Hate,” got me thinking. (Note the Beatles mentality of the 21st century.) Fish, a professor of law, discusses what affectionately has become known as Hillary-hating. Hilary-hating is a distinct breed of political bashing. It’s acutely chauvinistic, callous, and aggressive (read: macho).

I kind of get it. I wouldn’t want Hillary as my mother — even if Bill Clinton were included as a package deal. (And moreover, maybe her criticism is due to society’s general dislike of aging women, and she shouldn’t take it personally.)

Still, Hillary haters are not your typical critics. They are borderline delusional and suspiciously fervent. I say suspicious because this type of bashing would not be accepted if it were on the basis of class or race.

Therefore, who are these Hillary haters? How hateful are they? Should I be scared? 

I conducted my sociological research via Facebook. (And that’s legitimate!)

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What does a sorority girl put behind her ears to make her more attractive? Her ankles. Ouch. 

Sorority girls are victims to the poor reputations that precede them. This is unfair. (Full disclosure: I’m in a sorority.) But I thought long and hard, and came to the realization that a bunch of other things are also misjudged: broccoli, lice, anchovies, nap time, baths, etc. Still, by the time we turned eight, we had understood the errors of our ways. Antioxidants save lives, and what kid doesn’t enjoy mom meticulously combing through their lice-infested hair? 

So since parts of you have finally grown/dropped and you bathe regularly, I think it’s time to give sororities a second chance. I’ll get in the mindset with my favorite hypothetical: what if I were on the other side? What would I think?

1. Sorority girls are vain: Granted, this is true. We are vain. Yet a quick look in the thesaurus clears things up a bit. Vanity is synonymous with pride. We, as women of the 21st century, should be proud of ourselves. 
2. Sorority girls are fake: So we’re a little fake, but honestly, don’t hold us to a different standard. Fake is popular: Madame Tussauds’s is a popular tourist attraction, I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter is popular/delicious/calorie-free butter substitute, and Michael Kors used a lot of fake, environmentally-conscious fur in his widely successful winter collection. 
3. Sorority girls are moronic clones: Not true. We put entirely different ingredients in our Gia salads.
4. Sorority girls are dumb: There’s more than a 50% chance that we have a better GPA than you — and that’s good enough for me. 
5. Sorority girls are shallow: Hey, we do a lot of community service. 

Think not only about what I’ve just said, but also of Penn’s other on-campus groups: every a cappella group, Mask & Wig, the football team, Tabard…

Penn students behave in peculiar ways. A customary hello on Locust walk– well actually, the internal debate of whether to say hello — seems to induce pain. When did a moment of shared recognition become a comparable experience to speaking a foreign language sober or worse, menstruating without a tampon handy?

A preliminary glance down Locust can quickly give way to sheer panic; you have about five seconds to make a decision: risk embarrassment and second-class status by acknowledging that plebeian who was your friend, but only because he lived three doors down from you — or ignore them, hope that they ignore you too, and breathe a sigh of relief. Other common, but no less cringe-worthy run-ins include last month’s hook-up (very drunk), hot people you distinctly remember talking to at parties (their memory may be hazy), and class friends (didn’t talk to them about anything but).

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I have no class. No, not in the “I wear rayon, leopard print thongs, am oblivious to my orange skin, and enjoy bl*wing a new fraternity brother every weekend” sort of way.

I’ve just dropped all of my classes, but deflect all blame for my classless tendencies. Just like someone from New Jersey would. If I fancied similes, I’d say pre-registration looked like a robust tree in my backyard; it is now winter and each class has fallen like a rotten crab apple — stubbornly, one by one.

To be melodramatic: it’s the second week of classes, and I’m cold, starving, and distraught. As Christina Domenico pointed out in a DP column last week, other top universities (e.g. Harvard, Yale, Stanford) try to combat first-week apocalypses. They have what is known as a “shopping period.” It is similar to our add/drop period, yet a a consumer-friendly title adorns students’ transition. 

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Diversity is often a selling point for national institutions, but is anyone really buying it?

It’s not elementary school; we are not blind to our peers’ peculiarities, and we secretly crave homogeneity. That’s human nature. When we stick together, we’re more comfortable. In a precarious world that lacks absolute comfort (I mean, we’re all going to die alone), minimizing unease is often encouraged.

Seriously, who needs the added tension of disparity?

Penn facilitates our individual conformity; some cheery-eyed, Berkinstock-wearing suck up demonstrated this to me earlier than I expected. While partaking in a “College House” tour, I learned the following: if you want to be close to Fresh Grocer and are socially inept, mark Gregory College House as your first choice. If you seek diversity, pick DuBois College House! The Quad is for social butterflies. Obscure people and athletes are comfortable in Hill, kids who play DDR live in Kings Court, and independent-minded students choose the high rises.

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