Some hashtags are fun to participate just because they are subversive and/or reactionary, for example: #distractinglysexy. That was a hashtag that arose out of a distinguished leader in sciences commented on the distractions of having women in the lab. So, us lady scientists took to Twitter and posted images of our female-ness in the lab captioned with snarky comments about crying in lab or whathaveyou. Now that was fun to participate in, even if it was still rooted in defying stereotypes and misconceptions about women in science, which is something I'm growing aware of.
Relevant sidebar before we move on: I never questioned if it was okay for me to be a scientist. I think I owe that to the scads of adults in my life who never made me think or feel for even the tiniest moment that I couldn't. They always believed in me and supported me in whatever I set my mind to. I never felt treated any differently in my science classes at school, never felt any inkling of hesitation asking my male teachers to write me college rec letters for me to go study chemistry, or even when I asked my male professors to write me graduate school rec letters for me to go study physical inorganic chemistry at some of the nation's top research schools. But when I stepped foot into the halls of my graduate school, suddenly no one looked like me. There were no professors I could relate to. With the exception of two women who roamed the basement and whom everyone seemed to forget about and the students were all afraid of, the department of over 40 people was entirely middle-aged white males. When I left, I got a lab job where I was the only female in the company (granted, the company was like 24 people, but still). So when I looked for a new place to study a few years later after I set my goals in order, I made it a point to look for a department where there were people I felt I could approach and relate to. I fortunately found a fabulous department where literally half of the department was female. And in that, there was a diversity of women that I could learn from. I applied for and received a fellowship in graduate school designed for students from underrepresented groups in higher education seeking employment in post-secondary education. I never would have consider myself that way, but the truth is, as a woman, in the physical sciences, in higher education faculty pools, I am. The more I become aware of this fact, the more I realize what a role I have in making sure that even though my story was relatively simple, other young girls' and my students' stories may not be, so I do what I can to support them and embrace my differences (because that's what I do. ;) )
But this #Ilooklikeaprofessor one, while rooted in similar reactionary earth, is much more important to me and empowering to me than #distractinglysexy. It is still challenging what images we have of people in various positions, but this one feels much more important to me. Because this precisely is part of how I feel as I step into the classroom: I feel I have to actively compensate for something about me. Internally, in addition to all of the insecurities I'm feeling as a new professor (I just finished my first year!), I feel my mistakes are magnified because I am a young woman--and a tiny one at that. When I walk into the lecture hall for the first time, I am very aware that I am not who my students expect. I feel like I walk in, and they see a student who walked in the wrong door, OR they see the professor's teaching assistant who is filling in for the professor in his or her absence. Wherever I go in a professor's capacity (ie, stepping into the lecture hall for the first time, showing up at the IT desk to use the scantron scanner, participating in my college's social gatherings, etc.), I am excessively conscious of what I'm wearing, and how I walk, and how I talk, and I make sure I am wearing my nametag. Doing everything I can to prove that I am worthy of the space or resources I am using. Students with complaints about their experiences in the course have gone directly to the department with them instead of speaking to me about them, and I have to wonder if I were an older male professor if they would be doing the same thing. So despite the fact that I am a part of a department with an unusually high percentage of female faculty, I still actively feel that I am an anomaly in higher education. I still actively feel like I have something to prove when I step into the classroom that I am not sure my male colleagues have to.
I am grateful for the #Ilooklikeaprofessor campaign, because it reminds me that I am not alone in feeling this way, and because it is actively reminding me that the professoriate is truly and in reality more diverse than what google shows us when we search for "professor".
Relevant sidebar before we move on: I never questioned if it was okay for me to be a scientist. I think I owe that to the scads of adults in my life who never made me think or feel for even the tiniest moment that I couldn't. They always believed in me and supported me in whatever I set my mind to. I never felt treated any differently in my science classes at school, never felt any inkling of hesitation asking my male teachers to write me college rec letters for me to go study chemistry, or even when I asked my male professors to write me graduate school rec letters for me to go study physical inorganic chemistry at some of the nation's top research schools. But when I stepped foot into the halls of my graduate school, suddenly no one looked like me. There were no professors I could relate to. With the exception of two women who roamed the basement and whom everyone seemed to forget about and the students were all afraid of, the department of over 40 people was entirely middle-aged white males. When I left, I got a lab job where I was the only female in the company (granted, the company was like 24 people, but still). So when I looked for a new place to study a few years later after I set my goals in order, I made it a point to look for a department where there were people I felt I could approach and relate to. I fortunately found a fabulous department where literally half of the department was female. And in that, there was a diversity of women that I could learn from. I applied for and received a fellowship in graduate school designed for students from underrepresented groups in higher education seeking employment in post-secondary education. I never would have consider myself that way, but the truth is, as a woman, in the physical sciences, in higher education faculty pools, I am. The more I become aware of this fact, the more I realize what a role I have in making sure that even though my story was relatively simple, other young girls' and my students' stories may not be, so I do what I can to support them and embrace my differences (because that's what I do. ;) )
But this #Ilooklikeaprofessor one, while rooted in similar reactionary earth, is much more important to me and empowering to me than #distractinglysexy. It is still challenging what images we have of people in various positions, but this one feels much more important to me. Because this precisely is part of how I feel as I step into the classroom: I feel I have to actively compensate for something about me. Internally, in addition to all of the insecurities I'm feeling as a new professor (I just finished my first year!), I feel my mistakes are magnified because I am a young woman--and a tiny one at that. When I walk into the lecture hall for the first time, I am very aware that I am not who my students expect. I feel like I walk in, and they see a student who walked in the wrong door, OR they see the professor's teaching assistant who is filling in for the professor in his or her absence. Wherever I go in a professor's capacity (ie, stepping into the lecture hall for the first time, showing up at the IT desk to use the scantron scanner, participating in my college's social gatherings, etc.), I am excessively conscious of what I'm wearing, and how I walk, and how I talk, and I make sure I am wearing my nametag. Doing everything I can to prove that I am worthy of the space or resources I am using. Students with complaints about their experiences in the course have gone directly to the department with them instead of speaking to me about them, and I have to wonder if I were an older male professor if they would be doing the same thing. So despite the fact that I am a part of a department with an unusually high percentage of female faculty, I still actively feel that I am an anomaly in higher education. I still actively feel like I have something to prove when I step into the classroom that I am not sure my male colleagues have to.
I am grateful for the #Ilooklikeaprofessor campaign, because it reminds me that I am not alone in feeling this way, and because it is actively reminding me that the professoriate is truly and in reality more diverse than what google shows us when we search for "professor".
