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.


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.]

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)


[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]


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.


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.


Thoughts On Throwing In the Towel

Today’s promised post is another Special Request post, at the behest of a number of readers, about knowing when to “throw in the towel,” or, in the words of one requester, “knowing when to fold ’em,” on an academic career.

I am totally unqualified to answer that question in the way that it’s being asked. Because although I did indeed leave academia, I didn’t leave under duress. I left a good position, that offered good money and status and the relative freedom to pursue the teaching and research interests that originally got me into academia. If those interests had still been important to me, I would not have left.

I have never confronted the painful, heartbreaking decision to give up on a dream that was still unrealized. I have not been in the position of having dedicated so many years and so many dollars to a Ph.D., only to discover at the end that the meager adjuncting opportunities available can’t even begin to pay off the backlog of effort and debt. I can only imagine the fear, grief, and loss that must accompany this excruciatingly slow realization that the hoped-for tenure track job is NOT going to materialize, and that the investment of time and money may well have set you far behind your friends and peers.

I only know two things germane to this experience.

The first is that it is important not to give up until you’re sure that you’ve actually done everything in your power to position yourself for the career that you want. And the second is that even if you do everything in your power, there are still not enough jobs for every qualified applicant, and many will have to make the decision to leave.

I want to discuss each of these points in isolation, as if the other is not true.

Regarding the first, you have to ask, and be ready to confront the true answer— Is my job letter perfect? Have I dedicated 2-3 months to writing and revising it? Have I had it subjected to critical edits by no fewer than 10 faculty members with search committee experience? Is my c.v. impeccable? Has it been checked and rechecked for both content and appearance? Does my teaching statement sparkle with inspiration and clarity?

I know for a fact that in the vast majority of cases, the answer to these questions is no.

All the years that I was a professor, and now that I’m The Professor, grad student after grad student, Ph.D. After Ph.D., client after client, comes through my office showing me job market materials that cannot possibly qualify them for anything but the reject pile. And they ask me why they aren’t getting tenure track jobs.

There are two sets of subquestions here.  The first:  whether or not you have actually done all the academic work to position yourself for a job. Ask yourself, have I published all I can *in* *refereed* *journals*? Have I pushed myself to attend high profile conferences in my field? Have I networked with influential junior and senior scholars? Have I promoted myself in every way possible?

The second: if you have done all of that, whether or not you have actually represented these effectively in your materials. Ask yourself, again, is my job letter impeccable? Have I utilized every professional skills resource at my disposal? Have I read every book? Twisted the arm of every professor and colleague? Checked every blog post?

Because, the sad truth is, most of you on the academic job market are shooting yourselves, systematically and with extraordinary aim and determination, in the foot.

You are spending year after year on the market without holding your materials up to the harsh light of truth and confronting just how bad they really are.

I’m sorry. This isn’t the message you want to hear. But it’s true.

And let me be clear, I am not talking here about hiring me*. There are other ways to skin this cat. But skinned it has to be. And until it is, giving up is premature. Because I know for a fact that I’ve seen many, many Ph.D.s move from unhireable to hireable, not because they published anything new but because they finally learned how to represent what they had already done in their materials. In short, because they FINALLY learned to write a brilliant, effective job cover letter.


The second thing that I know is that, even while you can and must do all of this, some of you will not get tenure track jobs. And then you must indeed quit, and move on to another line of work.

That is a terribly sad decision.  And a terribly hard one, because while Ph.D.s have many skills that can be transferred to other careers, and are smart and disciplined enough to quickly gain others, it is the feeling of failure that, I think, makes it so hard to just pull the trigger, and leap (to mix my metaphors).

I know that I spent one year feeling like an utter failure because I was no longer a faculty member, and I left by choice. I can only imagine how hard it is when you leave because economic conditions force you to.

What I know about that is that academia is a kind of cult. And it does not release its adherents easily. Extracting yourself from the academic mind-set does not happen without fighting powerful messages of failure and powerful demons of self-doubt and shame.

I actually believe that academia is a system based on shame and fear. Fear of being exposed as “not smart enough,” and shame at “being a fraud.” I don’t actually believe that the vast majority of scholars in U.S. academic settings are frauds or inadequately smart. I just think they feel that way, and do everything in their power to suppress and conceal those feelings.

The harshness of the judgments of failure in academia arises directly from these efforts of apparently successful academics to suppress their own inner demons of failure and shame.

Of course there is also love—love for the work itself—which is what draws so many of us to the academic enterprise. But the love gets squelched in the climate of judgment that permeates academic settings–judgments of not being dedicated, or resourceful or brilliant enough.

Giving up on the love that brought you to this world means putting yourself directly in the line of fire of this judgment. And it doesn’t just come from others. Anyone who has lived in academic settings long enough to get a Ph.D. has thoroughly absorbed this judgment into themselves.

In the end, I think, you can’t throw in the towel, and really move on to what life has next, until you face down this judgment, and the fear (of not being smart enough) and shame (that you’re a fraud) that underlie it.  I think that you can not just survive but actually thrive, when you reconnect to the love that brought you into this game to begin with, and realize–that love and passion are part of me, and don’t require an affiliation and letterhead to be “real.”  And then you can look up and ask, “what new thing is out there for me?” and be ready to hear the answer.

What I want to say here is, there is life outside of academia.  A world of potential jobs and paychecks and free time and friends whom you actually see.  It is OK to quit.  It is really, really ok.  Eventually you’ll get to the point where you can even enjoy reading for pleasure again.  And then you’ll know you’ve reclaimed the love.  And you will be fine.

* Although I am, you know, hand’s down the best reader of your job materials you will find anywhere.  I have some weird talent for it.  Don’t know why, but there it is.  It’s my societal contribution.

Negotiating Your Tenure-Track Offer(s)

(Wednesday Post Category:  Getting Your Tenure-Track Job)


[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


Congratulations! You did it! You got the tenure track job offer!

Take a moment and just bask in the glory.

Do not, under any circumstances, accept the offer the same day they make it. When they call or email, answer pleasantly and politely, “Oh thank you. That is good news. I’m so pleased.” And then say, “I’d like to know more about the offer. When can we discuss the details, and when can I expect a written contract?” If the Department Head tries to push you for a commitment, simply repeat, “I am very happy for the offer, but I will need to discuss the terms and see the contract before I can make a final commitment. I very much look forward to discussing this further. I hope we can begin soon.” {addendum:  this post is based on U.S. academic practices. I have been informed that in the U.K. you must accept the job instantly or lose it.  If others have an international perspective to add, please, by all means, add it to the comments to the post. Thank you. KK}

Now, there are several things you need to know. Once an offer has been made to you, the institution cannot legally offer the job to anyone else for a certain amount of time. While that amount of time may vary by institution, be assured that you have at least one week to contemplate your response, and possibly as much as two or three. During that time you are in the driver’s seat. While unscrupulous or panicky or inexperienced or pushy Department Heads may try to hustle you, do not allow yourself to be hustled. You are now the one in charge. Bask in that.

All offers have room for negotiation. You should first see what the formal offer is in terms of salary, summer salary, teaching load, leave time, research support, expectations for tenure, graduate student funding, service expectations (particularly if it is a joint appointment), support for a spousal hire, and other matters. Until you have these in writing you cannot make an informed response.

Once you receive these, decide what you’re going to come back with in negotiation. Because, you ALWAYS come back asking for more. You are entitled. It is expected. Do not miss this one-time-only opportunity to negotiate greater gain for yourself and your family. What you ask for will depend on you and your goals. A single person with no children might decide to prioritize research support —ie, additional leave time and a larger research budget to pay for overseas research. A person supporting a family might forgo additional research funding to prioritize a higher salary. A person seeking a position for their spouse might forgo both research support and salary in order to prioritize a spousal appointment. The point is, in all cases, this is the one AND ONLY time in your early years in the department that you can attempt to turn circumstances in your favor. So do it.

Always proceed courteously and professionally. Respond quickly to emails and calls, and never leave them hanging, even if just to say, “Dear Margaret, I received your latest email; thank you. I will study it and respond by tomorrow.” Ideally you should have a trusted senior colleague assist you in these negotiations. It is critical that you maintain positive relations with your likely future colleagues. Although they might grumble a bit as the negotiations carry on for a week or two, they will respect you. This is how the game is played.

Now, one aspect to consider is if you have another competing offer or possible offer. If you do, first off, lucky you—you have rocked the system. This is the absolute best position to negotiate from. If you are waiting on an offer from a second school, you may contact that second school and inform them of the offer you received from school one. You will write something to this effect, “Dear Steve, Thank you again for having me out to visit your department at XXX U. I enjoyed the visit immensely. I am writing to let you know that I have received an offer from another institution. My timeline for accepting this offer is approximately one week. I wonder if I could receive a response regarding your search within that time frame. I want to reiterate my interest in your position. I hope to hear from you soon. Sincerely, XXX”

You will also write to school number one and say, “Dear Margaret, I want to let you know that I am a finalist for a position at another institution.  I will shortly learn the results of their decision and I will let you know as soon as I do.”

Do not name the competing institutions in either of these initial emails, unless the name value is so patently exceptional that you feel it will add incalculable allure to your status.  If a bidding war ensues, then at that time the names of the institutions may be revealed.

You can be assured that this email will send a jolt of terror through the spine of both Steve and Margaret.  The greatest fear of departments once an offer is made is that the offerree will reject it and accept an offer elsewhere. The department may have a solid alternate candidate available, but often they do not. Departments often end up voting all but the top candidate as “unacceptable,” so failure to get the top candidate means a failed search, and the risk of losing authorization to hire that year. So all their eggs are in one basket, and that basket is you. If you are their top candidate, and they just haven’t told you yet because they haven’t had a chance to complete their voting and offer process (offers may have to be vetted by the Dean before they can be made to the candidate), this small, courteous email will send the department into a panic. And a panicked department is what you want. Because a panicked department, sensing that they might lose you to another institution, will be more likely to agree to your requests for salary, leave time, research support, and spousal positions.

You are absolutely entitled to play the two offers against each other. If school one is offering a higher salary, then go to school two and see if they will match the salary. If school two is offering a lighter teaching load, go to school one and see if that can be matched for a year or two (usually teaching load is more on the non-negotiable end of things, but temporary accomodations, say for year three, or the semester before tenure, etc., can sometimes be made in writing at the time of hire). The ideal situation for any tenure track job candidate is to be the object of a bidding war between two well-funded institutions. In the end, the choice you make will depend, as mentioned above, upon your own personal priorities. Things to ask about and consider negotiating for include:

  • higher salary
  • summer salary
  • research support
  • graduate student funding
  • guaranteed scheduled research leave
  • potential for early tenure
  • conference and travel support
  • spousal hire
  • lab support

Things that are non-negotiable but definitely worth asking about include:

  • service expectations, especially in joint appointments
  • level of health benefits
  • retirement contribution
  • overall retirement plan
  • on-campus day care
  • questions of maternity/paternity leave
  • housing/mortgage subsidies (in inflated real estate markets)
  • raise schedule

Now all departments have financial and logistical limitations. You cannot negotiate above those. If you try, you will quickly alienate them. They will not withdraw the offer, but they will resent you, and those feelings of resentment are dangerous for a soon-to-be junior faculty member. The key to negotiating is to always maintain good faith and honesty, and always have a highly delicate sense for when you are hitting a true wall of “we can’t do that.” Because when you hit that, that’s when you stop.

Be aware that many public institutions suffer from salary compression problems. That means that associate and full professors’ salaries have not kept pace with the national market, and consequently new assistant professors are offered salaries nearly as high as those of the tenured faculty who have been on campus for years. Salary compression creates terrible feelings of resentment and low morale in departments suffering from it. The Head will be all too well aware of these feelings. When the Head tells you, “we cannot go higher than $58,000 for your starting salary, or we will offend some faculty,” take that as a hard no, and turn your efforts elsewhere—summer salary for one to three years, one-time research support, a guaranteed graduate research assistant, and other shorter-term forms of compensation that don’t put pressure on an already strained salary structure.

Once you make your decision, call or email both departments immediately, and courteously and professionally express your gratitude for their offers, and accept one with warmth and enthusiasm, and turn down the other with kindness and respect. Remember that the colleagues in the rejected department will continue to play a role in your professional life for many years to come. You will see them at conferences, they might be external reviewers for your journal article or book mss., and who knows, one of them might end up one of your external reviewers for tenure one day. So preserve your good relations with these people at all costs. They will not be angry that you rejected their offer. They will just be disappointed. Be very friendly when you next run into them at a conference.

You, meanwhile, have tamed the beast. You have secured for yourself a job WITH benefits and WITH a retirement plan! You get to teach and pontificate and attend faculty meetings to your heart’s content. You are now on the tenure track, and can now start obsessing about tenure! Rest assured, there will be a Professor’s Guide about that too.

[This post is also a Special Request Post for Tiffany and Roger, who ask how to deal with more than one tenure track offer.  Here you go, you two!  I hope you have this problem!]

Challenges for Graduate Students of Color in the Academy

You’re probably looking at the title, and then at my photo, and thinking, “Isn’t she white?” Yes. Yes, I am white. I was never a graduate student of color in the academy.

So, my insights are limited, and I don’t present myself as an expert on this subject.

But I did have a career that spanned no fewer than three racially-charged departmental environments. And during my time in these three departments, I tried my best to stay open and alert to the challenges posed to the white dominant system in those departments by the graduate students (and faculty) of color. I came to understand some of the ways that my own subject position and mode of operation were products of white privilege, and the many unthinking ways that I reinforced that through my work. I watched graduate students and faculty of color brutalized by the unacknowledged racism of the institution, and I did my best to serve as an ally. I don’t think I was always as successful as I wanted to be. But I did learn a thing or two. And it’s those things I share today.

First, my background. I went to graduate school at the University of Hawai’i. I got my first job at the University of Oregon. I got my second job at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. At Hawai’i the Anthropology department was deeply implicated in the conflicts on campus about the relationship of the University and the Native Hawaiian community. One cultural anthropologist on the faculty, not long before I arrived, had just been forced to abandon her research focus on Native Hawaiians after her informants revealed they had systematically and intentionally lied to her in her most recent published fieldwork project.

At the University of Oregon, the archaeology program, which was highly Pacific Northwest focused, had begun intensively recruiting Native American graduate students shortly before I arrived. When I was there, there were approximately five Native American students enrolled in the department, some in the Cultural Resource Management MA program, with the goal of getting training to manage their tribes’ museums, and some in archaeology and cultural anthropology Ph.D.s focused on their tribal cultures, languages, and histories.

At the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, two Latina/o faculty members in cultural anthropology hired before I arrived had, over time, successfully recruited a group of approximately seven Latina/o graduate students, who were primarily enrolled in cultural anthropology Ph.D.s focused on a range of Latino, Mexicano, and Latin American cultural topics.

In all three of these departments, the presence of a “critical mass” of graduate students of color—that is to say, graduate students of “one” color, ie, from one particular racial and cultural background—fundamentally altered the department climate and profoundly challenged the graduate seminar environment.

At Oregon, because of a separate critical mass of white faculty members who were (within limits) willing and able to look directly at questions of race and their own privileged subject position, the department, at least during the years I was there, was able to adjust and grow as a result of these challenges.

At Hawai’i and Illinois, the departments proved unable to do this.

At Hawai’i, the cultural anthropologist who had previously worked with Native Hawaiians changed her research focus and left for a position on the East Coast. The department, during the years that I was there as a Ph.D. Student, indeed operated as if it was located on the East Coast. There was no indication whatsoever that we were a department at the very center of a profound social upheaval resulting from the newly powerful Native Hawaiian Sovereignty Movement, and the work of scholars and activists like Haunani-Kay Trask, right on our campus. The department stayed entirely mute. It was a department in total denial.

This despite the fact that at just the same time, the discipline of anthropology was itself reeling from a new interrogation from scholars of color (Edward Said foremost among them) of the profound involvement of the discipline in histories and mechanisms of colonialism and imperialism.  These scholars also queried the continuing racism embedded in a discipline that is based on the ideal of a white scholar writing about and making a career from studies of communities of color.

It was a curious fact that this critique was taken seriously at the most intensely white anthropology programs, while at the programs where the faculty felt directly threatened by actual people of color in the community, it was entirely ignored.

At Illinois, because the Latina/o graduate students had the support of two respected (albeit untenured) faculty members, and also the support of no less than the brand-new then-Chancellor of the University, Nancy Cantor (a long-time proponent of diversity in graduate education), they were able to break through the wall of silence and denial in the department, and force the issue of the racism of anthropology into the open.

The fascinating thing at Illinois was that the critique of anthropological racism was never explicitly denied. On the contrary, most of the white faculty members by that point were well-versed in “talking the talk” of self-reflexive anthropology and the imperialist origins of the discipline.

But when it came to taking the next step, that of interrogating their own privilege, and in particular, the readings assigned, and the discussions encouraged, in their own graduate seminars, then….well, things were entirely different. Far from being mute, the faculty became aggressive and hostile.

The department fractured in the end over a truly heartbreaking and appalling incident centering around a plaque that the university, in its infinite wisdom, saw fit to erect honoring long-deceased UI anthropologist Oscar Lewis and his “Culture of Poverty” thesis (which, for those of you unfamiliar, basically blames poor Mexican people for being poor). I will not rehash the dreadful events that ensued here, but you may read about them in this account by a former Ph.D. student who was at the center of it: Brian Montes, “No Longer Silent: A Historical Moment of Latino Student Activism” Latino Studies (2005) 3, 280–287.

I’ve written too much without even getting to any thoughts on the purported topic of this post: “Challenges for Graduate Students of Color in the Academy.”

Here’s what I want to say. I learned through these interactions that the vast majority of white people in the academy are absolutely clueless when it comes to race. Not race as some abstract category of analysis “out there,” but race as it is manifested daily in their/our own subject position and actions.

One archaeology colleague remarked to me at a cocktail party, in the midst of the Oscar Lewis debacle, “Too bad for you cultural anthropologists. You should be like us in archaeology. We don’t have any race problems. Because all of our students are white!” I gamely tried to explain to this colleague that the absence of students of color in her program was actually a more profound sign of a “race problem” than any visible conflict could be, but she was unmoveable. Kind of like the Republicans blaming Obama for the debt-ceiling crisis. If a problem emerges under your purview—you must be the cause of the problem.

Anyway, it goes without saying that graduate students of color so often feel heartbreakingly isolated in their departments and completely without a friend or ally. That when they try to talk to white faculty about race—not so much as an analytical concept, as a systematic source of blindness about how syllabi are written (ie, with exclusively white scholarship) or how classroom discussions are conducted (ie, when the tentative critiques of students of color are instantly and angrily shot down by defensive white students and faculty), they are met with on one end, bewilderment, in the middle defensiveness, and on the other end, hostility. That when they try to engage their white graduate classmates in a collective intervention, the white graduate students are often MORE defensive, angry, and hostile than the faculty members themselves, probably because of their own status insecurity.

I am not the first to say these things, and I won’t be the last.

What I do want to say is this: the starting point and the ending point for so many graduate students of color in the humanities and social sciences is frequently (although not always) fundamentally different from that of white students. While some graduate students of color most certainly do turn their scholarly interests to subjects unconnected to their own racial or cultural background, and that is entirely to be supported, for the majority, I believe, scholarship starts and ends with the question, “does this help or hurt my people?”

And that is a question that white people don’t get. Because white people don’t have “a people.” Of course the most ethical among us will ask this question about the people we study. We might care deeply about those people and spend a professional life intimately involved with them. But they’re not “our” people. Even when we marry one of them, they are not our mothers, our fathers, our grandmothers, our cousins. We have not seen our closest family members ravaged by the widespread, all-encompassing systematic poverty and alcoholism and disease that has ravaged the Native Hawaiian community, the Native American community. White people have not seen our families torn apart by oppressive immigration policies that victimize so many in the Latina/o community and force so many into hiding.

Sure, white people can feel a sense of belonging to an ethnic group, or to a class. Working class white people in the academy do indeed feel systematically excluded from the in-groups and from classroom debates. I am not denying that. But it is different, because the stakes are different. When your people are dying, literally dying, from forms of cultural genocide, your approach to academia is going to be different. It’s going to be urgent. It’s going to be impatient. It’s going to be angry. You’re going to ask questions about why their stories are not being told, and why scholars aren’t asking how the discipline helps or hurts a group of people, your people, who are already suffering from so many histories of neglect and disregard.

I have no solution to offer for white blindness and cluelessness. I don’t present myself as a hero of enlightenment in this regard. I am still blind to my own privilege much of the time, despite my best efforts. I would still be even more pathetically blind if not shaken out of my complacency by living in Hawa’i during a powerful moment in the Native Hawaiian Sovereignty Movement, and if not directly confronted by a group of Native American graduate students in my Foundations of Social Theory Core Graduate Seminar at Oregon. If they had not asked me why all of my readings were by old, dead white guys, and insisted on an answer that wasn’t stupid, and if those students had not already been empowered by an archaeology program that was dedicated to supporting them, and if they had not been defended by a white cultural anthropologist Department Head who stood up for those students and our tumultuous class when they were attacked by the white students enrolled in it…..well, if all those things had not been in place, at that one moment in time, I would most likely still be totally comfortable with the idea of a Core Seminar in Anthropology imposing an all-white world view onto graduate students, and those Native American students would have been silenced once more.

Perhaps it takes a lightning in the bottle kind of moment to shake white people out of their race-blindness. That is depressing, and not good news. What I know is that graduate students of color bear far more than a fair share of the burden in pushing departments to confront race. And they all too often pay a terrible price for it.

How To Fire a Professor

Today’s post is a Special Request post. This one is for Jenn, who asks, “how do you replace one professor with another on your committee?”

This is a delicate matter, as I’m sure Jenn is aware. There are all kinds of reasons that committee members end up needing to be replaced, not all of them bad. But it is always delicate because there are professorial egos involved. And where professorial egos are involved, nothing is easy or painless.

In my own case, I decided to “switch out” a committee member between my MA committee and my doctoral committee at the same institution. I actually really liked committee member #1, we had a good relationship, and he’d been helpful. But I was moving in new directions, and I realized that for my external member I needed someone versed in postcolonial studies and post-marxist theory far more than I needed a second Japan-focused social scientist.

So I left him a jaunty little message on his answering machine, basically “firing” him from my committee. Of course I didn’t intend it that way. I explained my reasons, which were entirely scholarly, and indeed sound, and assumed that he’d understand them.

Well, he didn’t. He was furious. He was offended. His feelings were hurt. And he refused to  engage with me any further in my academic career.

Now, this was a juvenile and unprofessional response on his part. But for my part, I had totally failed to anticipate his feelings.

Indeed, until that moment it had actually never occurred to me that professors have feelings. Feelings, that is, about graduate students. I thought they mostly viewed us as burdens, and would welcome the opportunity to jettison one. I had absolutely no idea that in fact they might feel intellectually invested in one of us, and feel intellectually insulted if dropped.

Chalk that up to youthful ignorance.

In any case, I did learn my lesson. I was very sorry to have hurt the feelings of this man, who had only done right by me. And I made sure that in the future, I took far better care to try and anticipate the feelings of the committee members who had invested their time and energy in me, and later, in my students.

I have advised quite a few students in ways to negotiate this mine field.

While there is no one method of doing this that fits every personality and set of circumstances, the best way to proceed is probably a combination of email and personal meeting, for both the departing (fired) member #1, and the new (recruited) member #2.

To remove Professor #1, your initial email should read something like this:

Dear Professor #1,

First off, I want to thank you for serving on my thesis/dissertation committee. I have appreciated your efforts to improve my writing/scholarship/etc., your good advice, and your generosity with your time.

I am writing today because I’ve been making plans for the next stage in my work on the thesis/dissertation project, and I’ve been rethinking some of the intellectual directions I hope to take. In that context, I have realized I may need to reorganize my committee.

I am hoping that we can meet sometime in the next few days to discuss this in person. Would you have any time to meet with me? I’d appreciate it.

Thank you,


Once you meet in person, it is probably best to conduct the conversation something like this:

I want to thank you again for everything you’ve done for me. You’ve been a great mentor and supporter, and I really appreciate how generous you have been in introducing me to new scholarship on xxx/editing my writing/discussing my ideas/etc.

The thing is… I’ve actually had a pretty big change of heart/direction in my research in the last few weeks/months. Instead of focusing on XXX, I am more and more interested in YYYYY. But I don’t know a whole lot about YYYY, so I’ve been working closely with Professor Q. It’s going really well, but I realized that I need to reconstitute my committee, to include Professor Q.

So… I’m really sorry, but that means I am going to have to replace you on the committee, and put Professor Q in that slot.  This is no reflection at all on my respect for your work—it’s just a reflection of the new directions that my work is moving in.  I hope you can understand.

Really? Thanks for understanding. I really appreciate that. I just want you to know that you’ve made a big difference in my studies. If it’s ok with you, I’d still like to stop by now and again and let you know what I’m up to.

Great. Thanks.”

All of this is pretty effusive in expressing appreciation and gratitude. I recommend that you operate along these lines even in the cases where you feel few of such feelings, such as when Professor #1 was a total asshole. You want to at all times preserve an aura of professionalism and probity in your dealings with faculty. As long as you couch this decision in entirely academic terms, it is difficult for Professor #1, or your other committee members, or the Department Head to take issue with it.

OK, now on to Professor #2.

The most important thing here, when communicating with Professor #2, is never, ever to criticize Professor #1. You do not want to give the impression of being a malcontent, or difficult to deal with. You must restrict your initial exchanges with Professor #2 entirely to intellectual and academic justifications. Much later, when you know Professor #2 better, and have established a relationship of trust, you might be able to express some other factors that came into play. But for now, at the beginning, again, stick closely to the academic script.

Your initial email will read something like this:

Dear Professor Q,

I hope your semester is off to a good start. I have been enjoying your class, xxx, and learning a lot.

I’m actually writing to ask if I might be able to meet with you in the next few days. As you know, I’ve been working with my committee on my thesis/dissertation project on XXXX. Since working with you, I’ve become more and more interested in moving this project in the direction of YYYY. You have opened my eyes to some fascinating scholarship that I didn’t know about, and now that I know it, I’ve really reconceptualized my entire project. It’s very exciting.

Because of that, though, I will be reconstituting my committee a bit to reflect this new direction. I would like to meet with you in person, as I said, to talk about my new committee.



Once you meet, you can simply express your excitement for the new direction of your project, and your eagerness to work more closely with Professor Q.

Because of all of this, I was really hoping that you would be willing to serve on my thesis/dissertation committee. My timeline is to take my preliminary exams next spring, and I hope that one of them could be with you on the subject of YYY. After that, I plan to get out my funding proposals in the Fall, do coursework and finish up my dissertation proposal in Spring, and leave for fieldwork the following Fall. I’m hoping that schedule is compatible with your plans for being on campus.

You’re going to be on leave in Spring? Well, would you be open to doing my proposal defense by Skype or conference call? I know that other students have done that with no problem.

Really? Great. I’m so glad. Thank you so much. I’m really looking forward to getting into this area in more detail with you. For now, if you have any readings you want me to start on right away, let me know.”

The power of this approach to Professor Q is that it expresses genuine enthusiasm for his area of specialization. It is also highly respectful of his time. And it shows consideration for his schedule. Few, very few, professors will be able to say no to a request like this.

I realize that not all communications with faculty will go this smoothly, and that sometimes professors are just plain difficult and unreasonable. But in general, if you can refrain from personalizing conflict, and stay at the level of academic pursuits, your efforts to navigate the minefield of reconstituting your committee has a fighting chance of ending well, with your reputation intact.

Good luck!



Humanities Graduate School: Go? Don’t Go? What’s a Would-Be Ph.D. To Do?

William Pannapacker has published, over the last several years, a number of widely influential pieces in the Chronicle of Higher Education and, this past week, in Slate, criticizing the ethics and economics of graduate programs in the humanities. His most widely quoted take-away point, for would-be Ph.D. students, is: if you don’t have private funds to support you both during and after graduate school, just don’t go.

Why? Because the university economy, always precarious, has imploded.  Tenure track lines are being replaced at all levels with poorly compensated adjunct positions.  The hopes of Ph.D. students to live “the life of the mind” as a university professor–to have a life something like that of their advisor’s– have become vastly unrealistic.

And yet, Pannapacker argues, graduate programs each year take in cohort after cohort of new Ph.D. students to boost faculty egos, to maintain the prestige of the department as a “Ph.D.-granting program,” and to staff classes that faculty no longer teach. They admit these students with full knowledge that the vast majority of them will have no chance for regular academic employment (ie, with a liveable wage and benefits) after completion, but conceal this knowledge through a highly circumscribed advising ethos that focuses entirely on each student’s dissertation project, and what Pannapacker calls “The Big Lie of the Life of the Mind.”

So year after year, cohort after cohort of Ph.D. students dedicate hour after hour to the research and writing of scholarly dissertation projects, struggling over minutiae of citations and shades of meaning, attempting to please their dissertation chair and committee, without being told the truth by anyone in the department: that for the vast majority of them, the hoped-for tangible gains from this exercise are unlikely to materialize. For many, the result of 10 years of time and tens (or hundreds) of thousands of dollars of expense is crushing debt and the systematic underemployment of adjuncting at $2000 or so a class. Some Ph.D.s marginally employed on the fringes of the academic system have ended up living on food stamps.

Meanwhile, the privileged tenured faculty ignore the wholesale disintegration of the academic economy, and their increasingly ethically untenable place within it, and label any less than optimally employed Ph.D. (ie, any not in tenure track positions), as a shameful “failure” who “never had what it takes.”

Pannapacker’s essays elicit a simply extraordinary amount of response from all sides.  He has clearly touched a nerve.  His Chronicle essays have prompted an outpouring of anguished stories from unemployed and underemployed Ph.D.s who thank him for telling the truth about their dismal experiences during and after their Ph.D.s, and leveling accusations at the departments that, they believe, systematically misled them. Writes one:  “We are supposed to love our intellectual labor enough to give it away whether we are paid to or not. The love is often there but it does not pay the bills. That tends to sour the relationship.” (mjelly33, Big Lie of the Life of the Mind, comment #5)

His pieces have also drawn outraged rebuttals from many who insist that all is well in the academy, or at least not as bad as he suggests.

The fiercest rebuttals seem to rest on one or more of the following arguments:

  • I got a Ph.D. and I am currently employed so there is no problem with the system.
  • I am getting a Ph.D. and I love it, so there is no problem with the system.
  • I got a Ph.D. and am currently unemployed but I did not get the Ph.D. to be trained for a job, so there is no problem with the system.
  • I got a Ph.D. and am currently unemployed but the opportunity to think great thoughts about the humanities is priceless, so there is no problem with the system.
  • The point of the humanities is to think great thoughts and any association with things as vulgar as jobs and salaries is unseemly.
  • I am a working class person, grad school is a better option than most others I had, and how dare Pannapacker or anybody tell me what I can and cannot do.

The only position among these with which I have sympathy is the last.  Personally, I appreciate Pannapacker’s use of overstatement to force his point.  But I also appreciate that it is not an optimal position, irony aside, to tell working class young people to abandon their goals, and to leave the world of humanistic inquiry to the elite (even acknowledging that Pannapacker comes from a working class background himself).  As a number of commentators have argued, graduate school with funding can be a responsible and considered financial choice, regardless of its future outcome, for those who may not enjoy a wide range of other options, or who are comfortable with financial risk.  I make the point elsewhere on this site, on the page “It’s OK to Quit,” that I don’t believe in telling someone to abandon their dreams just because their dreams are difficult or next to impossible to accomplish.

My position is, rather:  go in not just with “your eyes open” (as so many Ph.D. program apologists insist) but with a strategy and a game plan.  Calculate your chances from start to finish, and maximize them with strategic choices about *which* program, *how much* funding, *what* topic, *which* advisor, *how much* TA-ing, *how* to cut corners, *when* to be selfish, *where* to network, *how* to schmooze, *where* and *when* and *how often* to publish.  And so on.  Find the job ad for the type of position you want and make every decision based on reaching that goal.  Get out quickly.  Don’t count on your advisor.  Don’t fixate on the dissertation.  Protect yourself. Collect your own set of transferrable professional skills.

With this set of calculations, it may be possible to optimize the humanities graduate school experience to, at least, minimize risk of debt and maximize potential for employment.  I make no apology for this language. No one can change the world if they can’t afford food and health care.  That is the point of The Professor Is In.

But to return to Pannapacker: it is unfortunate that “just don’t go”–Pannapacker’s most incendiary claim–has become a red herring drawing attention away from the courageousness and power of his larger critique.  He is the first to speak the truth, in the baldest terms, without neo-marxist theoretical trappings or jargon, about the great hidden economy of the academy, and the studied silence–or in cases, sanctioned ignorance–of the professoriate that maintains it.

It is a dishonest and unethical system.  Not all faculty who operate within it are personally, individually, dishonest or unethical.  Many are sincere, and doing their best to advise their Ph.D.s.  Their best simply isn’t good enough.  No amount of advising about an intellectual project is good enough in the current economic conditions of the academy, in which Ph.D. students have become the serf labor of a stratified neo-feudal system that is maintained by an administrative elite, in which the professors themselves have little real power, except over their own students.

The solution is not for working class students to turn away.  The solution is for the professoriate to tell the goddamn truth.

The solution is for Ph.D. advisors to speak directly to the inequities and exploitations built directly into the reliance on teaching assistant and adjunct labor in their departments, and to the silences around the real potential for tenure track work for their graduates.  The solution is for the professoriate to admit that they too are increasingly disempowered “workers” who draw a wage, and to acknowledge and train their Ph.D. students as wage-earning workers as well.  The solution is for “employment skills training” to be made a central element of every responsible humanities graduate program in the country, by which I mean: training for both academic and non-academic employment.

Without Pannapacker, the shameful ethics of humanities graduate training would still be hidden behind a veil of bullshit.  The masturbatory bullshit of those professors who get off on the miniature stageshows of intellectual prowess that is Ph.D. advising.  The bullshit of departments and administrators who mouth the benefits of the life of the mind while running the university like a corporation.


How to Tell Your Department About a Family Crisis–A Special Request Post

Today’s post is requested by Shane.  Shane wishes to know about the etiquette for academic workers in vulnerable positions–particularly adjuncts–to inform their departments about family crises that might impact their work.  For example, if a parent is dying, how do you ask for time away from your class without adversely affecting your standing in the department.

Now, The Professor is all about telling the truth.  And that means I tell the truth when I’m not an expert on a subject.  I’m not an expert on this subject.  I was never in this particular vulnerable position.  So I welcome perspectives from anyone about this subject, and ask you to post freely in the comments.  I’d like to learn more.

As a department head, I did have to manage, on occasion, graduate teaching assistants who had to leave their positions in mid-semester because of family crises.  What I expected in that situation was an email followed by a personal meeting–both of them as far in advance as possible, to give me time to handle the staffing adjustments that had to take place.

The email should read something like this:

Dear Professor XXX,

I am teaching XXX this semester, and the class is going well.  I appreciate the opportunity to teach in the department.

Unfortunately, I am writing today because of an urgent issue that has arisen, that may impact the class.  It is a family issue, and I would appreciate meeting with you in person to discuss this at the earliest opportunity.

Thank you,


Prior to the meeting with the Head, it would be wise for the adjunct to make her best efforts to find a replacement herself for the class periods she is going to need to miss.  Anything she can accomplish to lessen the hassle for the Department Head to scramble around looking for a replacement mid-semester is going to endear her enormously to said Department Head.   It will build the good-will upon which you depend.  Be aware that the Head cannot, most likely, legally accept a kind offer of “volunteer labor” by the adjuncts’ friends in the department, beyond one or two class meetings.  Chances are, new contracts will have to be drawn up to account for the shifting assignments.  But the true hassle for the Head is in finding a warm body to put in front of the class.  If the adjunct can handle that part, she’s going to enjoy far better standing with the Head.

In the meeting with the Head, explain the circumstances as calmly and unemotionally and BRIEFLY as possible, and explain what exactly you need.  Apologize ONE TIME only –“I’m so sorry to cause this inconvenience to the department mid-semester” and do not apologize again.  Thank the Head for any accomodation possible.  And then leave.   Follow up with an email thanking the Head again, and communicating your exact departure date, etc.

I cannot anticipate how humane and flexible your particular Head or Chair will be.  I know that I always worked with my TAs to accomodate their personal family needs.

The point I want to emphasize in this post is this:  do not grovel!  do not be a supplicant!  do not walk in apologize up and down and sideways for how “unprofessional” and “inconvenient” your request is, and “what an imposition” you are causing for the department, and to “please forgive” this hassle.  You are a human being and you and your needs are entitled to respect!

Women—hear me now!  The more you demand this respect, the more you will get it.  EVEN when you’re in a marginal status.  The fact is, if you act like a supplicant, you’ll be treated like a supplicant, and disrespected.  Walk in with healthy self-respect, and the Head will likely “stand down” and stop with (or at least modulate) the attitude.

At the risk of totally unacceptable over-generalizaton, WOMEN DON’T SEEM TO GET THIS.   Women graduate students and young faculty, in my experience, seem to think that if they just apologize enough, they’ll play on their superior’s emotions to be given special dispensation to slip by unnoticed.  NO!  It’s the opposite!  The more you apologize, the more you irritate the person in charge.  You are wasting their precious time. Stop apologizing and stand up for yourself and your needs.

In summary:  Be quick to anticipate the problem.  Do not wait until the last minute, if it’s a crisis that can anticipated (understanding that not all can), schedule the meeting early, take the steps in your power to solve the Head’s problem yourself, be courteous and brief, do not apologize more than once, and follow up with a clear statement of your plans.

With these steps, you maximize your chances for a humane and positive interaction with the department.
Now, readers—let me know about your experiences.  I’d like to hear them.

What Not to Wear, Assistant Professor Edition: Fashion for the Academic Set

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

Egged on by the redoubtable Martina of TheLifeAcademic, I have agreed to do a series of posts on What Not To Wear (Campus Edition).  She is on a mission to de-depress academic fashion, and this is a mission that I completely endorse.  Just because we’re smart doesn’t mean we have to be dreary.

Readers, dress better!  “Trust me, you’re gonna like the way you look.”

Seriously, you’ll be amazed at the boost this gives to your confidence. And the impact it has on the way you’re treated by students and colleagues.

There will be five posts in the series.

  • Grad school
  • Job market
  • Assistant professor
  • Conference
  • For the guys

And yes, these posts, except for the last, are directed toward women who present conventionally as women.  I am not offering a post for butch dykes, although being a loyal femme fan of butch dykes, I’d be happy to (please email at to request).  And men just have less scope for error than women, and so they only get one post.  Sad but true, women need more advising on this subject.

Today, Assistant Professor Edition.

Now to be perfectly honest, most assistant professors I have known have not dressed badly.  That doesn’t mean they’ve dressed well.  But they haven’t done anything sartorially that might actually destroy their chances for continued employment.   The same cannot be said for job candidates.

So for today, I’m not going to make the sweeping critical judgments reserved for job candidates in my forthcoming “Job Market Edition.”  I’m simply going to move top to bottom, from hair to shoes.  I am channeling Stacy, and I make no apology about that.  You may disagree, but you will not change my mind.

HairIt is not illegal for an assistant professor to have a trendy haircut.  Ditch the ponytail.  Reject the pageboy (of any length). Show that you ARE All That.  Spend the money on yourself to look good.  Find the hottest hair salon in your town, and become a regular.  You will be astounded at what a good haircut does for your confidence.  If you do nothing else from this post, do this.  Don’t know how to find the hottest hair salon?  Go to the hottest coffeeshop, find the barista with the coolest haircut (male or female, it matters not), and ask them where they got it.

Skin and Makeup:  I like makeup. Not everyone does.  It’s optional, of course. If you go for it, and I think you should, let’s lean away from Wet N’ Wild and more toward L’Oreal and Revlon.  No need to go into the overpriced department store brands at this stage in your career.  I like Revlon Colorstay because I put it on in the morning and don’t have to think about it again.  I recently discovered that lip stain makes a killer all-day blush.

Even if you don’t wear makeup, take care of your skin.  It’s your largest organ!  It deserves care!  Use a toner and moisturizer. They feel good and make a difference.Do the occasional clay mask.  Cheap ones are fine.  I like organics, myself.

JewelryWear conservative jewelry to job talks.  You may wear conspicuous jewelry at large conferences.  In your daily life in the department, aim for the middle.  Beware of jangling bracelets.

TopsTake out your tops and look at them them.  Are they stained?  Get them cleaned or throw them out.  Are they ripped?  Fix them or throw them out.  We notice.  Your students notice.  Please.

Iron your shirts. I know there’s no time. But iron your shirts.

Your blouse must button completely over the girls.  There must be no gapping of any kind.  Wearing a camisole underneath the gapping blouse is not an acceptable solution.  Your breasts must be, as Clinton says, locked and loaded, and covered in their entirety by your clothing.   Cleavage and bra straps are unacceptable in any academic setting. Leave the hooker-wear to the undergraduates.  Choose tops that don’t have to be tugged at to preserve modesty.  Aside from these two rules, wear what you want.  Take chances.  Be visible!  And your students will love you, simply love you, for any effort you make to stay current.  And wear colors, I beg you.  Black doesn’t make you smarter.

Addendum:   Readers have asked what to do when you’re really busty and blouses just don’t work.  I am not unfamiliar with this problem.  Pullover tops with some embellishment are good.

On a related note, the fitted jacket is the assistant professor’s best friend.  The best current fitted jackets look hip and professional.  Have jackets in many colors.  At TPII we disapprove of matchy-matchy for daily wear–but jackets can be combined with any skirts or pants in your wardrobe.  Here are a few cute ones, from the Boden website.  But DON’T buy jackets online! The fit is too tricky. See below.

From Boden USA

From Boden USA

From Boden USA

From Boden USA

***Be Aware:  Jackets are hard to fit!.  The best and most expensive jacket will not do its magic if it doesn’t fit YOUR body.  And a badly fitting jacket will look the opposite of good.  Jacket shopping can be grueling, like swimsuits.   Put in the time.  It’s worth it.  The time you spend in the stores you’ll more than save in the mornings when you’re rushing out the door for the 8 AM class.

BottomsPants or skirt?  The perennial question.  I don’t think it matters.  You must be comfortable.  Just leave behind the trailing earthmother skirts you wore in graduate school.  You are a young professional. You have to look like one.  Old-timers bewail the homogenization of the assistant professoriate, in their sea of dull grey suits.  Nevertheless, own a grey suit.  Just make it really, really stylish grey suit.  And wear it with killer shoes.

Shoes: You don’t need to wear heels if you don’t usually.  Flats or even better, flat-heeled boots (ankle boots or knee-height) are great. If you do like heels, for the job interview, wear a heel between 1 and 3 inches.  I don’t recommend flats because, frankly, you need the height.  Above 3 inches, and you’re tottering.  I wear this kind of heel every day, but that’s me.  I like heels.  Avoid stillettos and kitten heels–they stick in sidewalk cracks and trip you.  The round or square toe and a stacked heel keeps you safe from falling over as you approach the podium.  Beyond these rules, express yourself.  Have the hippest shoes that you can pull off.  They give you mystique.  They say, “I’m brilliant AND I’m cool.”

Your Briefcase: You’re not still using a backpack because that would be sad.  You bike to work?  Of course you have a messenger bag.  Now take out your briefcase and look at it.  Is it stained?  Is it ripped?  Is it canvas?  Throw it out and go buy yourself a high quality, stylish leather or microfiber briefcase, preferably black, but there’s some give on that one.  If you want a limited edition graphic designer item, go for it.  It’ll add to your mystique:  “Oh this?  It’s from London, so, yeah….”

How to afford all this on an assistant professor’s salary? Second hand boutiques.  Any college town worth its salt will have at least one and probably a handful of high quality second hand women’s clothing boutiques.  Shop at these, and you can cover 75% of your clothing needs.  True, you’re buying your undergraduates’ cast-offs, and have to hate your life to some extent. But, whatever. I didn’t buy new clothes until after I was tenured.

Why do all this? Because image matters.  And because you’ll feel better.  And when you feel better, you perform better.  Don’t believe me?  Try it out for a month, and find out for yourself.

“Trust me, you’re gonna like the way you look.”