Of all the college experiences I anticipated when I started that stretch of my education, joining a sorority was not one of them. I grew up inundated with the message that sorority girls were vapid airheads who only spent their time in college as a thinly veiled excuse to party and hook up with any frat guys within spitting distance. However, throughout my freshmen year, I came to befriend many different women who belonged to the sororities represented on campus and found all those misogynistic stereotypes to be false. These women were strong leaders, hardworking students, staunch activists, and kind individuals who I came to admire. So when my sophomore year rolled around, I found myself going through the trials of pledging, coming out a full-fledged sorority girl on the other side. And I have never regretted it.

What all the tired tropes and media depictions obfuscate, is that sororities aren’t made up of caricatured women or fixated on the party lifestyle. It’s first and foremost a sisterhood; a group of disparate women bonded together by choice, building familial bonds that often last a lifetime and can weather any storm. It’s been rare for me to find any films that accurately reflect my experiences as a sorority girl and combat the negative stereotypes. As unlikely as it may seem, the original Black Christmas (1974) as well as both remakes, released in 2006 and 2019, are the exceptions that showcase complex, nuanced portrayals of sororities and the bonds of sisterhood formed therein. (Spoilers ahead for all three Black Christmas films)

Considered to be one of the first slasher films, Black Christmas (1974) - with its shocking death sequences, unique camera POVs, and politically charged (even if unintentionally) subplots - is undoubtedly a stone-cold cult classic. It’s not the first slasher film I’ve seen; it’s just the first one I noticed that kept its female characters front and center. No one is merely fodder for gruesome kills. None of them are trapped in the role of dutiful, helpless girlfriend. Not a single woman is either denied her agency for being one or demeaned for being part of a sorority. Even by today’s standards in film, that’s amazing. Of course, the film has its final girl in Jess, but her fellow sisters are just as important, especially the uncouth and rebellious Barb (played to perfection by an irreplaceable Margot Kidder). They all take center stage at some point, even when they aren’t onscreen.

The moment the first victim, Claire Harrison, goes missing, Jess and the other sisters rally everyone to search for her and her absence is felt by everyone, whether expressed in fearful tears or drunken misanthropy. Throughout the story, we see Jess either find comfort in her sisters (emotionally leaning on Phyl when she’s dealing with the harassing phone calls and police investigation), showing concern for them (rallying whoever she can to find Claire as soon as she goes missing), and looking after them (helping Barb through an asthma attack and comforting her after experiencing the stalker’s presence through a nightmare).

In one of the film’s most tense moments, Jess is told by Officer Nash that “the calls are coming from the house” and that she needs to immediately leave. But her first thought is for Barb and Phyl, still in the house with her and she can’t bear to leave them behind. This focus on strengthened bonds formed between sorority sisters is part of what makes this film a feminist triumph for me; a film that never loses sight of women as people and how sororities actually function, not what clichés make them out to be.

While the original Black Christmas didn’t spawn any sequels, a remake came along in 2006 that attempted to modernize the material as well as provide more background information on the infamous killer “Billy” introduced in the original. It’s debatable on whether or not it’s a worthy successor to the original (studio interference notwithstanding), but one aspect of the remake that’s mostly in line with the source material is its focus on sisterhood. Our protagonist this time around is a young woman named Kelli, an only child who has found the sibling bonds she’s craved in her sorority sisters.

As in with the original, the tension ratchets up when their sister Clair goes missing, but this time around her biological half-sister Leigh storms the house looking for her and teams up with Kelli to take down the killers. The focus on sisterhood in the remake is mostly depicted in how much more powerful and meaningful families of choice are. When the house mother, played by original cast member Andrea Martin, wants to leave to get help, Kelli is against it, arguing that they’re safer if they stick together and that she won’t abandon her missing sisters. Soft and kind moments of sisterly bonding are also peppered within the film; a noteworthy one is when Melissa helps an older sister, Lauren, when she gets sick.

“You know, you’re a better sister to me than my own sister,” Lauren declares to Melissa, who retorts with, “Yeah, and Dick Cheney is a better sister to you than your sister,” but not without fondness in her voice. Despite only knowing each other for a few hours, Leigh and Kelli fight tooth and nail to help and rescue each other; their only common link is the sorority they belong to (past-tense, in Leigh’s case) and Clair, who is a sister to both of them, albeit in different ways. Despite the uptick in extreme gore and the focus on understanding Billy distracting from this theme, the remake still makes sure to emphasis that it’s not the sisters you’re born with that matter, but the ones you find.

Despite sharing less narrative connections to the original, the 2019 remake is closer in spirit to the original Black Christmas, proudly displaying its feminist influences and progressive female characters. Instead of one named threat, the sorority sisters in this version of the slasher classic are threatened by the very institution of patriarchy itself. College senior Riley is our heroine this time around, a woman grappling with the trauma of rape and how to move past it, while no one aside from her sisters even believed it happened. She, along with the support of her sisters, partakes in a triumphant public send-up of frat boy rape culture (to the tune of “Up on the Housetop,” which I absolutely adored), facing her own rapist in the process. But in the wake of this short-lived victory, Riley and her sisters are plagued by nasty anonymous messages and the disappearances of fellow sisters. This culminates in them being attacked in their own sorority house by a group of masked men who turn out to be fraternity brothers possessed by the deeply misogynistic founder of the college who happened to dabble in the dark arts (I found this more believable than a disturbed young man who bakes his mom’s flesh into Christmas cookies).

What separates the portrayal of sisterhood in this version is how those bonds are tested and strengthened not only in times of extreme duress, but in the trials of everyday life. The true horror in this version of Black Christmas is, aside from the occult influence, how women have to deal with patriarchal oppression, demeaning comments, disbelief, misogynistic taunts, and general sexism on a daily basis. And for many of us, we deal with it alone. But that’s the beauty of sisterhood and of sororities: you discover you aren’t alone, that there’s a whole group of women who will stand beside you, comfort you, fight for you through all of the pain you can experience from men.

My time as part of a sorority has gifted me with some of the most important people in my life, who have helped me through both intense situations and the daily grind. That isn’t to say sororities are perfect; there’s always work to be done in combating racism, homophobia, and internalized misogyny (the 2019 remake addresses that last point through a third act betrayal which highlights how not all of your sisters are on your side). And not all sisters have personalities and perspectives that mesh well, leading to plenty of disagreements and infighting, something that all three Black Christmas films touch on in some way or another (Barb’s comments on Claire as a “professional virgin,” the digs at class differences in the 2006 remake, and the differing tactics of fighting back employed by Kris and Riley).

But no matter what, at the end of the day, I can take comfort in knowing my sisters are there for me, just like the sisters are in every one of those films. They were some of the first people to accept me when I came out, introduce me to some of my now favorite hobbies, give me room to express/embarrass myself, and provide me with the boundless love I never knew I was looking for. As long as I’m alive, I will be proud to be a sorority girl.