Photo courtesy of the New Haven Register
At Yale, four groups have severed ties with their national organizations, a move driven, in part, to rethink the rigid structures of Greek life rather than simply reproduce them.
Greek life does not dominate the social scene in New Haven; parties and mixers are just as likely to be hosted by secret societies, sports houses, acapella groups, or independent social clubs. Even within Greek life, only a fraction of members live in their houses, reinforcing the sense that their presence is more diffuse–quieter and less centralized.
Party culture is dispersed across loosely connected pockets on the outskirts of campus. On High Street, between Chapel and Crown, a row of Victorian Italianate and Queen Anne-style houses—boxy, unassuming—blends into the city’s townhouses. Aside from the modest Corinthian columns at their entrances and the discreet ΣΝ lettering above 37 High Street, there is little to distinguish them as centers of fraternity life. This short stretch could be Yale’s version of a “frat row,” but its architecture offers few clues to its real social function.
Over the last hundred years, across the nation, Greek life has faced growing criticism, particularly for its racial exclusivity, often functioning as predominantly white institutions. Fraternities, in particular, have come under scrutiny for issues ranging from hazing, substance abuse, and destructive partying to discrimination and sexual assault. Sororities are often critiqued for fostering elitism and promoting unrealistic and toxic social standards.
Some disaffiliated groups have made efforts to remove the stereotypes that define the system. Others have hewed more closely to the customs they inherited. The rationales for disaffiliation vary—financial burdens tied to chapter houses, resistance to outdated rituals, and, in some cases, allegations of sexual misconduct or racism.
These groups are not staging a revolution, nor do they claim to be dismantling the social order that Greek life sustains. Many of its problematic aspects indeed persist. “It is a pretty toxic and exclusionary space. So far, it is quite selective,” said an anonymous first-year student at Yale College, who is not in any social group. “But I think a lot of [other] organizations are.”
However, by breaking from their national affiliations, they have gained something else: autonomy.
The Fence Club, originally a chapter of the Psi Upsilon fraternity—founded in 1839— went co-ed in 1972, only to be dismantled in 1979 due to financial difficulties. After disappearing from campus for nearly three decades, it returned without ties to its former fraternity. Once reputed as “the richest and most exclusive of Yale’s fraternities” by The New York Times, its current reputation, as summed up by pledge Santiago Giraldo ’28, is “pretty gay.”
In 2016, LEO disaffiliated from Sigma Alpha Epsilon due to a mix of “issues of race, diversity, and inclusion,” according to the Yale Daily News (YDN). The Executive Board declined to comment, but many interviewees described LEO as akin to a traditional fraternity, often likening it to Sigma Nu.
Edon, once a chapter of Sigma Phi Epsilon, formally disaffiliated in September 2020. According to the YDN, the decision to disaffiliate was due to financial concerns, ideological differences with the national organization, the sale of their house, and a desire for greater inclusivity. In its first year of disaffiliation, it extended its membership to women. Once a traditional fraternity, it has a reputation of being full of, “indie bitches,” according to Elias Shaw-Rothberg ‘28.
Aeris was the last to disaffiliate in 2022 from Phi Beta Phi. The decision was driven by multiple concerns — including over $100,000 in debt owed to the national organization due to housing costs during the 2020–2021 school year, financial aid pressures, and the national chapter’s disproportionate spending on political donations and lobbying compared to philanthropic efforts, according to “founding mother” Dorothea Robertson ’25 and reporting by the YDN.
“Pi Phi had a reputation of bringing great energy to the parties they were invited to,” said another “founding mother,” Sofia Manriquez ‘25. “We’ve always kind of been this way, and now it’s just being more intentional about opening up to the rest of campus.”
These groups have taken what they want from Greek life—its rituals of belonging and camaraderie—while reworking what no longer fits. Of course, many rituals have remained the same. But recruitment, lineages, pledging, partying, and initiation rites—once central to their Greek past—have been selectively reinterpreted and adapted to suit changing priorities. The result is something familiar yet distinct: a space where tradition is not merely inherited but continually reshaped.
Perhaps the most significant shift, however, happened at the very start: by breaking from traditional rush and recruitment, they have been able to introduce processes that national Greek organizations might wish to adopt but cannot under existing regulations.
At Edon, potential new members (PNMs) —or, as they call them, “fish” — meet for multiple meals over three weeks, each with different members of the group. After each meal, an Edon member connects the PNM with others in the organization, encouraging them to reach out. During Delibs—the process where Edon’s board decides which PNMs to move forward with—a Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) officer ensures that discussions remain intentional, particularly regarding race, background, and sexual orientation. Fence PNMs also grab meals, just much less. Pledge Jaeha Jang ‘28 had three meals.
Edon quickly broke from the mold of a traditional fraternity by becoming co-ed. In five years, much has changed—but five years is hardly enough to settle into permanence. The group is still refining itself and testing what works. “Within the club, we talk about Edon as a big experiment,” said a Development, or Dev, Chair for Edon. The Dev Chair requested anonymity “for personal and professional reasons.”
“One of the biggest things is during our weekly board meetings, we talk about [what] we need to improve.” He said that as Yale’s student body changes, Edon will learn how to adapt to make their processes fair.
The role of a Dev Chair—a position that traditionally resembles a pledgemaster, a role tied to someone who leads hazing—marks a meaningful departure from that legacy. In a traditional fraternity, hazing often involves grueling physical and mental challenges designed to forge “brotherhood.” Pledges are typically at the mercy of all upperclassmen.
The Dev class, the equivalent of a pledge class, is given more autonomy to say ‘no’ to tasks, which differs from a traditional fraternity. “If anyone’s uncomfortable with whatever we’re doing… they can talk to us,” said the Dev Chair. “No one’s ever forced to drink [or] to do things that make them deeply uncomfortable.”
The Dev class is divided into smaller Snapchat group chats, each led by a Dev Chair who serves as a point of contact. Every Sunday, the five Dev Chairs meet over brunch to refine the initiation process: deciding which tasks to keep, which to discard, and how best to pair members, often matching those who might not otherwise cross paths. They also consider which tasks each person might enjoy or engage with the most. These tasks usually include public embarrassment but are carefully thought out with a team-building purpose.
“The whole name for it is development and not pledging,” said the Dev Chair. “The process isn’t about pledging loyalty to the frat—it’s about developing relationships within your class, meeting people, and forming actual bonds.”
Not all traditions from the Sig Ep days are lost. Rose Buchdahl ’28, who joined Edon this spring, has been sharing some of her Dev tasks in her family group chat—only to realize that many of them echo what her older brother, a Yale alum, experienced in SigEp. Building a table and early morning runs are some rituals that they have both endured.
But now that the group is co-ed, its members are acutely aware of how physical tasks affect men and women differently. Rather than abandon tradition, they are intent on adapting it—modifying the tasks so that they endure, but in a way that feels more equitable.
During the run, Buchdahl noticed there was no pressure to keep a certain pace; a walking group was available, and even the running group moved at a comfortable, reasonable speed. “I think the intention is always that this is supposed to be fun, community-building,” she said. “They never want it to feel like I’m incapable of running at this pace [either because] I’m a woman or because I’m not in as good shape. I think they’re trying to be inclusive, even in the ways that they’re maintaining certain traditions from the old.”
Similarly, Aeris has introduced a pledge process. This year, three “Pledge Moms” oversee the process, their role mirroring that of Dev Chairs. The tasks themselves, Sofia Prieto Black ’27, one of this year’s Pledge Moms, described as “weird, silly tasks”—things like performing interpretive dances in Starr Library or participating in a group wolf howl in Commons.
Since this is only their second year of disaffiliation, the process is still evolving. Last year, pledges filled out a Google Form ranking how difficult they wanted the process to be. This year, they scrapped that. “I was a big proponent of removing it because it gave people an excuse to not be as bought in,” Prieto Black said. “We really just want people who are excited to be together and will actually lean into meeting new people and integrating themselves into the new community, so, often that is in alignment with doing embarrassing things.”
Both Edon and Aeris have refined their traditions beyond pledging, often layering in new structures or making subtle linguistic shifts to reflect their changing identities. Aeris, for instance, created a leadership role dedicated to Risk, ensuring that pledging remains within clear boundaries. Instead of the conventional “bigs and littles,” new Edon members refer to upperclassmen as “Uncles and Aunties,” and upperclassmen refer to pledges as “Predons”—a minor but intentional reframing.
Edon also imitates Yale’s secret society culture, incorporating 45-minute “bios,” during which new members recount their life stories to their Dev class. The group also meets every Thursday, a subtle homage to the societies’ long-standing traditions. This selective borrowing—adapting rituals from other social groups to create something new—is possible only when an organization operates without fixed boundaries.
Financial independence has also reshaped their priorities. Without national oversight, these groups decide how to allocate dues and which organizations to support through philanthropy. Aeris allows members to vote on which organizations to fundraise for—last year, they chose The Diaper Bank of Connecticut. Edon avoids formal fundraisers or ticketed events, prioritizing accessibility in their social gatherings, and has Predons volunteer at local soup kitchens as part of their Dev tasks.
Aeris has worked to expand financial aid—something Panhellenic organizations are not permitted to provide. “Each semester since disaffiliation, we’ve seen more applications for aid—an encouraging sign that our membership is becoming more socioeconomically diverse and that members feel comfortable asking for assistance,” said Robertson.
Aeris takes a less extended approach, structuring its recruitment over a week, similar to the Panhellenic rush. But unlike the sorority recruitment—initially structured as three rounds of six, fifteen, and thirty minutes—Aeris revised its process after its first year. Now, the second round consists of two 30-minute coffee chats, each with a pair of Aeris members and a PNM. They also covered the cost of coffee for everyone rushing.
This switch made a difference. “Their intention behind actually sitting down to get to know the girls, [and taking] so much time out of their days… They weren’t doing just one coffee; they were doing multiple,” said Skye Wu ’28, an Aeris pledge. “I think that really says something about the girls that were willing to sit down for hours and just simply get to know the people.”
From the start, Fence, Edon, and Aeris have kicked off their rush processes with launch parties—an introduction for PNMs to get a feel for the organization. After all, at their core, these groups are meant for partiers.
What sets these parties apart is that women are either co-hosts or the ones hosting them. “I don’t think Edon’s immune to [the common issues with Greek life], just because there are women and queer people in this space,” said Makda Assefa ’26, a former Rush chair and DEI chair. “But something I appreciated about Edon was that women weren’t just guests at the party; they were the hosts. I still go to frat parties, but I felt very empowered being able to say, ‘This is partially my party.’”
Manriquez highlighted the impact of having a female-led space for hosting parties. As a Communication and Consent Educator (CCE), she works to foster a healthier social and sexual climate on campus. “I go to an Aeris party, and many people tell me, ‘Oh my god, I feel so much [calmer],’ or ‘I don’t have a bunch of guys circling me, staring at me.’ Of course, we don’t throw perfect parties, and we still have room for improvement, and we don’t host that often.” She added that while she enjoys attending male-hosted parties as well, the inclusion of a female-hosted space simply “diversifies options.”
The reality is that while these groups offer more options, the pool of party spaces at Yale remains small. Party culture here is an afterthought, not a foundation. It’s not that serious; the biggest selling point for Jang to join Fence was “that people actually get down at [Fence] parties.”
He also just loves the music. “Like there’s a lot of gay music. A lot of early 2000 songs and they play the new Lady Gaga song a lot,” he said.
Yet, despite the small presence of party culture at Yale, Manriquez still poured much of her energy into Aeris. “Aeris is my baby,” she repeated throughout our conversation.
As a “founding mother,” she had to negotiate with Phi Pi’s national leadership to allow the group to disaffiliate and secure a two-thirds majority vote from members. She filed the 501(c)(7) paperwork—using the same accountant as LEO—and helped draft the organization’s 25-page bylaws. A third of the membership was directly involved in the leadership board.
“Some people criticized us, saying, ‘Oh, they’re just renaming themselves.’ I think that’s incorrect. We’re handling the budget all on our own,” Manriquez said. “We’re handling insurance and risk on our own. We’re running literally everything by ourselves.” She said that now that they do not have a larger organization to guide them, the Executive Board has had to put in a lot more work.
At the same time, not having a national organization can deter PNMs from rushing. An anonymous freshman who made it to the last round of Kappa Alpha Theta, Alpha Phi, and Aeris ultimately chose Theta because “national organizations have better infrastructure and support systems.” She continued to explain that the national organization offers scholarships and access to networking through alumni or other Thetas at other schools.
Despite not having a national organization, the groups work hard to create the same structural support, aiming to provide the same level of resources and guidance. The work that goes into these organizations is immense, yet it rarely makes it onto a résumé. But for people like Manriquez, the effort to remake these institutions has always been about something else. Prieto Black, who had formative experiences pledging, stepped into leadership roles for the same reason. It’s simple: These are people who thrive on community, who relish meeting new people, and who want to ensure that future classes can experience the same sense of belonging—and the same fun—that they once did.
“I wanted to help shape it into all the potential it had—to fulfill it, to realize its truest form, to reach what the founding mothers had envisioned,” said Prieto Black.
While starting from a small foundation presents logistical challenges, it also offers members a rare freedom—the power to shape the organization entirely in their vision.