Be Careful What You Wish For

Amanda Krauss left a position at Vanderbilt to become a web developer in Austin. She now blogs as Worst Professor Ever.

I got to know Amanda when I approached her about writing a Guest Post on her blog, the post that ended up as “Death of a Soul (on Campus).”  I loved her spirit from the first moment.  I definitely don’t always agree with her, but I always enjoy hearing what she has to say.

And on the post that follows?  I agree with her on this, her ultimate point: “know exactly why you’re doing it” (and for whom).

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I feel a little awkward writing for this audience, because I tend to think of academic “success” as an oxymoron, at least for those who weren’t hired way back in the Era of Achievable, Frequent, and Leisured Tenure.

I’ve already told Dr. Karen that most tenure-trackers I know are medicated, lonely/estranged, and barely holding their overworked lives together. My tenured acquaintances aren’t much better off; a recently-tenured friend suggested that there should be a tenure PSA playing off the “It Gets Better” campaign — except that the point of these ads would be that it doesn’t get better after tenure. Their words, not mine.

My guess is, you don’t want to hear that. If you’re reading this blog, you want to control your destiny and win the game. Well, okay, you can do that.* I’m not denying that persistence and savvy improve your odds.

So, to be very clear, I think Dr. Karen gives excellent advice here. I think she’s cutting through a lot of the BS you’ll get from idealistic (and unrealistic) advisors. Follow her advice, devote yourself single-mindedly to your task, and maybe you’ll get what you want. Only one question: then what?

While I was still a professor, I was doing all the right things. I was authoring articles, networking at conferences, working on the book. And the working was…working. I was “going places,” I guess. But I also had no life whatsoever; nor did any other academics I knew, anywhere — even those with tenure. There one always one more thing to do, one “last” obstacle before everything got super awesome (please see above re: why this is an illusion). I started to wonder how this lifestyle would look from a deathbed. Really not good, I decided, no matter how impressed anyone acted when I dropped the “professor at Vanderbilt” line. Surveying what I saw, I determined that academia systemically didn’t allow, let alone reward, any sort of work/life balance. Quite the opposite: narcissistic assholes thrived because they were most willing to do whatever it took to win.

Even if you’re a perfectly lovely person, it’s no fun to be in an environment that fetishizes external validation. I’ve seen folks so wrapped up in other people’s visions of success, they literally can’t articulate what they, as an individual, want. I’ve seen people get tenure, only to discover that it’s the only thing they have — and that, instead of providing any joy, it continues to interfere with finding meaningful relationships.

I’ve fought the urge to argue with academics who told me they were happy when all evidence pointed to the contrary; in reality, I think they felt they had to be happy at having nabbed a “dream” job. But by whose standards? And I don’t care what your individual situation is, academia is built on letting other people tell you when your career counts as successful – in writing, down to the year or semester or millisecond.

So, all I’d say is, brutal self-honesty is not a bad thing. If you’re going to kill yourself trying because success means just that much to you, great. As long as you know exactly why you’re doing it — in your own words, I mean, and not the ones that come from your Chair, Dean, mom, or neighbor. Or even from me.

* Sort of. I’m with Machiavelli, I think free will gets you slightly less than 50% of the way there.

 

 

Should I Use Interfolio?

Today’s Post is a Special Request post for XXX, who asked the $64,000 question: should I use a dossier service like Interfolio?

If I had my druthers, this post would run like my previous one on edited collections—ie, variations on “no.”

Fundamentally speaking, nobody who is on the scholarly, tenure track job market should be using a dossier service for their letters.

However, it has come to my attention that quite a few Ph.D.s on the market ARE using such services, for a range of reasons. The reasons that I’ve heard include the following:

  1. My professors insisted I use a service
  2. My professors have proven themselves to be totally unreliable and my only hope of being sure of letters arriving by the deadline is if they come from a service
  3. My professors seem really busy and I already bothered them last year, so this year I think I should use a service.
  4. I am a control freak and want to control how and when my letters are sent out.

There are only two reasons among these four that have a modicum (and it’s only a modicum) of validity.

These are #1 and #2 . If your professors have proven, through their past behavior, that they cannot and must not be counted on to provide letters on time for your job and postdoc and grant deadlines, then, and only then, are you justified in considering (not immediately turning to, but considering) a dossier service.

Similarly, if your professors have told you point blank that they refuse to write fresh letters for students in general/you in particular and that they will only consider providing one for a service, then, again, you may consider using a dossier service.

However, in principle, nobody who is on the scholarly, tenure track job market should be in a position in which their supporters are not writing them fresh letters.

The fact is, in all the searches I conducted (11) over the course of my career, I never once—not even one time—saw a candidate short short listed, ie, invited to a campus visit, who had a letter that came from a dossier service.

It is hard to overstate the importance of the personalized letter. The custom of personal letter writing reflects one of the most fundamental values of the academic community. Ph.D. level training is slow, painstaking, and highly individualized. It is not a mass market process, and it never can be. Its extreme personalization, based on a relationship built over years between a graduate student and his/her advisor, means that every Ph.D. student finishes with the personal imprimatur—and de facto sponsorship—of that advisor, as well as a committee of other deeply invested faculty members. These relationships at the heart of the graduate enterprise are reflected in the lengthy, detailed, and personal letters of reference that the advisor and committee member write for the student.

There is no clearer sign of the neoliberalization of higher ed than that this relationship has broken down to such a degree that there are advisors all across the country, including extremely well known and influential ones, who will do no more for their Ph.D. advisees than write a single generic letter to be put into a dossier file.

It is a core duty of faculty to write letters of recommendation. This is not an optional part of the job; it is a required part of the job. A faculty member certainly is not obliged to write for every student who asks. But a faculty member is obliged to write for those students whom he or she genuinely supports, and for whom he or she is a major element of their educational experience.

[Addendum: Faculty have computers.  Computers have files.  Letter files can be easily customized by simply adding a new heading/address, first paragraph, and closing paragraph. Each individual letter is not completely different.  Rather, each letter is sent out with a tailored address, a few sentences appropriate to the job, and a  live signature.

There may be field variation, with some fields more likely to accept such letters.

At the same time, it’s important to understand that the quantity of letters that a professor has to write is not in and of itself justification for turning to a service.  Many professors have lots of grad students applying for lots of jobs (my Ph.D.s applied for 25- 50 jobs in any given year, as did my colleagues’, and yet we all wrote personalized letters). It is typical in the Fall job season to hear faculty groaning about the “25 letters I have to write today,” etc. etc. ]

What does this mean for you, the applicant? It means that you need to start out with the expectation of having individualized, personalized, and tailored letters written for you for every single application you submit. It doesn’t matter how many applications you submit, or over how many years. You are justified in expecting that from your main group of recommenders. Just because they “seem” busy, or you “think” that you’re annoying them, doesn’t mean you should not ask them in a courteous but determined way.

If a letter writer is proving unreliable or obdurate, then the solution is not to then give up and beg for a dossier letter, but to find a different, and better, letter writer.

You are not tied to your committee members for your letters. In fact, the most successful candidates will have letters from leading scholars around the country, and not just from their Ph.D. granting institution. You cultivate these relationships over a period of years, by getting to know senior scholars in the field at conferences, during their visits to your campus, or through polite email correspondence. While asking external scholars to write for you can be delicate, as those scholars might have their own Ph.D. students on the market as your competition, nevertheless, it can often work very well indeed. And be aware that having a letter writer from outside your Ph.D. institution adds greatly to your reputation, in that when that letter writer indicates that you are among “the top 2% of students with whom he’s worked,” the total includes his university, in addition to your own.

It goes without saying that reason #4 has no place in the decision making process about letters for your applications. It should be evident by now why. The relationship of trust between the applicant and his or her letter writers is a reflection of the quality of the applicant’s graduate training itself. An applicant who is demonstrating that he or she does not have sufficient trust in faculty mentors to submit letters on their own is communicating a profound message about the quality of his or her graduate education and the attitude that he or she might bring to the new department.

Having said all of this, there are good and bad ways to request letters. A frantic email at midnight, 2 days before the due date, with no email address or mailing address or even full description of the thing being applied for is the bad way.

The good way is an excel spread sheet that has columns clearly listing:

the job/grant

the deadline

the contact email/website

the snail mail address (still essential for the heading of the letter, even when it is sent electronically)

the contact person’s name

the description of the job or grant

notes about the applicant’s ideas for tailoring and the strengths and weaknesses of his candidacy.

This spreadsheet should be created at least a month in advance of the deadlines, and 2 months in advance if possible.

If a candidate provides this exhaustive information in a timely fashion, then the occasional last minute lapse for a sudden, unexpected opportunity will be forgiven.

So to conclude, the dossier service is a poor, poor substitute for individual tailored letters. It is becoming more and more common in recent years, and is even being demanded by an increasing number of advisors. Nevertheless, candidates should be aware that they are entitled to expect individual letters from their dissertation advisors and committee members, and should be aware that the refusal to provide these represents a dereliction of duty. To the extent possible, candidates should seek to replace unreliable and irresponsible letter writers who will not provide individual letters with better ones who will. Where that is not possible, then, and only then, can a dossier service be entertained as a substitute, with a full understanding of the risks.

 

 

How to Work the Conference (Part Three of Three)

This is Part Three of our three-part series, “How to Work the Conference.”

Today’s column discusses mealtimes and the book exhibit.

In last week’s post I quoted extensively from The Tenured Radical’s column on conferences.  One of her best lines in that post reads

Never, never, never ask a senior scholar what s/he is working on unless you are dinner partners.  Your just-to-be-polite question is:  “Are you having a good meeting?”

You will notice the reference here to “dinner partners.” Your ultimate score as a junior person is to be invited to dinner with important people in your field. There are two ways to do this.

The first way is to organize the dinner yourself. You can accomplish this ONLY IF you have organized a panel. Keep in mind that this is one of the primary reasons TO organize a panel—the panel dinner. Not all panels (and perhaps not all disciplines—I’m not sure on this point) will have a panel dinner, but many will. Or failing that, a panel lunch or a panel breakfast. It is a wonderful custom. Prior to your time slot, you meet to get to know one another and talk over your papers. Assuming you’ve stacked your panel with some cool people you really want to meet, voila, you are suddenly sharing a meal with Professor So-and-So. And that is where you want to be. Never fear, you as organizer do not pick up the tab for this.

Be aware: the timing of this meal is always arranged around the convenience of the most famous and busy person on the panel.

Now, secondarily, you may put yourself into the circumstances to be invited. You must never cling or hint or insinuate or invite yourself or tag along uninvited. Do you hear me? These are KODs professionally.

What you CAN do is be at the right place at the right time. Business meetings or membership meetings, etc. of subfield units, which are often held from 4-6 PM on the low status days (Wednesday, Thursday, and Sunday) are an excellent opportunity. If you find ways to participate effectively in that meeting (most obviously by volunteering to take on one of the leadership roles, such as secretary or treasurer or award committee member), chances are, the established people in the unit may well invite you to dinner. These meetings are listed clearly in the conference program. Unless they are clearly listed as “private” or “board only,” you are allowed to attend.

You can also, if you have the right kind of well connected and cooperative and savvy graduate mentor (and few do, but you might be one of the lucky ones), arrange to meet him or her for a beer at the hotel bar at a pre-dinner time slot such as 5:30 PM.  At 6 PM, when his or her friends arrive for their dinner, you may well be invited to come along.

If you happen to be lucky enough to inspire dynamic discussion at your panel among a group of enthusiastic audience members, and they mob you after your panel, you can sometimes spontaneously plan to meet later for a meal as well.

OK, Aside from the scheduled meetings and planned or impromptu meals, which are the real bread and butter of conference networking for junior people, you will also work the conference by utilizing the book exhibit.

The book exhibit is a little-understood element of the academic conference. It is one of the best places to see your academic heros not “on stage.” This does NOT mean that you can accost them at will. It means you can watch them and see what they do, what books they look at, and who they talk to.  And I certainly struck up a number of pleasant conversations with people in my field while browsing side by side at the California or Duke booths.

You also get to attend the wine and cheese receptions at the major presses, usually on Friday night, launching their major books of the season. The authors will also be there, and you might get to shake their hands (beware, it’ll be a mob scene).

You also get to see something very important to your career, which is, how senior people talk to editors. Because one of the major kinds of politicking that go on at conferences is the book deal negotiation. Editors are there to cruise the panels and find good materials for future books. Heck, if your paper was really outstanding, they may even come talk to you! If the press is a top, top press, that’s a score. If they’re a non-top press, it is not a score, and do not, under any circumstances, commit to a book with them just because they asked.

What you want to see, though, is how savvy senior people broach the subject of a book with the senior editors. They often do this right there at the book exhibit, and if you’re standing there, you get to surreptitiously listen in.

This is how I learned to sell a book, in fact. I used to haunt the book exhibits as a young MA and Ph.D. student, and by the time I was advanced and had a book mss. to peddle, I was pretty damn good at it. And as I mention elsewhere, I had competing offers from Duke and California, and extracted an actual monetary advance out of it.

The last thing that I will say about conferences is this:  they are often depressing and alienating places.  Everyone, it seems, is jockeying for status.  Sometimes the overt politicking can be a shameful thing to observe, let alone participate in.

Although I did all of the methods that I advocate here, with a great deal of success, I never really enjoyed them, and never really enjoyed my national conferences, until one critical change occurred.  That was when I reached out to, and joined, the Society for Lesbian and Gay Anthropologists.  That small but dynamic society, within the umbrella of the American Anthropological Association, was a godsend to me personally.  The members were warm, welcoming, funny, irreverent, passionate, opinionated, and above all–completely down to earth.  I had never imagined it was possible to find a “home” in the national organization that felt as much like a home as its business meetings and open bar receptions.  The dinners and drinks that flowed naturally from these events were actually fun, and yielded plenty of opportunities for potential publications and professional activities.

I’m not recommending, Dear Readers, that you all join the Lesbian and Gay units of your national organizations!  What I am recommending is that you seek the sub-units that feel most like “home” to you.  Certainly I don’t advocating hiding away in them, and never going out to the bigger, scarier business meetings and book exhibit events, and workshops.  But in addition to all of that, find (or create) the professional organization that is filled with the most like-minded souls you can find, the ones who really care about what they’re working on, more than they care about jockeying for power.

As you know, I have absolutely no objection to jockeying for power.  But for your own mental and emotional health, try to find some real friends and “family” at your conference as well.


 

 

How To Ask A (Famous) Professor to be Your Dissertation Chair

Today is a Special Request post for Meagan, who wishes to know how to approach a famous and influential scholar in her department to be the chair of her dissertation committee.

Ideally, you will have arranged to work with your famous dissertation advisor prior to arriving in the program. I always recommend to all students planning to attend graduate school, that they devote several months to a year to advance preparation. Taking a GRE prep class, putting your personal essay through months of revisions, and researching graduate programs and potential advisors are all steps that pay off exponentially in terms of the quality of program and quantity of funding you can expect to achieve.

Correspondence with the potential advisor is perhaps the most important element of all; refer to this post for advice on how to initiate the conversation. Ideally you want the advisor to commit to you ahead of time, to advocate for your application when it arrives, and to use her clout to get you the most generous funding packages offered by the program.

Now, this is not always possible. Some programs do not attach admittees to advisors ahead of time (although I would hazard to say that the best programs do). Or it is possible that the advisor with whom you came to work has left for another university, and you must find a replacement. Or perhaps your research interests changed. In any case, sometimes students find themselves needing to approach a professor to serve as their dissertation advisor after they are already underway.

You will do this in the same way that you approach any professor for any type of assistance: concisely, articulately, substantively, specifically, courteously, and professionally. In short, you will have a well-rehearsed “pitch,” which, in concise yet very specific terms, describes your current status, your past achievements, your planned research, your reasons for approaching that scholar in particular, your anticipated timeline, and your expected outcome.

Don’t be especially intimidated just because the professor is famous.  I just heard a story about a graduate student who asked famed physicist Richard Feynman to be his Chair.  Everyone was surprised when Feynman said yes.  But turns out, it was the first time he’d ever been asked.  All the other grad students had been too afraid.

So take heart, and ask away.  What you want to look like is a young rising star, a good bet, and a self-starter. The three critical elements here are: a) that you will not be a clingy burden; and b) that you will finish efficiently and successfully; and c) that your ultimate success will add to the glory and fame of the professor.

The more successful the professor is, the more critical these three elements become.

Successful professors are busy and in-demand. They are always flying off to Copenhagen and South Africa to give keynote addresses. They have no time for hand-holding and cheerleading. You must show that your past record proves you are highly self-directed and finish what you start without prodding and drama.  And you must demonstrate your efficiency right then and there by making an appointment (NEVER JUST DROP IN for such requests!), arriving on time, and presenting your request quickly and concisely, and wrapping up well within the scheduled time slot.

Successful professors are generally interested in important work that pushes boundaries in the field. You must show that your current and future plans are innovative and path-breaking, yet also based on solid research and a grounding in legitimate bodies of literature in your field.

Successful professors want to be associated with students about whom they can brag. You must show that you are aiming for a high-profile career by articulating clear career goals and the confidence to apply for top-tier fellowships to support your research.

Successful professors usually have complex research leave and sabbatical plans several years out.  You must show that you have an anticipated timeline for field, lab, or archival research, analysis, and writing–and beyond that defense, first publications, and job search–that is both efficient and feasible.

Work on your pitch, and be able to show clearly how this professor’s work is critical to it, WITHOUT FLATTERING! Nobody likes an obvious suck-up. You must learn to do it subtly.  Don’t make vast over-generalizations about the professor’s “brilliance.”  Speak about specific areas of scholarship in which she specializes, and how those are critical to your planned research and career.  Don’t drone and don’t monopolize the conversation.  You’re asking for an advisor, remember.  Show that you’re open to being advised.  And, at the same time, don’t be a doormat.  Have the confidence of your convictions and stand up for your passions.

And last, it goes without saying that your overall presentation must be highly professionalized. Read this post on the ways that graduate students sabotage themselves, and spend a weekend eradicating these behaviors to the extent you can. Yes, you’re still a graduate student. But that doesn’t mean you have to act like one.

 

Good luck!

 

 

 

How to Work the Conference (Part Two of Three)

Today we continue with Part Two of the “How to Work the Conference” series (see Part One here).  Today’s post deals with how to behave during the conference–that is to say, how to look like you’re very busy and in-demand.  Because conferences are performance art.  You may know almost nobody and feel like a total fraud, but you’ve got to ACT as if you are the next hot thing.

Now, to preface, if this post seems uncustomarily terse, it is because I am writing from vacation in San Diego, in a few short minutes between chatting with friends on the deck and leaving for kayaking at La Jolla Cove. I am ambivalent about the kayaking because of the Great White sightings at La Jolla this past week (not to mention the Great White sighting at Mission Beach yesterday that actually closed the beach for the first time in living memory, and put paid to our surfing plans).

However, The Professor’s motto is: feel the fear and do it anyway.  So unless the beach is actually closed, kayaking we will go.

Now to the conference. Conferences are also about facing your fears. Few young professionals really enjoy conferences. They are terrifying and intimidating. This is normal. You go anyway. You go and present. You go and organize panels. You go and attend the business meetings of subfield organizations that interest you. You go and participate in the workshops on publishing and the job market. You go and hang out at the open bars (that part may be less difficult). You don’t necessarily go to the Saturday night dance party.

But once there, what do you actually do?

First off, you dress correctly. I am not going to repeat my admonishments about appropriate professional attire here; I simply refer you to this post. Don’t ignore it! What you wear matters. People notice and judge you. Maybe not consciously, but they do. You must look like the young professional that you are.

Second, you must network. But how do you do that? There are a few ways, and the best ones require advance planning. If you are very junior and have little or no social capital, then hoping to grab an influential senior scholar for a conversation or coffee or a meal, on the spot, is virtually impossible. Your only real chance is by inviting them ahead of time.

A month before the conference, compile a list of the scholars whom you’d most like to meet. Be clear in your mind about why you’d like to meet them.

Do you just want to say hello? Then study the program and find out their panel and plan to attend it. You may approach them afterwards to shake their hands, congratulate them on their paper, briefly tell them about yourself—no more than one sentence–and give them your card. And then walk away. Walk. Away. Do not cling or drone.

[A note on business cards for graduate students.  Have business cards.  Make sure they are university business cards, not personal.  They must have the logo on them.  Include your department, status (ABD, Ph.D. student, VAP, etc.), email, website, and cel phone number.  Always carry your business cards in a small case made for this purpose. I saw these at Office Max the other day.  Do NOT put them in your back pocket or knocking around the bottom of your purse.  They should always be clean and pristine.  Practice ahead of time reaching in and quickly and gracefully extracting one.  No fumbling.]

Do you want to ask them to serve as an external member of your committee? Or perhaps ask them to contribute to an edited collection? (Which, as you know from this post, I completely frown upon and urge you to drop immediately.) Then send them an email, in the briefest and most courteous terms explaining who you are, why you’d like to meet them, and asking them if they are free for coffee. Understand that they will likely not have any meal-times available for you. Those are reserved for older, dearer, and higher status friends and colleagues. But you might, if you’re lucky, get a 20-minute coffee slot. But only if you ask ahead of time.

Do you want to get to know very influential famous scholars to cultivate them as potential supporters (and tenure letter writers) in your field? Then do the same as above, but be very, very careful about how you couch the invitation. You don’t invite someone to coffee for such clearly self-serving reasons. Rather, you have a substantive reason for seeking their advice. i.e., you’d like advice on how to proceed with publishing your book—recommendations for editors or presses, perhaps. If your request is flattering enough to their ego and identity as a leader in the field, and they are the kind of senior scholar who enjoys mentoring junior people, AND you promise up front that your requested meeting is no more than 20 minutes, and scheduled ENTIRELY at their convenience, then you might score a coffee or a pre-dinner beer at the hotel bar. Use that 20 minutes wisely. Be brief. Well rehearsed. Do not cling. And at the end, give a firm handshake according to the instructions in this post. And walk away.

You will notice the emphasis I place on not clinging. The status jockeying of conferences is a major element of the conference and is ignored at your peril. You must not look like a hanger-on or a sadsack who has nothing to do and noone to meet, even if you are. You must give the impression of being a busy and dynamic young scholar who has it going on. How do you do this?

First off, read and memorize my post, “The Six Ways You are Acting Like a Grad Student (And how this is killing you on the job market).  Eradicate every one of these six behaviors prior to stepping foot into the conference hotel.

Beyond that, I can do no better on this subject than to quote extensively from The Tenured Radical’s post on this very subject, written about how to behave at the book exhibit of the AHA Conference of 2010, but frankly applicable to any corner of any academic conference, any year.  The emphases are mine.

  • Greet your graduate mentors but do not cling to them. In fact, it is best, when you see them, to look as though you have somewhere very important to be.Practice saying into the mirror:  “Gosh, it’s really great to run into you — I’m off to the Chapel Hill booth to meet up with a friend/an editor/someone on my panel.  Have a great meeting!”  Only break this rule if they happen to be with someone very important in your field, in which case, keep a keen eye out for an introduction.Count slowly to five in your head:  if the introduction is not forthcoming, skate out of there.
  • Leave any and everyone before they leave you. If you see someone’s eyes drifting over your shoulder, even slightly, say warmly:  “I’ve really got to run — so nice to have had a chance to say hello,” then skate.
  • If there is someone you know, but are unsure whether to greet or not, casually pick up a book and leaf through it.  If said person greets you, look very surprised and say: “OmygodIcan’tbelieveIdidn’t see you!
  • If someone important calls you by the wrong name, let them.  If they do it twice, correct them.  If they keep doing it, forget it. There is one historian, who will remain nameless, who has greeted me for twenty five years as if I were Isabel V. Hull of Cornell, and I no longer correct her.
  • If you run into someone you just did a hotel room interview with, you don’t have to act like you are employed by an escort service and pretend you have never met them.  Smile and nod; if you are close enough to speak say hello and say you had a good time in the interview.  Even if you didn’t.
  • Have one sentence to say about your dissertation if a senior scholar asks.  One. (KK: ONE!!!!) “I’m writing about the transgender community in Havana after the Cuban Revolution,” for example. Most people are just asking to be polite, although in the rare instance that the person really is interested in it, be conversational — do not launch into your interview speech.
  • Never, never, never ask a senior scholar what s/he is working on unless you are dinner partners.  Your just-to-be-polite question is:  “Are you having a good meeting?”
  • Check compulsively, but discreetly, to make sure your fly is not open.

The Tenured Radical also mentions workshops, such as one on interviewing. She writes:

I cannot stress enough how important this workshop is, particularly for those of you who are not yet on the job market.  Interviewing is not just about saying, doing and wearing the right things, although it is that.  It is about reading your audience and responding to the questions that are actually asked while delivering the information you want your interviewers to have. Much of the workshop consists of mock interviews held in a large ballroom that is not unlike the gang interviewing room in the basement where you might, one day, actually be interviewed.  The people who pose as interviewers are kind and helpful, and will honestly critique your performance.

Yes, yes, and yes.  The workshops on turning your publication into a book, or interviewing, or teaching at community colleges are some of the greatest services of the conference.  They also require advance registration, so do that.  It is invaluable professional training.

Today we stop here.  Next week we pick up with the question of how to score dinners with senior people, and how to work the book exhibit.  Until then, happy kayaking!

 

 

 

The Perils of Publishing Your Dissertation Online

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Today we are honored to have a guest post by Kathryn Hume, Edwin Erle Sparks Professor of English at Penn State University and author of Surviving Your Academic Job Hunt: Advice for Humanities PhDs (revised edition, 2010).

I got in touch with Kathryn Hume initially to send her a fan email!  I really like her book and will be reviewing it here on the blog soon.  When I invited her to consider writing a guest post, she immediately responded with an idea to write about ProQuest, and the impact that electronic dissertation storage is having on the rules of publishing, and potentially on your tenure case.  Thank you, Professor Hume, for sharing your insights.

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Once upon a time, dissertations were “available” through UMI as microfilm or through Interlibrary Loan as bound copies. In either case, you knew that you were not supposed to quote from the document or use its ideas without permission from the author. In the case of a hardbound copy, the libraries had records of the borrowers, so misappropriation could, in theory, be traced. Since you knew the material was unusable without permission, you felt free to ignore dissertations, except to make sure that a recent one was not too similar to the one that you hoped to write, lest it get published before yours and scoop you. Yes, such documents were technically “available,” but they were definitely not published or easily consultable.

Electronic dissertation storage changes the rules. Universities have enthusiastically assumed that a thesis online is just a faster and handier form of microfilm, and dissertation supervisors have assumed that since they put their theses on microfilm, you should put yours on ProQuest. They are wrong. Once available through any form of open access, be it ProQuest or a university library’s public access materials, that dissertation is functionally published, though this does not constitute refereed publication. Without the quality control implied by refereeing, ProQuest “publication” will not count for tenure.  Furthermore, its being there may interfere with your landing a revised version at a reputable press. You could ruin your chances of getting tenure if your thesis is freely available.

In the Chronicle of Higher Education (http://chronicle.com/article/From-Dissertation-to-Book/127677/), Leonard Cassuto sums up a round table discussion among six academic publishers as follows:

Don’t make your dissertation available online. Book editors seem unanimous on that point for obvious reasons. Many university libraries routinely add dissertations to their electronic holdings. If yours does, then opt out. If your thesis is already online, then have it taken down. Information may want to be free, as the earliest hacker generation first avowed, but if it’s free, then you can’t expect a publisher to pay for it, even in a later version.

At present, this is a disaster waiting to happen rather than a battlefield covered with the bodies of humanists denied tenure because presses would not even look at their manuscripts, but warning signals are going up. I have heard of two commercial-academic presses and one university press that insisted the dissertation be removed from ProQuest before they would consider it. I have also learned of a major journal’s response to the issue. A job hunter at my school took a chapter from his recently defended dissertation and turned it into an article. He sent it off and the journal wrote back to ask whether this was from a chapter in a thesis on ProQuest; if so, they would not look at it because they considered it already published. The same could happen to your article or book manuscript.

Numerous universities have made putting dissertations on ProQuest a requirement. Others will permit you to block that process and renew the block, at least for a while. Whenever that protection runs out, though, ProQuest or the library or both will make the piece available. Your university may argue that a state institution receives public money, so part of its mission is to make its research available to that same public. Fair enough, but you must still try to ensure that your university can and will remove a dissertation from open access if asked. Refusal to create that mechanism could destroy the careers of its humanities PhDs.

This may prove to be an issue that dies without much consequence. Not all fields, even within the humanities, operate on the same assumptions, and some people see dissertations cited as a way of boosting your visibility within your specialty. Presses may eventually decide to ignore ProQuest dissertations and rely on the degree to which you have revised your material. Or they may just settle for your taking the document off line until after your book is in print. Various professional societies have argued that the thesis monograph should not serve as the basis for a tenure decision, and tenure itself may disappear some day. Obviously, such changes would affect the significance of your dissertation’s being available online.

For the present, though, none of these outcomes is assured, and the more radical are not likely to happen soon, so protect yourselves!

  • Read your graduate office requirements now, not the week you hope to hand in your thesis.
  • If your university requires public access, get your department to raise the issue with the university’s lawyers and its Ethics Committee or Ombudsperson.
  • Try to get your graduate school to establish a mechanism for removing your thesis from open access should that prove necessary.
  • If you can block access for a limited time with renewals, tattoo the renewal date on the back of your hand, with room for subsequent dates to be added.

Revising a humanities dissertation into a book can take far more effort than you realize. If you are moving from one temporary job to the next, having to pay for moves with nonexistent savings, and teaching six or more new courses each year, you will need to remember and act on successive deadlines despite many distractions. Ideally, you revise your manuscript during the first two years of your tenure clock. If you are lucky, you land your manuscript at a press within the next four years. Perhaps it will be in print a year after that. Only then should you let your dissertation go on line.

Good Luck!

Finding Work/Life Balance in Academia

(Friday Post Category:  Yes You Can! Women and Academia)

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Our post today is a guest post by Rachel Connelly, Bion R. Cram Professor of Economics, and Chair of the Economics Department at Bowdoin College.  Rachel and her Bowdoin colleague Kristen Ghodsee co-wrote the new book Professor Mommy: Finding Work/Life Balance in Academia (Rowman and Littlefield).  I encountered their work in an Inside Higher Ed column, The Value of Self-Promotion which I loved.  The negative comments the column got prompted me to weigh in on their comment stream, and eventually to write this post about it.  In  the process I got to talking to Rachel about the challenges of having kids while on the tenure track, and she kindly agreed to share her words of wisdom with the readers of The Professor Is In. Thank you, Professor Connelly!

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Karen wrote recently in this blog about the fray that ensued at Inside Higher Ed after they published an excerpt of my new book, Professor Mommy:  Finding Work/Family Balance in Academia, coauthored with my Bowdoin colleague, Kristen Ghodsee, about the importance of self-promotion.

It really was amazing how nasty some of the comments were, as if Kristen and I had revealed a secret the guys had meant to keep for themselves.  In the correspondence that resulted from Karen’s comment, Karen offered me a guest appearance in her blog to address what she says is the number one question she receives from women, “How to achieve work/family balance?”

In the book we offer faculty women at all stages of their career advice for walking the tightrope of work and family without falling off.  Some of our advice comes from things we did right, a lot comes from things we wish we had done else wise, and still more was contributed by friends and colleagues.


For myself, I decided before I took that Bowdoin job in 1985, the same year I finished my graduate studies, that although I very much wanted to succeed in the field of academic economics, I was only willing to do it if it could be done at the same time I had young children.  That is because for me, the children were not negotiable, but the career path was.

Of course, I had the advantage that there are other things that one can do with a PhD in economics but really my ultimate goal was to teach at a small liberal arts college like Bowdoin.  There I was, right out of graduate school at 28 years of age with my dream job and the first thing I did was purposefully get pregnant.  My mother always says I have to do things the hard way and she is undoubtedly right (Moms always are, or at least that is what I tell my kids.)

When I think about those early days on the tenure track it is a lot like the little engine that could, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can. New baby. No sleep, no sleep, no sleep. Move to a new city for a fellowship year with a two year old.  Move back to Bowdoin with a three year old. Lots of disappointments.  Finally another new baby.  Tenure time. “Yes.” I thought I could, I thought I could, I thought I could.”

What kept me going was that I really had it all! Everything I wanted, just a bit too much of each piece.  I am convinced that every new mother feels this way, regardless of what else she is doing.  I remember when my first baby was just born and he was nursing for 45 minutes every two hours.  I called up my mom and said, “What am I going to do? I can’t get anything done.”  She told me two things, both incredibly useful.  First off she said, “You are doing something” and second she said, “it gets easier,”

She is right on both counts, of course (a consistent theme).  Feeding the baby is work so don’t think you need to do something else at the same time.  But taking care of a baby does get easier as the sleep patterns get to be more consistent, then as others become good substitutes for your time, then as the child gains independent moments etc. One’s work gets easier as well.  The new preps are less often and less onerous, the research and the writing gets easier, the acceptance rate increases.

My advice is to hang in there.  It is worth it to stay in the game.  Your child does not need you 24 hours a day.  Your students don’t need you 24 hours a day.  Your research is not important enough to be done 24 hours a day.  At different stages on your life, the pie chart that is our time allocation per week changes. (See Chap 2 of my book, The Time Use of Mothers in the United States at the Turn of the 21st Century, with Jean Kimmel, W.E. Upjohn Press if you like pie charts.)  But all the pieces are there and continue to be there as your children grow, and as you grow into your teaching and research.

I recently read an article in the New Yorker about Sheryl Sandberg, the Chief Operating Officer at Facebook (July 11 and 18, 2011, pp. 55-63).  Sheryl talks about the need for women to “lean in” instead of “opting out.”  I like that image.  Lean in, steel yourself against the wind and hang on for a dear life.

 

 

Job Market PTSD

(Thursday Post Category:  Here’s How You Get Tenure)

Today’s post is another Special Request post, this time coming from Kate, who wrote an eloquent email asking for advice on how to cope with what I will call “Job Market PTSD.”

By Job Market PTSD (hereafter JMPTSD), what I mean is the state of being so traumatized by the academic job search that even when it is successful, and you get the coveted tenure track position, you cannot stop feeling anxious, inadequate, panicked and insecure. JMPTSD includes the survivor’s guilt that you feel toward the comrades-in-arms you left behind as you boarded what seems like the last helicopter out of The Search. It includes classic trauma symptoms in that the sustained terror of potential joblessness/insolvency, combined with the psychological warfare of hope offered and then snatched away (particularly in the new phenomenon of searches and offers canceled at the last minute), steals away your sense of security in the world. It includes a large component of Imposter Syndrome, in that you wonder “Why me? Why did I get this position?” And it includes an element of Stockholm Syndrome, in that your gratitude for the offer is so abject that your normal emotional boundaries evaporate in a frantic attempt to please your new employer.

I believe that JMPTSD is more widespread than commonly acknowledged. And in current market conditions, it is likely to get worse.

There is certainly a variety of JMPTSD that afflicts those who are ultimately unsuccessful on the job market. And that variety may be the more serious.

But for today I want to address the JMPTSD that afflicts those who DID get the tenure track job, but find themselves struggling to leave behind the trauma of the search.

Because what I’m hearing is, search trauma is having an impact on these assistant professors’ performance on the job. Instead of being a triumphant transition into professional security and financial solvency, the move to assistant professorhood provokes renewed fear and anxiety and self-doubt.

While all of us who have been through the assistant professor stage remember the struggle to cope and keep our heads above water, this seems to be qualitatively different.

This is a kind of sustained state of fear that saps your confidence and sense of well-being. Its primary symptom is a profound feeling of unworthiness that arises when the conditions for hiring are so chaotic and opaque and seemingly random, that it is impossible for you, the successful candidate, to feel that you actually deserved the job more than anyone else.

Given that the fundamental logic of assistant professorhood is based entirely on external approval to begin with, this effort can have toxic results. The main one seems to be an extreme susceptibility to exploitation.

Basically, not to put too fine a point on it, assistant professors are so abjectly grateful for the job that they find it impossible to say no.

Teach more? Sure! Take furlough days? Absolutely! Increase your class size? No problem! Give up your TAs? That’s ok—I can TA my own classes!

As one new assistant professor told me, “It made me less willing to negotiate, to speak up for myself, or to assert my wishes as to what I would teach.”

The marketplace has done to assistant professors what the eradication of tenure promises to do to their seniors: remove the possibility of resistance to disintegrating conditions of work.

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What to do?

Well, at the risk of being cliché, I say: first, get therapy. This is legitimate trauma and should be treated as such.

Find other new assistant professors and start a regular lunch group. Don’t make this a writing group. Make it a support group. Share your experiences. Hold each other accountable for doing what it takes to stay mentally healthy.

Get outside and get in your body. Exercise regularly, eat well, and get enough sleep. Find a good doctor in your new town and schedule an appointment for the Fall term.

Find a trusted senior mentor if you can. Don’t expect this person to really “get it,” though. If they’re already tenured, then they won’t really get it. But they can help you navigate your department and set healthy boundaries and avoid over-exploitation from service expectations.

Forgive yourself for needing downtime that seems to be “unproductive.” It is ok to watch TV and play with your kids and hang out with your partner and sit on the sofa and stare at nothing.

Keep creative, right-brain activities in your life.  Draw, journal, write poetry, throw pots, build a fence, plant a garden, restore an old car, make jewelry, sing, knit…. whatever speaks to you.

Remember that you deserve to be there and you are a full-fledged member of the department. You have the same rights as every other faculty member.  You are not a graduate student and not a second class citizen. You do not need to apologize for existing. You are entitled to ask for what you want. If trauma prevented you from negotiating everything you wish you had at the time of the offer, let your department head and your trusted senior mentor know what you need now.

You were hired to be a scholar. Insist on the time you need to produce scholarship, both at the department and in your home life.

You deserve the job you have. You deserve to enjoy it. And you deserve to succeed at it. And you deserve the support to make that happen. Don’t let anyone (including your own insecurities) tell you otherwise.

~~Readers:  Please let me know your experiences of Job Market PTSD.  I’d really like to hear them~~

 

How To Work the Conference, Part One of Three

(Wednesday Post Category:  Landing Your Tenure Track Job)

[This is the first in a two-part series on Working the National Conference. Part One, today, explains the importance of the conference in an academic career. Part Two, next week, focuses on specific strategies to use before, during, and after the conference itself to get the most out of it.]

Conference season is almost upon us. The sociologists are meeting in Las Vegas in just a few days. Anthropologists are gearing up for their November meeting in Montreal, and the Historians and English-types perversely continue to congregate right in the middle of the winter holidays.

Anyone on this year’s job market is already anxiously anticipating and preparing for the hoped-for/dreaded conference interviews.

And yet, few junior scholars, from graduate students and ABDs through new Ph.D.s and young assistant professors, actually know how to “work” a conference. That is, to utilize the 5 days of the conference period to maximize opportunities for networking, self-promotion, professional skills training, and building a public intellectual identity.

There is a great deal to say about how to apply to a conference and how to write a conference abstract; those things, however, are beyond the scope of this post series.

This post and the next are about what you do while you’re at the conference.

This is truly one of the secret skills of the successful academic career. And it is never, ever, explicitly taught. While enlightened departments will offer job market preparation seminars and mock job talks and teaching instruction and guidance on grant-writing, no department has ever, to my knowledge, held a workshop on “effective conferencing.”  [Addendum:  I was just alerted to the excellent post by the Tenured Radical on rocking the AHA.  This is a fantastic guide.  Read it!  I will build on these ideas next week.  http://chronicle.com/blognetwork/tenuredradical/2011/01/its-safe-to-go-back-to-annual-meeting/]

Unless a graduate student enjoys a happy combination of a naturally ebullient personality, tremendous intellectual confidence, a generous mentor who allows her to tag along, a large cohort of conference-going fellow graduate students, and fierce political instincts, chances are she will spend much of the early part of her conference-going career a) wandering forlornly through the hallways of the conference hotel, b) lurking in corners pretending to read the conference program, and c) hiding in her hotel room.

It is perfectly natural to dread the national conference. They are monstrously large. And alienating. And lonely. And embarassing. Certainly the idea of marching up to Herr Dr. Famous Professor in some hotel hallway with outstretched hand and business card at the ready is distasteful to most everyone. And far too many think that this is what conference “networking” involves.

I am here to tell you that it isn’t. And I am here to teach you what to do instead.

Today I wish to speak in general terms about why you are at the conference in the first place. Your status at the conference will be different based on where you are in your career.

If you are a relatively new graduate student, you will plan to attend the conference, and no more.

If you are a Masters student, you will plan to give a poster presentation at the conference.

If you are a Ph.D. student, you will plan to give a paper at the conference.

If you are ABD, or a brand new Ph.D., you will plan to organize a panel at the conference.

If you are a young assistant professor, you will plan to organize a panel at the conference and become involved with a specialized section of your professional organization.

If you are an advanced assistant professor, you will plan to give a paper at the conference and serve as a discussant on another panel, one organized perhaps by graduate students, and take a possible leadership role in a specialized section of your professional organization.

And so on.

Whatever you have planned, make sure that you ATTEND the national conference of your discipline on a yearly basis. Lack of funds is not, in and of itself, a sufficient reason to not attend these meetings. They are important enough to put on the credit card.

Attendance and participation at the national conference of your discipline signals that you are a serious scholar and a legitimate contender. It signals seriousness of purpose and an integrity of intention: “I will be seen and heard.”

It is impossible to overstate the importance of this intention–”I will be seen and heard”–when it is made manifest publicly at your national conference.

I will go out on a limb and say that the willingness to be seen and heard at the national conference is the most important litmus test dividing the soon-to-be major scholar and employed academic, from the ranks of the un- and under-employed.

Of course it goes without saying that some who religiously participate in their national conferences end up, in this job market, underemployed. But I would venture to say that nobody who ends up well and fully employed ever neglects to attend their national conference yearly.

Avoid the national conference at your peril. It is scary, and alienating, and overwhelming. Go anyway.

And having gone, always push yourself the following year go again, and do something new. If you have attended one year, then give a paper the next. If you’ve given a paper one year, then organize a panel the next. If you’ve organized a panel one year, then serve as a discussant the next. In this way you increase your knowledge of your discipline and its inner workings.

A word on posters. It is my strong conviction that nobody who is serious about their academic career prospects, beyond the M.A. level, should ever give a poster at their national conference. If you have something to say, say it in a paper. It is the paper that gives you visibility, and access to a group of panel-mates, and an introduction to a possibly well-known discussant, and the attention of a real audience. It is the paper that gives you a highly valuable line on your c.v., and experience in speaking in front of a group, and handling the terror of an open Q and A period. Posters give you none of these things. They should be avoided.

Once you are accepted into the conference program, then the real work begins. Not the work of writing the paper. That is the intellectual project and between you and your advisor. No, this is the work of “conferencing.” That is, extracting all of the capital that you can out of the investment of time and money that you have made into the conference experience. You have five days in a hotel with between 5,000 and 10,000 scholars in your field. What are you going to do with them?

That is where we will pick up next week.

 

 

 

 

How Not to F**k Up Your Conference Interview

(Monday Post Category:  Getting You Into and Out of Graduate School)

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[Today’s post is an excerpt from “Taming The Academic Job Market: The Professor’s Guide.”  The Guide is on sale in The Prof Shop.  Don’t forget to check out the 30% off discount code on the Facebook page.  Good only through 8/15]

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You have submitted your cover letter, your c.v., and your recommendations. And lo! You’ve been long short-listed, and invited for a conference interview!  Congratulations. Now what?

The conference interview is about speed and first impressions. Generally this interview may be only 20-30 minutes in length. The interviewers are on a tight schedule, with a large number of candidates being hustled in and out of a small, cramped interview space.  It is awkward and exhausting for everyone.

If it is a 20 minute interview, and 2 minutes are taken up in taking your seat and greetings and 2 minutes in closing and walking to the door, that leaves 16 minutes for talking.  If the search committee members talk for half of that, it leaves you a sum total of 8 minutes of speaking time.  Brevity is key.

The elite departments from well funded schools will conduct the interviews in conference hotel suites reserved for the purpose, or at one of the search committee member’s own hotel rooms.  Broke departments will be forced to use the dreaded conference careers center, with its walls of tiny cubicles and humiliating lack of privacy.

Once I went to a conference interview for an Ivy League Anthropology department.  I entered the expensive suite in the conference hotel, to be greeted by a phalanx of Famous Scholars, with one of them, the most famous of all, stretched full length on the sofa, hand dramatically resting over his eyes. The interview commenced, with Famous Anthropologist sighing his questions from his supine position on the sofa.   My desire to be snarky overcame my desire for the job.  My eyes fell on a dirty, half-full glass of water on the table in front of me.  “Are all the candidates meant to share one glass of water?” I inquired.  Hasty scrambling ensued. Even F.A. half-rose in consternation.  I thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle.

Needless to say, I was not invited to a campus visit.

I tell this story not as a model but as an example.  Conference interviews are bizarre and awkward.  Your task is to act “at ease,” to project an aura of calm and good humor in a stressful situation.  To succeed you must speak quickly and directly to your strengths, with no—absolutely no—digressions, and to dress and walk and talk and comport yourself as little as possible like a graduate student, and as much as possible like a confident, experienced faculty member and future colleague.

Preparation is key. Prepare by learning who is on the search committee (it is ok to call the department secretary and ask), and checking to see if they will be in attendance at the conference.

Once you know the likely interviewers, spring into action. Research their work, and the profile of the department as a whole. Familiarize yourself with their course catalog, and review their website to see their recent accomplishments. Check on the large classes that young assistant professors are most likely to be asked to teach, and prepare ideas on how to teach them. Suss out the financial footing of the department, and the level of graduate support, and whether the department is in deep financial cutting mode.  If it is, be prepared to talk about how you will teach large classes, develop new popular ones that draw large enrollments, and seek external funding.

Be prepared, in short, to engage with those faculty as much already on their wavelength, as a potential colleague, as you can.

Do not ever forget the #1 critical rule of the job search:  They are hiring a colleague, not a graduate student.

Do. Not. Look. Or. Act. Like. A. Graduate. Student.

Be prepared to answer any of the following types of questions, in 1-2 minute responses:

  • How is your dissertation different from other work in your field?
  • What are your publication plans arising from the dissertation?
  • Who are the biggest scholarly influences on your work?
  • How would you teach a large intro class in your/our discipline?
  • Which textbook would you use for that class?
  • Can you name 3 classes that you would be interested to teach for us? Why?
  • How do you see your work fitting into our department?
  • How would you teach a foundational theory/methods graduate seminar?
  • What do you think the most important intellectual debate is in your/our field?
  • Can you envision any collaborations with faculty currently in the department?
  • What inspires your teaching?

Keep in mind the issue of time.   To reiterate, in all of these responses, you must be BRIEF and to the point. Any tendency to rambling must be eradicated.

To achieve this level of focus and brevity, practice is essential. You must write out the answers to questions like these and others, and practice them in front of a mirror and in front of friends, and at mock interviews in your department, over and over and over again, until they become second nature to you. Then and only then are you ready for the conference interview.

And because you have read the work of your interviewers, you will also be prepared to mention it in the interview. They will love you if you can respond, “I would certainly consider assigning YOUR recent article in an upper division class on political economy, because I think it provides an excellent case study from Eastern Europe.” You have to be sincere, but if you can be, that is pure interview gold.

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I cannot leave behind the conference interview without a word on clothing. I have seen unspeakable things, sartorially speaking, in the halls of the conference hotel, amongst the milling throngs of interview candidates.

Let us revisit the #1 critical rule of the job search: They are hiring a colleague, not a graduate student.

Do. Not. Look. Or. Act. Like. A. Graduate. Student.

Your task at this short interview is to give the overwhelming first impression of being a dynamic, successful young professional.

What does that mean? For MEN, this means buying a new suit fresh for the interview season, which fits you at your current weight, which buttons across your middle, and which you have tailored so that the sleeves and pants hit you at the proper spots.  And btw, blazer and jeans are not acceptable, men!  Addendum:  This suit does not have to be an ultra high-end suit that costs thousands of dollars!   A good department store suit from JCPenney’s or Macy’s that has been tailored by their in-house tailor to fit you is completely adequate.  We’re talking a cost of hundreds here, not thousands.  Just no $99 suits from Men’s Wearhouse.

In addition, you need a good quality, department store shirt, which you have ironed to remove the package folds! You also need  a classic tie of recent vintage (the last year or two), a new leather belt (no cracked leather), the best quality leather black oxfords you can afford, and socks that match either the shoes or the suit.

Men, you hair should be recently cut.  Facial hair continues to be acceptable in academia; just make sure you’re well-groomed.

For WOMEN (by which I mean, women who present conventionally as women [butch dykes and transgendered candidates will have other requirements]), this means you buy a new, stylish, well-cut, fitted grey or brown suit (not black, which can be too severe) fresh for the interview season.  Skirt or pants, it matters not.  You will need a stylish blouse in a not too bright color, stockings or tights in a neutral shade, good quality, stylish leather (not faux) pumps with a 1-3 inch heel (for the height; less critical if you are 5’7” or above), and conservative jewelry.

Women, your hair should be cut and styled in an actual current style, not dragging or sproinging about in the stringy or unkempt clump so commonly seen in our graduate lounges. Also, no ponytails or barrettes.  You are not 9.

Neither man nor woman shall carry a backpack.

Both men and women will invest in the best quality leather or microfiber (but, emphatically, NOT fake leather) briefcase that they can manage.  Last season models are often on deep discount at office goods chain stores like OfficeMax. TJ Maxx and Ross are also excellent sources.

For both men and women, the cut and fit of the entire ensemble should be rigorously checked and rechecked by a reliable source such as your mother, or a trusted advisor who actually knows how to dress.  Suits are difficult to fit, and a poorly-fitting suit will hurt your chances on the job market!  Invest the time, and make sure your suit fits.

Why do all this?  Because these clothing rules mark you as “one of the tribe.”  In an ideal world how you look doesn’t matter.  But academia is far from an ideal world, as we know all too well.  You want to blend into the faculty “identity” as seamlessly as possible.  Marking yourself as looking like you are already employed and earning a regular income is the quickest way to do that.

One of the saddest sights in the hotel conference hall is not so much the sloppily dressed interview candidate, as the ineptly dressed interview candidate—the one in the brand new, too-cheap, shiny, ill-fitting suit with too-short sleeves and too-long pants, rushing through the halls clutching a fake-leather briefcase.

That person smells of desperation. Don’t let it be you.