When Kylan Darnell arrived at the University of Alabama from a small town in Ohio in 2022, she didn’t know what “rushing” meant. “Girls would run up to me and say, ‘Kylan, are you rushing? That’s the only way you can get friends.’ I was like, ‘What are you talking about?’” she recalls.
What began as a naïve initiation into sorority recruitment quickly became an internet sensation. On the first day of rush, the highly ritualised sorority recruitment process (especially entrenched at Southern universities), she filmed an OOTD and sent it to her family group chat. Her mother urged her to post it. By the end of that day, the video had six million views. From there, she began posting daily rush updates, from hair tutorials to emotional check-ins about the highs and lows of the week.
Now crowned the queen of RushTok, Darnell has parlayed that moment into 1.3 million TikTok followers and a six-figure influencer career, using brand partnerships to pay her way through college. This year alone, content tied to her rush journey generated an estimated five billion views across platforms, while in just four years she’s partnered with over 50 brands, including Bloom, Revolve, Walmart and Anastasia Beverly Hills.
She’s not alone. Since its emergence in 2021, RushTok — the TikTok subculture chronicling sorority recruitment – has evolved from niche curiosity to full-blown cultural phenomenon, with its hashtag now attached to more than 111 million posts. “RushTok is like watching a miniseries,” says MaryLeigh Bliss, chief content officer at youth culture agency YPulse. “It’s not just college students who are watching, either. It has a cross-generational, global appeal that traditional college campus marketing does not.”
It’s why brands are racing to keep pace. Fizzy drink brand Poppi customised cans for sorority “work week” and even sent ambassador Alix Earle to visit chapters, while beauty label Good Molecules turned recruitment season into a mass sampling opportunity. Fashion retailers have been quick to follow suit: Princess Polly seeded “rush-ready” outfits to creators with dedicated discount codes, while Revolve spotlighted curated looks in real time through influencer partnerships. Meanwhile, Kendra Scott tapped recruitment vloggers to showcase sorority-friendly jewellery, and Maybelline sent “recruitment survival kits” stocked with mascara and concealer to trending creators documenting the process.
Although not every brand calls out sorority recruitment directly, many are eager to harness the cultural buzz it’s created. Skims, for instance, recently launched a nationwide campus campaign tapping sororities across the US. While not explicitly tied to rush, its first dedicated Campus Collection highlighted “dorm-approved and lecture-ready” staples modelled by real students dubbed the “Skims Class of 2025.” Similarly, Alex Cooper’s podcast platform Unwell issued an open casting call for sorority members to host a new show on its network — further proof that the ripple effects of RushTok now extend well beyond Greek life itself.
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“College influencers have a huge influence on younger girls,” Darnell says on the appeal. “I remember being in high school and always watching what college girls did. Whatever they wore, I wanted to wear.”
RushTok: The new reality TV
Each August, as thousands of women line up to join sororities at Alabama and other Southern universities, TikTok feeds fill with pledges — known as potential new members or PNMs — posting carefully styled outfits, dorm-room confessionals and the minutiae of “rush week”. The content is serialised, unfolding in real time, with audiences waiting for the big reveal on “bid day”.
“Fans can expect it, as opposed to so many viral moments where you have no idea when they’re coming,” says Bliss. “RushTok is a little bit of a sigh of relief… you know it’s going to come every year, and it coincides with back-to-school, which brands love.”
That timing is critical. Back-to-school is retail’s second biggest season after the holidays, with college students buying new wardrobes, beauty products and accessories to make an impression on the first day. RushTok content dovetails perfectly with that instinct, turning “first-day looks” into mass viewership that drives shopping behaviour.
As September approaches, TikTok users are showing off bags stuffed full of back-to-school buys — some spending thousands of dollars. From Urban Outfitters to Longchamp, brands are cashing in.
Crucially, the “characters” in this annual mini-series are rarely mega-influencers. “They might have hundreds of thousands [of followers], and when you combine them into a scene together, they have a lot of clout,” Bliss notes. “But they’re largely nano-influencers who are at college authentically sharing their lives.” According to YPulse, 55 per cent of young consumers say they trust recommendations from “regular people they don’t know”, compared with 45 per cent who trust influencers with large followings. That relatability — dorm rooms rather than luxury lofts — is what makes RushTok creators feel authentic, even as brands begin to work with them.
The challenge then, she notes, is authenticity erosion. “The more famous a student gets from RushTok, the less they feel like a regular peer. The more brands an influencer promotes, the less likely young people are to see it as authentic. That’s the trap of online fame.”
“Everybody calls the University of Alabama the influencer college now,” Darnell says. “Sororities are becoming more hesitant about influencers. My sophomore year, we had a lot of girls who saw what I did, wanted to do it and posted their videos — which I loved. But some dropped out of sororities or even college when they didn’t get famous. That’s become a problem. There’s also the fact that we’re young girls, so yes, we’re going to make mistakes. But our mistakes reflect on a whole national organisation.”
It’s why she says she’s heard rumours that the college might not allow RushTok anymore. Already, some selective “Old Row” sorority houses at the University of Alabama have dropped prospective members outright if they post about the process during recruitment, with other houses considering such measures to prevent posting, too.
Beneath a potential wider campus ban, though, lies a deeper tension: participation in sorority life can cost thousands of dollars each semester, from membership dues and housing fees to the wardrobes required to keep up appearances. At Alabama, first-year members typically pay over $4,000 in dues their very first semester, while some PNMs spend five figures on rush consultants and curated “OOTDs”. It means that for all its relatability, RushTok is rooted in privilege. For brands, the question becomes how far to lean in.
“It’s important to remember these are new influencers, many of whom are not fully established and just starting to navigate life as a new college student. Brands need to be smart and strategic in how they approach these moments and partnerships, as brand safety could be a risk without proper vetting and oversight,” says Cait Marron, senior vice president of creative and strategy at Billion Dollar Boy.
The new campus battleground
For decades, brands have sought to win college loyalty early, embedding themselves in campus culture through grassroots tactics. Red Bull’s Student Marketeers, launched in 1987, slipped cans into late-night library sessions; Victoria’s Secret Pink ran a long-standing campus rep programme built around giveaways and events. Today, RushTok is rewriting the playbook.
“We first saw our brand really explode on TikTok during Bama Rush 2020, and honestly, we were shocked by the overwhelming presence. Suddenly, LoveShackFancy dresses and minis were everywhere on feeds,” says Rebecca Hessel Cohen, founder and creative director of New York City-based lifestyle brand LoveShackFancy.
Unlike polished influencer campaigns, RushTok engagement initially felt raw and community-driven. “There was this insane swell of excitement,” Cohen explains. “It wasn’t about dictating content, it was about meeting PNMs and sorority girls where they were. We leaned into what was already happening, whether that meant surprise activations like floral vending machines, sorority house makeovers, or simply celebrating the LoveShackFancy-themed events students were throwing on their own. It’s really about amplifying their creativity, not replacing it.”
That lesson crystallised when Cohen first stepped into a sorority house during a Kendra Scott collaboration at the University of Texas. “I grew up in New York City, outside of campus or sorority culture, so I didn’t fully get it at first. But seeing how these girls were throwing full-on themed parties with our pieces — it clicked.” Since then, the brand has built sorority touchpoints into its wider campus strategy, from formals and game days to parents’ weekends and dorm makeovers.
Still, RushTok doesn’t render older models obsolete. “College ambassador programmes are tried and true,” says YPulse’s Bliss. Typically, these initiatives recruit students to act as on-campus extensions of the brand — hosting events and distributing samples to their peers. “Brands have done them for years, and I think this is more of an evolution than a replacement. They shouldn’t abandon that on-the-ground tactic, which is also authentic.”
Many brands are now layering RushTok visibility on top of long-running ambassador networks. In 2024, LoveShackFancy launched its first ambassador programme, the LSF Besties, made up primarily of sorority and college students nationwide. They join a crowded field: Depop has leaned into student-led sustainability by sending ambassadors to host clothing swaps and secondhand fashion markets on campuses; Samsung’s campus representatives test-drive devices and stage product demos in dorms and student unions; while Vitaminwater has taken a wellness-led approach, placing its ambassadors at sports events and campus rec centres to seed brand affinity through free samples and lifestyle tie-ins.
The narrative hook of RushTok, with its built-in finale on bid day, is what makes RushTok such a powerful on-ramp for brands. Surely that means there’s an expiry date on this playbook? “If someone is charismatic, then it makes sense to work with them beyond RushTok — just as you would with any nano-creator,” says YPulse’s Bliss. “But year-long campaigns around RushTok creators don’t always have the same impact.”
Others are more optimistic. “RushTok has become a way for brands to get involved in the back-to-school season in a more exciting, unexpected way,” says Billion Dollar Boy’s Marron. “Brands can then organically follow these students throughout their college journeys for a longer-lead campaign,” she continues, noting that the college influencer economy will only grow over the coming years.
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