American Scientist

It was my PhD’s fifth birthday last week. My PhD birthday has always been an awkward anniversary for me, because it’s both a reminder of what I’ve accomplished, along with what I’ve yet to accomplish—namely, securing the tenure-track job that’s been my goal for so long. This year, PhD Day was a bit different: I recently accepted a position in the Department of Biological Sciences at Kent State University, and I’ll finally be starting my lab this fall. My mind was occupied with lab renovations, plans for hiring staff, collaborating with new colleagues, and learning about the area I will be moving to. But for me, and for many others too, being on the tenure-track market has been a trial of endurance.

My good news came close on the heels of biologist Jeremy Yoder’s analysis of his academic job search. In his analysis, Yoder examined the last two years he spent on the North American tenure-track job market as a postdoctoral researcher—in all, he sent out 112 applications and ended the season this year with three job offers, one which he has accepted. In Yoder’s article, he offered two main observations to academic job seekers: First, apply for everything that seems like it could possibly fit, to maximize your chances of getting interviews. Second, he argued that “probability works”—meaning that your odds of getting an offer are about 1 in n, where n is the number of candidates that applied for a job.

The analysis presented by Yoder prompted academic Twitter to compare notes under the hashtag #TotalToTT. A wide range of responses were recorded—from those who landed their dream job with the first application, to those who sent out applications numbering in the hundreds before receiving an offer, to those that left the academic track entirely after receiving no offers or only offers they did not want.

As it did for many others, Yoder’s experience resonated with me. He’d spent five years as a postdoc, and was this year hitting the market very hard. What emerged, though, was that many people had to weather numerous years searching for a job before securing a position that “fit.” For some, the path to a tenure-track position was simply much longer than others.

Over my four years on the tenure-track market (at least in some form), I’ve sent out just over 80 applications, had 17 phone interviews, and visited 12 campuses for interviews. Those four years of being on the market also included two postdoctoral appointments, a whole lot of papers, a prestigious fellowship, some small grant successes, many student mentees, travel, teaching, and the birth of my second child. This period has been successful both personally and professionally. Yet they’ve also been some of the hardest years of my life.

These difficulties stem almost entirely from problems relating to being a postdoc on the academic job market: the uncertainty of short academic contracts, the time spent customizing application packages and pestering mentors for letters of reference, living on a fixed income while supporting a growing family, and agonizing about whether to say no to “opportunities” that would look good on my curriculum vitae but would stretch me too thin.

The process has been long, and it’s made me very cognizant of the filters and bottlenecks those on my path experience. Many of my colleagues and friends have left this path before finding a tenure-track job that fits because the costs were too great or the constraints became incompatible with their lives (I hesitate to use the leaky pipeline metaphor because my friends who have chosen to leave or who have been pushed out of this path are not people I would describe as “drips”).

Like most young scientists, I was advised that the academic job market is mostly about “fit”—once you have a good publication record, a good network of collaborators, a bit of teaching experience, and a bit of grant money, you’re essentially “qualified” for the jobs in your field. What exactly “fit” meant was ill-defined. I came out of grad school believing my work would speak for itself, that the meritocracy of academia would sort things out, and that it would be easy to find my fit. I didn’t realize how much “fit” interacted with a person’s identity and situation. And, indeed, what a remarkable amount of privilege and luck are required to simply survive on the market for as long as is necessary to find the tenure-track position that fits.

The filters of “fit” dramatically shape both the applicant pool and those who secure faculty positions, which in turn shape the diversity we observe in academia. People who are an odd “fit”—and I would argue that this means anyone who deviates from the expectations, conscious or otherwise, of what a scientist is within a given field—will generally require more time on the market to find their place. The further a scientist deviates from the norms, the more elusive that “fit” will be. As such, “fit” operates not only on one’s academic field, but also on its intersections with academic pedigree, gender, sexuality, race, ethnicity, class, dis/ability, appearance, and family status—and the interactions thereof.

The elusive “fit” factor doubly penalizes academics from disadvantaged socioeconomic brackets: Not only do they have to contend with the impact of social class markers on their perceived fit for a position, but also they have fewer buffers for surviving lower-paying postdoctoral years.  Similar problems arise for postdocs with dependents or other familial responsibilities—and such burdens fall disproportionately on women. As postdoctoral positions are increasing in competitiveness, too, remaining employed as a postdoc through multiple positions can require either an extensive network of monied collaborators or a willingness to move anywhere in the world. And it’s not typical for moving costs to be subsidized for postdocs. Those constrained by finances, child or elder care, or any other aspect of their identity may not be able to follow the “best” advice for getting that tenure-track job, leading to further disadvantages in a competitive pool of tenure-track job seekers—and this is before cases of overt bias in hiring are even considered. The filters against diversity are strong, starting very early in the academic path, and the academic tenure-track gauntlet has created a process that selects for endurance from the people who are least likely to be able to buffer a marathon job search.

So how did I find my fit? Not easily.

I am an odd fit. I’m an interdisciplinary scientist (I work at the intersection of entomology, ecology, and data science). I’m also a woman, a mother, an immigrant, and fat—all aspects of a person’s identity that have been associated with negative impacts on hiring chances. I grew up in a blue-collar town and have retained many of the mannerisms and cultural signals. My PhD is from a solid Canadian comprehensive school that is not as well recognized in the United States. Yet I also have some distinct advantages: I speak English with a Great Lakes accent, so I easily “pass” for a Midwestern American. I have supportive mentors and an exceptionally supportive spouse who left his career to care for our children full time. I have had all the necessary supports to maintain a high level of productivity during my postdoctoral years.

I was also in a good position to buffer a longer job search: A major factor in my longevity on the market was that I started out as a debt-free postdoc. My mother passed away late in my PhD program, leaving me with a small inheritance sufficient to wipe out my and my spouse’s student debts. This path is hardly one I can endorse, yet I remain grateful for my mother’s final gift to me that allowed me to pursue this career. Without the advantage of being debt-free, I simply would not have lasted long enough on the market to find my fit.

I started out in the market with a more targeted approach—applying for jobs in my more conservative and traditional PhD field. During this time, I was very successful at getting interviews, but “fit” was pretty clearly a major player in not getting offers. In some cases, the “fit” issues were apparent to both parties; in other cases, the “fit” issues were news to me—and, frankly, very painful to receive because they cut to the core of my identity. “We think you take the department too far from its roots.” “We saw you as more of a teacher.” “We didn’t see you as independent from your [male] mentor.” There were questions during interviews about balancing work and life, and how my kids and husband handled it when I traveled. (I know these are “illegal” questions. They came up routinely, nevertheless.) I fairly quickly realized that this approach was not going to work for me, so I spent the next several years refocusing, building my credibility in the pure ecology community, and broadening my search. This strategy, in the end, was one that worked.

I’m absolutely thrilled with where I’ve landed, but the process has made me reflective. There’s a fundamental inequity in recommending that job seekers apply for every possible job to improve their odds, because the number of applications is the only quantifiable factor correlated with probability of success. The opportunity cost—the time spent applying and interviewing—can be significant and costly and may not be necessary for all (further exacerbating inequality). Costs of the job search are both professional—measured in lost productivity—and, quite substantially, financial. For example, travel costs are most often paid up front by the candidate, and later reimbursed. This setup can be a real strain for a postdoc living close to their financial edge, and multiple interviews in a single season add up. Further, reimbursements don’t typically include indirect expenses of traveling for interviews, such as childcare costs.

The reality is that many brilliant scientists cannot afford to take this costly “marathon” strategy to job hunting. Until we meaningfully address the unequal filters for “fit” at the level of individual search, the road will continue to be longer for the scientists least able to buffer long job searches. Science is bleeding its diversity because of this, and it hurts us all.