I am a precocious freshman. I am giddily seated, all turned around, on a rollicking bus to an undisclosed location, tippling piss-colored liquor from a plastic bag with dozens of unfamiliar faces. This is my unofficial initiation to Greek life, and already I’m entrenched in the acceptable hierarchies of Greek existence. The forced interactions perpetuate an idea of this caste-like system, in which sororities and fraternities are ranked by a set of archaic and elusive characteristics. Herein lies the well-publicized but guiltily undefined key to holding together Northwestern’s Greek ascendency: Not all sororities and fraternities are created equal.

There’s a tricky social subculture underlying the NU strata. It’s hard to define, sure, but I think those on the inside deem it “The Northwestern 500.” The Northwestern 500, as I understand it, is comprised of the “top three” sororities, fraternities and athletic teams, who together equal approximately 500 students. Why is this grouping so arbitrary? Sure, the top three sororities are generally agreed upon by the gossip blogs and whispered mutterings of last week’s terrified freshmen, but the top three sports teams are surely harder to define. Which fraternities are the top? What criteria do they meet? More than anything, why does The Northwestern 500 matter?

I am, I suppose it goes without saying, not in The Northwestern 500. The idea that hook-ups must be within the circle creates an almost incestuous feel of interrelatedness and spit-swapping. This particular rule sets the standard for university romantic interactions–at least in the Greek world. My boyfriend and I met in a very non-Greek setting. As we danced the night (and the day and the night again) away, shimmying and grinding–romantic, no?–we found a very strange connection, forged on neon orange Hawaiian-print ball caps and a terrible inability to dance (mine). When he asked for my phone number, it was a natural progression, one that originated entirely independently of the so-called natural order of the Greek world.

I am a member of a chapter whose biggest criticisms are a penchant for smiling too much and a lack of sloppiness. My boyfriend is a brother in a chapter that is inhibited by internal restrictions–but for all of the chapter’s kind members, the house remains an afterthought. I was aware, of course, of the rules somehow established by my fraternal and sororal predecessors, but I was not aware I was expected to adhere to it.

It was clear I was breaching territory, and my sisters were skeptical of my choice. I heard through the grapevine of a stunningly insensitive–and, worse, olfactory–complaint with the boy I had started dating. “He SMELLS,” came the shriek from the cupcake-like princess of my chapter, albeit via gchat, a perception from a freshman year dormitory misunderstanding. The simple fact was that he didn’t smell. Not even close. He possessed the stereotypical stench of a prepubescent boy, the musty scent of unwashed sheets and extended-use undershirts. And, moreover, it wasn’t just him as an individual. It was the general smell of the boys’ end of the hall. And the thing that struck me most was, had he been in a socially exalted fraternity, his stench would be written off as typical boy, the sexually appealing scent of a real man. Instead, he was childishly smelly.This was the first time I pondered if there was something to be said for remaining within the social constructs of the system.

Last year, we–the boyfriend and I–debuted at our first sorority event, and (well, baby, I should have told you this prior to printing it) I was rather skeptical of his ability to interact well with my new sisters. It took work to maneuver it all, the gossip blog assortments of what, ultimately, is a distinctly subjective preference. A fight ensued, a rehashing of petty concerns. What I lost sight of was this boy I loved, someone who made me laugh and transcended the hierarchies recruitment had ingrained in me. Sure, my unsteady feelings about my boyfriend’s fraternity remains, as I stumble over the words and the unintentional apologies that proceed. A part of me so adherent to the system feels like an interloper, consciously aware of my transgression. But, lo and behold, The Northwestern 500 is absent from my existence, and my sisters offer a quick laugh to make me feel comfortable. Still, pairings for Greek events follow the generalities the society is based in, with barely fluctuating partnerships from year to year. As a jaded sophomore, I’m beyond the expectations. I’ll take the greasy, fresh-baked scent of Snickerdoodles any day.