A little over four years ago, I was a newly-arrived first-year. I had recently returned from three days tramping over a soggy mountain in pouring rain, and was, at this point, unpacked (or, at least, I had books on shelves and Lucinda was friendly with the network and there were enough clothes in the closet that I wasn't living out of boxes, which are the important parts). I had met my roommate, and her mother had flown up from Florida, and they were off somewhere purchasing whiteboards and bed risers and a 50-ft ethernet cable so we didn't tripwire ourselves on my 25-ft one, which, contrary to popular belief, was not anything like long enough.
So I was alone in the room. A young woman with brown hair in a braid down to her waist, either entering or leaving the room around the corner from mine, noticed that my door was open and poked her nose in. "Hello," she said, "I'm teaclouds, but not actually the one who lives in this room; I live over there" (she pointed across the hall and down a ways) "and I'm one of the HPs -- House Presidents." We chatted, and she told me who my neighbors were, and I sorted out the disambiguation of names, and what with one thing and another, she wandered over and considered my bookshelf -- with some authority, recognizing sartorias's Crown Duel, and inquiring about Court Duel, "Is that the sequel?" She also approved of the fact that both my roommate and I had copies of Pride and Prejudice, which was revealed to be her favorite book. After a while she wandered away again.
Within an hour or so, I met the other House President, who also discussed the neighbors with me, approved Pride and Prejudice (which I had not yet read at that point, and promptly decided that I'd better hurry up and do so if I was going to live with these people for any length of time), and concluded, in general, that "I would fit in."
That evening, or perhaps the next day, when Roommate and Mother were off again, hunting for inflatable flamingos and margarita glasses, I met operafloozy-actually-my-neighbor, who approved of Pride and Prejudice as pointed out to her by teaclouds, then exclaimed, from halfway across the room, "Patricia C. Wrede!" pronouncing it correctly, ree-dee. Upon further examination of my bookshelf, she told me that I needed to come to SSFFS. Since SSFFS was one of the things that I distinctly remembered from visiting on Accepted Students Day, I told her that I intended to. "No," she said, "you REALLY need to come to SSFFS." I did not object, and we had further iterations of this conversation over the weeks before the first meeting, with occasional input from estelwen. I think that by the time the first meeting actually happened, they would have marched me there in a straightjacket had I shown the slightest resistance. I suppose her impression of me was also tempered by the fact that I was not in tears upon the sight of the room, which there was apparently precedent for.
I can't recall if estelwen judged the Miriam by her book covers. I rather suspect she did, and, having the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy on my college bookshelf (if not the Silmarillion . . . at least, I don't think I had the Silmarillion at that point), I imagine I passed muster.