Academic networking: a cynic’s game?

Random beats deterministic

Before we go any further, I must admit something. One of my biggest secrets is that I’m an introvert. And it terrorises me even today – especially when it comes to networking.

I cannot interact with people easily at conference settings because when I become brave enough to speak up, I always end up saying something rather too controversial for the group. My natural directness is exacerbated by my shyness, and that makes it very awkward to navigate the semi-social interactions on which academic relationships are typically founded.

I suspect that a significant number of academics share my affliction. But the remedy is neither to give up nor to fall back on cynicism. I would certainly never dream of simply identifying the highest-ranking individuals present and trying to hang out with them to get on their radar, as early-career academics are sometimes advised to do. While this might seem the best way to generate maximum impact for the unit of time devoted to networking, I doubt that such an insincere and somewhat unethical approach can lay the foundations of a real network.

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Reflecting for this article on my own networking strategy, I have identified four slightly different approaches that I take.

First is the anarchist’s gambit. Sometimes, at a meeting or a conference, I find myself disagreeing quite deeply with an explanation of something or an experimental approach to investigating it. When I feel this way, I will often just approach the person or group and say why I think they are wrong, misguided or appear to be making stuff up.

I must admit that over the years, I’ve had to refine this approach because it can come across as rather aggressive. I never mean to be aggressive, but I do want to understand. And while it does seem a bizarre thing to do, I’ve met some of the most interesting people this way and found some great friends. In academia, we love being told when we are wrong much more than being falsely praised.

My second approach is the outsider’s gambit. I’ve sometimes attended quite diverse meetings that are way out of my comfort zone. For example, I was once invited to an architecture conference “by accident” as I had written a piece on inorganic chemical architecture. But meeting some of the early pioneers of 3D printing there helped me develop the ideas of both chemputation, for printing drugs, and digital-programmable chemical reactors.

Third is my reverse-hierarchy gambit. At some meetings I seek out people with the least “status” because I feel more comfortable with them and more able to find out what is really happening in the field, away from the hype the academic leaders are advertising. What is the hottest, most interesting question? Why are students not happy working in a certain area? Which teams should be avoided and what are people doing wrong? I like these interactions as they allow me to burst my own bubble and understand how things are shifting.

Fourth is the anti-networking gambit. One of the downsides of attending a wide range of meetings is that I sometimes feel that I’m the only person who has no “friends” there. I often find myself on the fringes, and this used to make me feel uncomfortable until I realised that I could just stand in the open, on my own, and observe everyone without feeling embarrassed. It was liberating and very insightful – and I’m never alone for long. This way, I meet the people who want to talk to me or are curious about my isolation.

Campus resource collection: Is your academic career cleared for take-off?

I’m not sure if these approaches are universally “good”, but they work for me. I love meeting people, but I do find it very stressful and draining because I worry that my directness will get me into trouble and I find it physically hard not to be too direct for very long. Equally, the most rewarding conversations for me are those that are odd, somewhat contrarian and way out of my intellectual comfort zone. So I try to seek out people who confuse me or who I disagree with to try to learn more.

I’m not chasing status or career advancement. Rather, I love serendipity and the fact I might bump into someone who will help me think differently or correct a mistake – or might just enjoy poking fun at me!

Lee Cronin is Regius chair of chemistry at the University of Glasgow.

From the top down: a call to action

Less than three months after I accepted an assistant professorship, my dissertation adviser passed away. I lost my friend, my mentor and the connections that came from working with him: no more introductions to presses, letters of support for grants, references for jobs. This loss made me acutely aware of the predicament faced by other colleagues starting out, especially those without close mentors or those who didn’t attend premier graduate institutions with networking opportunities.

Ah, there it is, that dreaded word: “networking”. What does it even mean? Ideally, it involves making connections and building relationships based on merit, but it’s more complicated than that. In theory, we attend conferences to share and advance knowledge – not only to get a job or get ahead. But under the pressures of today’s academic job market, who can blame our junior colleagues for keeping their eyes on the prize? The competition for tenure-track jobs is fierce. In many fields, a newly minted PhD must be prepared to go anywhere, for any job, and to face the inevitable reality that most if not all permanent positions will go to candidates from the top programmes. Many talented individuals won’t receive a job offer.

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Meritocracy no longer operates when the job market is saturated. The same outstanding candidate might land a coveted position at a prestigious university or a teaching-heavy position at a low-profile institution simply based on who’s hiring in that particular year. And this matters, perhaps more than it should: the hiring institution’s prestige often determines not only the kinds of internal financial support and exposure they’ll receive, but also the types of external research funding and publication offers they can expect early on in their careers. It’s a catch-22: candidates can’t afford to turn down a job offer, but in accepting a not entirely desirable one, they’ll face additional hurdles on the path towards tenure.

To build an academy where talented individuals flourish, we need a new paradigm. We can no longer live in a world in which networking is about selfishly leveraging our own connections to advance our own careers. Hopefully that’s not why we got into our fields in the first place; I suspect most if not all of us were passionate about the pursuit of truth and the life of the mind. So, what do we do?

I believe ethical networking should be driven from the top down, rather than the bottom up. Junior scholars already have their work cut out for them: teaching classes, conducting research, publishing articles and books to meet ever-increasing tenure and promotion demands. It’s up to full professors to reach down to them, rather than the other way around.

In many ways, this is simply common sense. Full professors’ careers are established and we already have the connections: we’re in a position to build a win-win community of scholars who lift one another up.

We’d do well to apply principles of “reverse-networking” at every level of our professional lives. Instead of recycling the same pool of established names in the volumes of essays we edit or symposia we convene, we might do more due diligence, widen the pool, and seek out junior colleagues at other institutions, even if we haven’t met them yet. In stepping up these efforts, we can bring a sense of community and mentorship back to the academy.

Such reverse-networking can help us communicate value to our junior peers and transform our fields into welcoming and inclusive communities. Across all industries, shouldn’t the academy lead the charge to be the place where it’s more about what you know, and not who?

What would academia look like if 100 of us committed to ethical networking over the next five years? If we built projects and published volumes that mentored our junior colleagues across our fields and helped them to succeed? If you’d like to find out, or you’re a junior scholar in need of a mentor, please reach out. The easiest way to network with me is to send an email.

Sarah-Jane Murray is professor of great texts and creative writing at Baylor University and founder of The Greats Story Lab (thegreats.org).

Play by playground rules

Networking in early academic careers should be an obvious goal for new faculty but it is often set aside while seemingly more important pursuits are tackled. This is especially true in the first year after being hired – and especially so in the sciences, where research is often the true focus of the hire.

Avoiding “early and often” networking is a mistake, however. What is not initiated cannot grow; and what is started much later takes that much longer to flourish.

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Perceived barriers to networking commonly include claims of “introversion” on the part of the faculty member, not being around “important enough” people, and declarations that academics are above a practice derived from the business world. These inaccurate assessments may serve as excuses for inaction. But anyone who has asked for or given directions has overcome introversion. Believing that the people you see daily are not significantly powerful or useful to you is naive. And academics have always networked through writing grants, publishing papers, giving lectures and presenting posters.

For new science faculty, there are three types of networking, which can be regarded as utilitarian, emotional and virtuous. With utilitarian networking, you may be seeking advice, information or resources. All new faculty will need one of these items eventually. Emotional networking may fulfil the human goal of connecting to someone out of shared interests; think of it as a nascent workplace friendship. Virtuous networking is the counterpoint to utilitarian networking in that it includes providing information, resources or assistance to another person with no expectation of reciprocity.

These three types of networking, if undertaken honestly, avoid the ethical conundrums that some say academic networking routinely throws up. For instance, if networking is initiated in good faith, with honestly communicated goals, the concept of opportunism is minimalised. If faculty are reaching out in asymmetrical situations of status or power, it can be made known that the networking occasion is not intended to circumvent formal policies or procedures for hiring or promotion, for instance. And if young faculty attempt to treat all persons with charity and benevolence, with the full intention of contributing in return for anything offered or obtained, the conversation is not problematic.

As for who to engage, young faculty should first engage their department colleagues. These people will serve on promotion and tenure committees and annual review groups to evaluate your work. Befriending departmental staff is essential, too. They can obstruct or facilitate every aspect of your work, and they often are the actual machinery that allows the department to function.

It is wise to meet and have a conversation with every possible person down the hall from your office or laboratory, as well as those on the floors above and below you. In the sciences, these people are critical for access to the expensive resources, facilities and equipment in their labs that you may need. Then, you may wish to share your resources with them. This type of networking lays a foundation for your future PhD students, who will also need access to that equipment in their research; consider this minor paving of the way as a gift to them.

In short, general playground rules for making new friends count in academic networking: just do the right thing. Humans are social creatures who developed the original FaceTime by literally connecting, first as tribes and later as societies, to advance everyone’s well-being. These activities persist even today in academia, and your career may depend on them.

Jennifer Schnellmann is associate professor in pharmacology and toxicology at the University of Arizona.

Even wallflowers can flourish 

I used to figure that, as an introvert, I’d always lose out to extroverts when it came to networking. So why even bother?

All trainee scientists will be told they have to network for their careers, for projects, for mentoring. But really? I was always a shy child; this carried on at university, out into my postdoc and beyond. I had friends, but I was a wallflower at parties, uncomfortable talking to people I didn’t know. I always thought it didn’t really matter though: I liked working independently and was comfortable with my own thoughts. Slowly, however, I came around to the benefits of networking.

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The first thing to note is that networking can take many forms. When I was a student and postdoc, networking was generally done in the conference bar. This was an issue for those who didn’t drink or didn’t feel comfortable in such environments. Fortunately, times change. Many conferences now serve non-alcoholic drinks and have specific events to get younger researchers together with more experienced ones.

Networking also doesn’t have to mean introducing yourself to strangers, which I still find hard to do. It can be checking in with a colleague, being part of a student club or professional society, or, increasingly, connecting online.

So, what are the benefits? We are often told that interpersonal skills matter more to employers than technical skills. I am not convinced this is really the case; I would not be much use at my job if all I could do was talk about chemistry, rather than actually do it. But communication is important. Whatever career path a PhD student or postdoc ends up taking, they will need to connect with others, so it pays to practise this early, when people are more forgiving (as a professor, I am expected to have it together and to get on with it). 

Yes, networking is work and requires commitment, but it pays off. I always come back from conferences with new ideas I would not otherwise have had. Collaborating helped me resolve things I would not otherwise have been able to. Networking with the Royal Society of Chemistry helped to get my work shown worldwide in their annual Twitter (X) poster conference (now held on LinkedIn). Networking with journalists led to invitations to publish articles outside academia (including this one) and go on TV. The extroverts didn’t always win. It was worth learning to control my fears. 

What’s the best way to network? In my experience, there probably is no one right way, but some common themes come up.

Remember, even the top people in the field are just that: people. Once you really internalise that, networking becomes a lot easier. Someone in your field probably has similar interests. They may be an introvert too. They certainly remember what it was like to be a nervous PhD student or postdoc – and they won’t expect you to buy the drinks. To break the ice, you could say you liked their latest paper (make sure you’ve read it) or their presentation; you can just chat.

Networking brings benefits to both sides. I don’t want to be the professor who does things the same way for 40+ years. Networking gives me fresh perspectives, essential to stay relevant. That’s worth something.

Still nervous? Look at it like this: networking is just talking to cool people with the same interests as you. It’s a pretend-scary word for something that's actually pretty awesome. Participating makes your life so much richer. Why not give it a go?

Oliver A.H. Jones is a professor of chemistry at RMIT University, Melbourne.

Making connections is the actual work

In my more cynical moments I joke, “If only science could be done without people.”

It’s a nod to the fact that as an academic and lab head, I spend a lot of energy managing personalities alongside solving scientific mysteries. It is also a reference to the false ideal of science as an objective pursuit that is free from too human emotions, foibles, prejudices and relationships. The last is where the alternately promoted and reviled practice of “networking” falls.

For many, the concept of networking, conceived of as a pursuit distinct from the conduct of science itself, is blackened by the taint of self-promotion in the absence of merit. But this understanding fails to acknowledge how much “pure science” and “networking” owe to each other.

After all, we advance our relationships socially when we connect through science, and we advance science when we approach people socially. Serendipity doesn’t happen in a vacuum, or even in isolation, but more commonly in the chance meeting of minds – coming together for one reason, connecting for another.

How many times have you heard someone say: “I happened to see so-and-so on the bus/at lunch/in the hallway/at the bar – and one thing led to another and now I have this critical insight; now we are collaborating.” Chances are that you have experienced such a scenario yourself. This is “networking” – putting yourself out there, where connections become possible and discovery is enabled.

However, just as we can’t force an experimental system to give up its mysteries, nor can we engineer human connections. Some work, some don’t – even if they objectively should, through shared or complementary scientific interests.

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Some even work when, on paper, they shouldn’t. As a postdoc, I once grumpily attended an event intending to glean wisdom about executing a successful academic job search. That was a bust, but I unexpectedly hit it off with a physicist, of all people. For the next year we had lunch together every day, cried on each other’s shoulders over feeling clueless and practised our job talks on each other. No matter what others might say, that is what got us through to faculty positions with mind and soul intact. And that lifeline continues, despite the fact that we now live on opposite coasts, as we coach each other through promotions, mid-career identity crises and funding slumps.

Focusing on your work and doing the best for your career are, in truth, one and the same. The central tenet is to put yourself into situations where those chance encounters happen, whatever the reason. Yes, that includes “networking your science” up to senior colleagues, but also down to inspired and inspiring junior colleagues, and sideways to your supportive peers.

For the most successful researchers, this is the “actual work”. It is the long game that we should all aspire to play.

Jessica Seeliger is an associate professor in the department of pharmacological sciences at Stony Brook University, New York.

Good things come to good academic citizens

When I completed my PhD, I had established a routine of individual toil. Most literature scholars research alone, and it seemed to me that if I wanted to gain a lecturing position, I would have to spend as much time as possible in libraries and at my laptop.

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I soon realised, however, that tireless work on publications would not be sufficient: academia relies on networks of colleagues for peer review, thesis examination, edited collections, conferences, grants and references.

Hence, I recommend beginning with the intention to genuinely engage with people you meet in your field at conferences and events, including PhD students, early-career researchers and independent scholars. The obvious assumption is that the most influential and senior scholars will have the capacity to help you to get a job or provide access to opportunities, but you need to establish many kinds of networks, nationally and internationally, to maintain an academic career.

As an example, many of the most important collaborators I have had are people whom I met when we were graduate students. I recently co-edited a major Edinburgh University Press volume with two of them: Kristine Moruzi, now an associate professor at Deakin University, was completing a PhD at the same time as me at the University of Melbourne, while I met Beth Rodgers, now an associate professor at the University of Aberystwyth, at my first overseas conference almost 20 years ago. As well as a co-author and co-editor of books, chapters and journal articles, I also found in Kristine my first grant collaborator and conference co-convenor. It made a real difference to learn together how to perform these tasks.

You will need to draw upon your networks throughout your career, so it is vital to not only seek to connect with people already at the top of the field: they may be more interested in their grandchildren and golf handicaps in 10 years’ time, but you will still need scholars to collaborate with – not to mention to serve as referees when you are seeking promotion or applying for grants and fellowships.

Moreover, while professional relationships with senior scholars are valuable, you should seek to develop these connections organically. Don’t make a strategic beeline for the keynote speaker at a conference purely with the aim of career advancement! Speak to leaders in your field without an ulterior motive: they’ll receive many of these approaches and won’t be able to personally help every graduate student or early-career researcher in their field at a given time, but developing a sincere connection with them may lead to support down the line – and you can always follow up with emails to ask for advice or references, or to suggest working together.

In my case, the eminent scholar who shaped my career was Deakin University professor Clare Bradford. I met her after joining the Australasian Children’s Literature Association for Research with the aim of meeting other scholars in the region. I was invited by the organisation’s president to mark undergraduate essays at Deakin. Not only did I gain teaching work, but I was soon introduced to Clare.

I asked for her advice about who might be willing to join a grant application on historical Australian children’s literature. She didn’t know of anyone, but generously suggested that she would be willing to join the team. That simple conversation – entered without strategy or expectation – led to a successful grant application and a postdoctoral fellowship that cemented my academic career. Clare also invited me to submit my first book proposal to a series that she co-edited, and we remain collaborators to this day.

Many of the other networks I rely upon I have built by being a good academic citizen. By leading conferences, serving on the boards of academic associations, editing special issues and volumes and acting as a peer reviewer and thesis examiner, I’ve made meaningful connections with scholars around the world.

Being known for what you contribute to the field is likely to make a greater difference to your career than being known as someone who is primarily interested in self-advancement.

Michelle J. Smith is associate professor of literary studies at Monash University.