It’s where Haley DeKreek, a 20-year-old junior, lives with her closest friends. It’s also the backdrop to her budding career. Her work takes place mostly in her room, but she picks up the rewards in the mailroom just off the foyer.

Perpetually suffused with floral perfume, it overflows with packages, many of them hers: boxes with dresses for formals or matching yoga sets, boxes of makeup, hair products and skin care. Some she ordered herself, but many are freebies from brands that have spotted her potential as a TikTok influencer, a one-girl campus marketing powerhouse. Nearly all are destined to appear in the many-stepped “get ready with me” videos she has posted since she was a first-year student rushing sororities.

With more than 45,000 TikTok followers, a gift for self-deprecating humor, a talent manager in Los Angeles and several paid brand deals (the biggest worth $3,000), Ms. DeKreek says she can now pay for all her own shopping, food, vacations and beauty services, just by doing what she has loved since kindergarten, when she played with her mom’s makeup and recorded videos making slime.

She never attends class — not in person, anyway. Her major, retail and consumer science, is entirely online. Apt, given her chosen career path: influencing.

Football players aren’t the only college students who have learned to sell their images for profit. The boom in sorority TikTok videos known as #Rushtok has proved, especially to marketers, that sorority sisters can command audiences all over America.

Ms. DeKreek’s sorority “big,” or mentor, has nearly 800,000 TikTok followers and a Porsche. Sisters at several sororities on Greek Row serve as brand ambassadors, posting about free products and hosting events like yoga on the lawn with the active wear company Alo. On Alpha Phi’s Instagram, the well-known fashion influencers Brigette and Danielle Pheloung visit to promote a “lower sugar” snack, and sorority sisters model brand-sponsored merchandise in posts accompanied by discount codes.

In a recent survey, nearly four in 10 Gen Z respondents said they would take a million social media followers over a steady 9-to-5 job. At several universities, including at the rival Arizona State University, students can now major in content creation.

Wednesday: Eyelash lift and tint, brow lamination, spray tan. Americans have spent the last year agog at male looksmaxxers, who hammer their own jaws and inject dubious substances in the name of beauty. But women have been practicing time-consuming, expensive, invasive and potentially self-destructive interventions for a long, long time. And they’re starting younger than ever: twentysomethings get Botox, teenagers get filler and preteens buy anti-aging skin care products.

DeKreek getting a spray tan. Gabriella Angotti-Jones for The New York Times

At 20, DeKreek says she has already had lip filler and breast reduction surgery (her large chest made everyday activities physically painful). There have also been multiple rounds of Botox in her forehead (to keep her eyebrows level), cheeks (to stop nighttime jaw-clenching), armpits (to stop sweating) and upper lip. She has a hairstylist for her extensions and a friend who gives her regular spray tans. Now an aesthetician gives her an eyebrow-smoothing treatment and then perma-curls her lashes.

Thursday: Skin care, wellness walk. DeKreek starts every day by applying six of the skin care products stored in a white mini-fridge on her vanity — the first half of her routine. Then she and her friend Lea Gorham power-walk through campus, each sporting under-eye patches that are supposed to brighten and de-puff the skin there. Gorham is debating whether to get lip filler or just a cheaper lip flip. She doesn’t like the way she smiles. “I don’t necessarily need it, but it’s, like, everyone else at this school has it,” she says.

Both procedures are available at a local med spa, where undergraduates can use CatCash — student bursary funds, generally replenished by parents — to pay for any noninjectable beauty service by swiping their student IDs.

Next comes a blowout before DeKreek and her friends get ready for “Greek wedding,” an annual tradition where sororities and fraternities stage mock weddings between senior girls and senior boys, complete with funny speeches and parties. She spends three hours prepping: hair, makeup, body glow, dress, jewelry. The next day brings DeKreek’s monthly facial.

The big day

DeKreek herself has never had a boyfriend. She describes college hookup culture and the dates she has been set up on as a “waste of time.” “I just want to focus on myself,” she said, “and the right one will come along at some point.” It’s a common sentiment among young women, who have fewer romantic relationships than those in past generations.

Saturday. It’s time for the big game. DeKreek and her roommate deftly paint, blend, dab, brush, spray and dry their faces. Taylor Swift, Beyoncé and Christina Aguilera sing from a speaker. The roommates’ friends burst in without knocking to rummage through their wardrobes, needing to borrow cutoffs and jewelry. DeKreek slides on a strapless gingham-and-lace mini-dress. Everyone is wearing identical tan knee-high boots, clomping to and fro.

This is what she means when she says, tenderly, “It’s like girlhood, all of us together.”

DeKreek and a friend at a homecoming tailgate party. Gabriella Angotti-Jones for The New York Times

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