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That is something we need.
Do you have a link to a blog post?
I wondered about that, to what extent that is its own hierarchy, but all I had was speculation and anecdote, no evidence. It was more observable in high school than college for me, but I didn't go to school in the south.
Further cementing my belief that Claude 3.5 Sonnet is the only LLM that can write worth a damn:
Pride and Rush
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single freshman in possession of a good wardrobe must be in want of a bid. However little known the feelings or views of such a young woman may be on her first entering campus, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding sororities, that she is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their houses.
"My dear Elizabeth," said Mrs. Bennet to her daughter one morning in their Tuscaloosa hotel room, "have you selected your rush week outfits? You know the first round begins tomorrow."
Elizabeth Bennet, who had been arranging her perfectly pressed blouses by shade of white, merely nodded. She had heard quite enough about rush from her mother since their arrival from Longbourn, Georgia, three days prior.
"Lady Catherine de Bourgh's niece, Anne, is legacy at Delta Nu," continued Mrs. Bennet, fanning herself with a recruitment pamphlet. "Such connections! And to think, if only my own dear sisters had attended Alabama, you might have been legacy somewhere yourself."
"I assure you, Mama, I am quite content to make my own way," said Elizabeth, though she knew this would bring little comfort to her mother's anxious spirits. The whole business of formal recruitment struck her as rather ridiculous – all these elaborate social niceties, performed with precision timing under the sweltering Alabama sun.
"Jane has already made such an impression at orientation," Mrs. Bennet continued, speaking of Elizabeth's elder sister. "That Caroline Bingley, the Recruitment Chair at Kappa, absolutely doted on her. Such refinement! Such grace!"
Elizabeth smiled, for she could not disagree about Jane's natural elegance. Her sister possessed exactly the sort of gentle manner that seemed calculated to win over even the most discriminating of sorority women. Elizabeth, on the other hand, found she could not help but view the whole proceedings with a degree of bemused skepticism.
"And have you heard?" Mrs. Bennet lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Mr. Bingley's friend, that Darcy fellow – the one from the old Mountain Brook family – is serving as a recruitment advisor to his sister's house. They say he's terribly proud, but with five generations at Alabama, I suppose one might be."
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. She had glimpsed this Mr. Darcy during orientation, standing aloof from the cheerful chaos of move-in day, his crimson tie perfectly knotted despite the August heat. She had thought him handsome, to be sure, but his expression of general disdain for all around him had rather diminished the effect.
The afternoon wore on, Mrs. Bennet fluttering between her daughters' rooms, dispensing advice about conversation topics and the proper way to cross one's ankles. Elizabeth found her thoughts returning to the week ahead – the houses she would visit, the conversations she would have, and yes, even that proud Mr. Darcy, who seemed to embody everything both magnificent and ridiculous about this peculiar Southern institution she was about to enter.
Little did she know how significantly these next few days would alter the course of her freshman year – and indeed, her life.
Pride and Rush
[Previous chapter remains the same...]
Chapter 2
The first morning of recruitment dawned bright and merciless, the Alabama sun already asserting its dominance over the manicured lawns of Sorority Row. Elizabeth, dressed in a carefully selected sundress that her mother had deemed "not quite the thing, but it will have to do," found herself assembled with hundreds of other young women in the grand ballroom of the student center.
"Potential New Members," announced Charlotte Lucas, a sophomore Rho Gamma who had been assigned to Elizabeth's recruitment group, "remember to smile, be yourself, and trust the process." Charlotte, who had temporarily denounced her own sorority affiliation to serve as an impartial guide, delivered these platitudes with what Elizabeth detected as the slightest hint of irony.
Jane, naturally, looked perfectly composed despite the early hour. Her blonde hair fell in elegant waves, and her white dress seemed to repel both wrinkles and nervous perspiration. "Lizzy," she whispered, "do try to keep an open mind. Everyone says these houses have such different personalities."
"Oh yes," Elizabeth replied with a arch smile, "I'm particularly looking forward to discovering the subtle distinctions between the thirty different versions of 'Sweet Home Alabama' we'll hear today."
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Caroline Bingley, resplendent in her Kappa leadership polo, her auburn hair arranged in the sort of casual updo that required no less than forty-five minutes to achieve. She was accompanied by none other than Mr. Darcy himself, who appeared to be inspecting the recruitment arrangements with all the enthusiasm of a man attending his own funeral.
"Jane, darling!" Caroline trilled, skillfully ignoring Elizabeth's existence. "You must be so excited. First rounds are such fun – though of course, some houses are more... selective about their future sisters than others."
"I'm sure every house has its own wonderful qualities," Jane replied diplomatically.
Mr. Darcy's expression suggested he strongly disagreed with this generous assessment, though he said nothing. His eyes swept the room with what Elizabeth could only interpret as disapproval, lingering briefly on her own decidedly unfashionable hometown boutique dress.
"I suppose some of us must content ourselves with whatever bids we receive," Elizabeth said sweetly, meeting Darcy's gaze with deliberate challenge. "We can't all have five generations of legacy to recommend us."
A flash of something – surprise, perhaps, or irritation – crossed Darcy's features before he resumed his mask of indifference. "Legacy status means little without the proper... qualities to maintain our standards."
"And what qualities might those be, Mr. Darcy? The ability to look down one's nose at perfect strangers?"
Caroline Bingley's carefully penciled eyebrows shot up towards her hairline. Jane looked mortified. But before Darcy could respond, a chime sounded through the ballroom, signaling the start of first rounds.
"All PNMs to your groups!" Charlotte called out, saving Elizabeth from whatever cutting response Darcy might have formulated. As she took her place in line, Elizabeth couldn't help but notice Darcy watching her retreat, his expression unreadable.
The day stretched before them: twelve houses to visit, each for precisely twenty minutes, with three minutes between to hurry down the row to the next destination. Elizabeth steeled herself for what promised to be an exhausting parade of identical conversations about her potential major (English literature, to her mother's despair) and her high school activities (debate club captain, which had already earned her several concerned looks from the more traditional Southern belles in her group).
As she climbed the pristine white steps of the first house, already echoing with synchronized clapping and singing, Elizabeth reflected that Mr. Darcy's disdain might not be entirely misplaced – though she would rather die than admit it. Still, she was here now, and she intended to make the best of it, if only to prove to certain parties that a girl from small-town Georgia could navigate these rarefied social waters with as much grace as any Mountain Brook debutante.
The massive door swung open, releasing a blast of air conditioning and the perfectly harmonized strains of what was, indeed, "Sweet Home Alabama."
This is actually good. I may die laughing when Clippy comes for my haemoglobin.
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Dalrock deleted his blog, IIRC, so unless he's saved excerpts, it's not really an option to go read it.
It is archived at Redpill Archive
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Tide and Prejudice
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