Ambiguous Ideals: Expertise andMorality in an Innovation Supercluster

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Citation Ley, Christy. 2018. Ambiguous Ideals: Expertise and Morality in anInnovation Supercluster. Doctoral dissertation, Harvard University,Graduate School of Arts & Sciences.

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Ambiguous Ideals: Expertise and Morality in an Innovation Supercluster

A dissertation presented

by

Christy Ley

to

The Department of Sociology

in partial fulfillment of the requirements

for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

in the subject of

Sociology

Harvard University

Cambridge, Massachusetts

April 2018

© 2018 Christy Ley All rights reserved.

iii

Dissertation Advisor: Professor Michèle Lamont Author: Christy Ley

Ambiguous Ideals: Expertise and Morality in an Innovation Supercluster

Abstract Gender inequality in the high-status science and business professions persists, despite

strong efforts to increase gender parity. Extant scholarship has increasingly focused on the

cultural dimensions to workplace practices that may perpetuate gender inequality, especially the

roles of the ideal worker image and cultural fit. Yet these theories cannot account for variation in

the nature of gender inequality across similarly male-dominated professions. Incorporating a

comparative cultural perspective, this dissertation therefore asks: how do professional cultures

shape individuals’ work and career experiences across professions, and how do such cultures

shape gender inequality? To address these questions, I draw on analyses of original, in-depth

interviews with 94 professionals in the life sciences industry—an organizational field with core

operations in science and business—and fieldwork at industry events. I argue that a profession’s

level of cultural ambiguity explains variation in individuals’ work experiences and career

outcomes, and attribute the disparate levels of ambiguity to a divide between the professional

cultures of expertise in science and of morality in business. The valued interpersonal relationship

and presentation qualities for fulfilling the science ideal are unambiguous, requiring scientists to

garner cognition-based trust and convey competence. This science ideal elicits distinct feelings

of fit or lack of fit, similarly distinct work experiences, and, therefore, drastic career decisions.

The valued cultural qualities for achieving the business ideal are ambiguous, demanding business

professionals to obtain affect-based trust and demonstrate credibility. This business ideal

contributes to relatively high levels of fit and stable career trajectories, but leads to persistent

iv

challenges in the everyday work experience. The work and career effects associated with these

disparate levels of ambiguity are particularly pronounced for women. Cultural beliefs about

gender interact uniquely with each professional culture, causing gender inequality to manifest

differently across cultural contexts.

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Table of Contents Front Matter Abstract……………………………………………………………………………..….iii Acknowledgments……………………………………………………………………...vi Dedication……………...…………………………………………………………......viii Part I. Introduction, Argument, and Setting 1 | Beyond the Ideal Worker: Professional Cultures and Work Experiences…………..1 2 | The Industry Village: Landscape of an Innovation Ecosystem……………………48 Part II. Science Culture of Expertise 3 | Trust from the Head: Internal Relationships and Teamwork in Science…………..91 4 | Communicating Competence: Image of Pragmatic Focus and Diligence………..148

Part III. Business Culture of Morality 5 | Trust from the Heart: External Networks and Rapport in Business………………181 6 | Selling Credibility: Framing and Tailoring of Presentation Styles……………….240 Part IV. Conclusion and Implications 7 | Ambiguity at Work: Professions, Culture, and Inequality in Perspective………..284 Back Matter Appendices

Appendix A: Interview Guide………………………………………………...300 Appendix B: Selected Characteristics of Interviewees……………………….304

Bibliography……………………………………………………………………….....307

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Acknowledgments

I first wish to thank my wonderful committee: Michèle Lamont, Frank Dobbin and Robin

Ely. I am most fortunate to have been trained under their guidance throughout graduate school.

Michèle has been a true advisor and mentor, in every sense of those roles. She has been

committed to my success overall and guided my development in cultural sociology, which has

been fundamental to my intellectual growth and contributions in this dissertation. Frank has had

a profound impact on the way I think about organizations and complex social phenomena more

generally. He has always made time to discuss my work, and his reviews and our conversations

invariably improve it. Robin has greatly helped me to develop and strengthen the gender aspects

of my work, and provided excellent analytical direction at all stages. She also initially sparked

my interest in the biotech industry, which ultimately defined my time in the PhD program.

I am greatly indebted to the generous professionals in the life sciences industry who

participated in interviews for this research and who welcomed me at industry events. They gave

their time and shared their experiences to help contribute to this research, often amidst solidly

booked schedules. I cannot thank them enough for their time, thoughtful insights, and openness

about often deeply personal matters.

For their feedback throughout the PhD and dissertation, I thank: my Sociology PhD

cohort-mates; Kennedy School doctoral fellowship cohort-mates; and participants in the Culture

and Social Analysis Workshop and ISF, FWG, and GRO research groups. Earlier ethnographic

training from and substantive discussions with Matthew Desmond strongly influenced my

approach to this work overall. Experimental training from Lakshmi Ramarajan expanded my

approach to professional identities as I pursued this project. For valuable advice on the

dissertation’s empirics and theory, I also thank Woody Powell and Vanina Leschziner.

vii

I am grateful for funding from the Kennedy School of Government Inequality and Social

Policy Program, Josefina Cintron Tiryakian and Edward A. Tiryakian Dissertation Fellowship

Fund, and Harvard’s Graduate School of Arts and Sciences. I thank the Sociology and Kennedy

School staff—especially Jessica Matteson, Suzanne Ogungbadero, and Pam Metz—for their

excellent guidance on all program and funding matters.

For their unconditional love, unwavering support, and models of strong work ethic, I

thank my parents Lesley and Chris. Kyley was there for me, without exception, anytime in every

meaningful way, and Kallen brightened my spirits with his sparkling curiosity. Carly cheered on

and motivated my efforts through sisterly, academic camaraderie. For everything intellectual and

beyond, since even before graduate school applications in Stokes and Lewis, and for always

believing in me, I thank Alex. I remained invigorated during the PhD by the support of brilliant,

caring friends—especially Anna, Ariana, Chamara, Kalpana, and San. Devin also graciously

oriented me with the life sciences industry in the nascent stages of my research. I am incredibly

grateful for all of them. My grandfather has enthusiastically encouraged and inspired me

throughout all of my pursuits. This dissertation is for him.

viii

To GPT—

for rooting me on in every arena of life, from the Coliseum to William James Hall.

1

// 1 // Beyond the Ideal Worker: Professional Cultures and Work Experiences

Enduring Inequality in High-Status Professions1

In 2009, the Obama Administration launched the Educate to Innovate initiative, a

campaign devoted to expanding educational opportunities in Science, Technology, Engineering,

and Math (STEM) fields. Then President Obama called for an “all hands on deck” approach that

extended beyond the U.S. Federal Government’s direct involvement in public education,

additionally rallying corporate, non-profit, and philanthropic efforts. Large organizational leaders

responded, individually and in partnerships, by developing and implementing STEM field

educational and mentoring programs.2 Though some organizations had begun on such missions

even in advance of the initiative’s launch, the last decade has witnessed a pronounced rise in

STEM development plans, directed toward students and professionals alike (Handelsman and

Smith 2016). Many organizations emphasize the need for cultivating a skilled pipeline to fill the

enlarging STEM labor market. The Federal Government, alongside various organizations in

innovation-oriented states, has further championed these efforts in the spirit of remaining a

1 I use the term “profession” to capture the range of occupations that are technically and culturally similar (e.g., biology and chemistry in the science profession, business development and sales in the business profession). This is consistent with research on work-related identities—specifically “professional identities”—that examines how people define themselves within a broader professional role (Ashforth 2001, Ibarra 1999, Reid 2015, Cech 2015). Throughout this work, I also refer to more specific “occupations” (e.g., chemist, venture capital investor) given that people’s daily work often depends on the specific occupation, even though the occupation shares skill and cultural commonalities with other occupations in its profession. While I primarily use the broader “profession” category, I do not to intend to differentiate between “profession” and “occupation” in a theoretically meaningful way in this work. 2 For example, even in advance of the Educate to Innovate initiative, Teach for America, the non-profit organization that aims to improve education in low-income areas, partnered on STEM initiatives with the Amgen Foundation, the scientific educational and development program of one of the largest global biotechnology companies (Teach for America 2017).

2

global innovation leader.3 Amidst the various motivations, one outcome is clear: the purported

need for a strengthened STEM pipeline has captured wide-spread public attention and has

especially targeted women and girls, who are underrepresented in a number of STEM fields and

occupations.4

Concurrently, corporations have similarly instituted large-scale initiatives aimed at

helping high-potential business professionals further escalate in their careers. Like the STEM

programs, business-related efforts have focused substantially on women’s career development, in

particular. Sheryl Sandberg’s 2010 TED Talk and related book (2013) on barriers to women’s

leadership and career advancement sparked a mass cultural phenomenon of “leaning in” in an era

when even the most highly-achieving professional women are still “pushed out” (Stone 2007).

Sandberg’s message has emphasized individual confidence and tenacity—qualities to be applied

in both pursuing work projects themselves and seeking mentors and sponsors. With varying

success, industry organizational initiatives, such as bias training, mentoring programs, and more

formal organizational responsibility (e.g., affirmative action programs), have similarly focused

on helping women advance to managerial roles (Kalev, Dobbin, and Kelly 2006).

These concurrent efforts to strengthen both science and business talent pipelines and

talent development are not idle. Individuals’ ability to enter and advance in these professions has

important economic and social implications. High-status occupations in STEM and business

(including finance) fields rank among the most lucrative professions in the United States (U.S.

3 In Massachusetts, examples of these organizations include Massachusetts Biotechnology Council (MassBio) and the Massachusetts Life Sciences Center, which support the state’s broader mission of advancing innovation-related research, development, and commercialization efforts through a number of funding, professional, and educational programs. For an overview of these organizations, see https://www.massbio.org and http://www.masslifesciences.com (accessed November 14, 2017). 4 Although outside the core focus of the present study, programs for early STEM career pipelines (e.g., K-12 education) also focus on increasing racial and socioeconomic class diversity in these fields.

3

Department of Labor, Bureau of Labor Statistics, 2017). The work in these fields affects how

many of us live our daily lives, through their influences on healthcare, technology, the

environment, and the financing and sales of products and services across these and other

industries.

Yet despite changes in labor markets and firm practices over the last several decades,

gender inequality persists within these occupations. Women remain underrepresented in these

occupations, particularly in more senior positions, relative both to men in these occupations and

to women in lower salaried occupations. In 2015, women held only 24 percent of all STEM jobs,

a figure that increases only to 25 percent among the college-educated population (Noonan 2017).

In some STEM fields (e.g., life sciences) and many business and professional services

occupations (e.g., law), comparable numbers of men and women enter early in their careers, but

men’s presence dominates more senior, leadership and board roles (French 2014, Liftstream and

Massachusetts Biotechnology Council 2017, National Center for Education Statistics 2017).

Beyond a gender gap in representation, a gender wage gap persists in occupations across

these professions. Even among fulltime salaried employees, women in these high-status

occupations earn substantially less than their male colleagues. Of fulltime men’s salaries in the

same broad occupations, women earn 79.6 percent in computer and math occupations, and 86.1

percent in architecture and engineering (U.S. Department of Labor, Bureau of Labor Statistics,

2017). However, among college-educated STEM employees, the gender wage gap shrinks

substantially, in both the relatively more gender-balanced biology and physical sciences jobs (in

which men earn 9 percent more than women) and the more heavily male-dominated engineering

jobs (in which men out-earn women by 8 percent) (Noonan 2017). Such discrepancy in STEM

representation is particularly consequential then, as both men and women alike receive a wage

4

premium relative to workers in non-STEM occupations, though a gender wage disparity still

persists (ibid). Though gender inequality in representation is less in management, business, and

financial operations occupations than in STEM, the wage gap persists: women earn 25.7 percent

less than men in management, business, and financial operations occupations (U.S. Department

of Labor, Bureau of Labor Statistics, 2017).

These statistics underlie one of the most enduring puzzles in contemporary workplaces:

how does gender inequality persist within these high-status, male-dominated professions?

Indeed, vast bodies of sociological and other social science research have contributed to our

understanding of gender inequality’s persistence across various social spheres in the “modern

world” (Ridgeway 2011) and in workplaces, in particular. Gender scholars have devoted

considerable attention to male-dominated professions, given their often-higher status and

salaries. Yet an important shortcoming exists in both scholarly and policy work alike: the

inequality processes and challenges have been conflated across professions.

A lack of comparative perspective exists for two main reasons. First, scholars have

generally focused on a single professional sphere—either STEM or business-related occupations

(e.g., finance, elite professional services)—or examined workplace inequality in a collective

range of occupations.5 Second, where scholars have compared specific occupations or broader

professions, they have focused only on women and primarily on career outcomes (e.g., decisions

to exit an organization or occupation) rather than on the processes that lead to such outcomes.

For example, Glass et al. (2013) include only women in their analysis comparing career

trajectories between professionals in STEM occupations and in other professional occupations.

5 One well-known exception is Williams (1992), who compared men’s and women’s experiences in female-dominated professions, finding that male tokens ride the “glass escalator.” However, this study does not address potential cultural variation across occupations with a comparable gender composition, but rather between those that are female-dominated and male-dominated.

5

This extant research leaves open the issues of how the broader professional contexts vary in

ways that may affect both men and women, and how gender issues may additionally emerge

within them.

Policy-oriented investigations similarly often discuss STEM and leadership pipelines

collectively, despite the shift into more business-oriented roles required for leadership, even

among those who began on a STEM career track. For example, a recent survey and report on

gender diversity in the life sciences industry examines differences between men and women at

various levels of organizations, but not between science and business tracks (Liftstream and

Massachusetts Biotechnology Council 2017). In short, extant work has yet to explain how

inequalities may emerge or persist in variegated ways across these professional contexts.

We have good reason to believe that gender inequality does persist differently between

these professions. Though research has not systematically compared inequality processes

between science and business, both empirical data on inequality in these professions and

sociological theories about workplace culture suggest variation exists. Empirically, the general

career development and inequality issues that exist between the professions are different. STEM

fields have a relatively larger pipeline problem. These fields are trying to develop people’s

interest and skills in order to have a strong talent supply to feed into organizations in the first

place. To be sure, some research shows that workplace biases, rather than the early secondary

school and college pipelines, are the primary issue (Williams, Phillips, and Hall 2016).

Nonetheless, there are relatively higher early career exits out of STEM occupations compared to

other professional careers, which cannot be attributed to family issues (Glass et al. 2013;

Williams, Phillips, and Hall 2016). By contrast, business fields are not yearning for talent. In

many business and related professional fields (e.g., law) comparable numbers of men and women

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enter, but men fill a disproportionately high number of senior leadership roles. Women have not

necessarily exited, but they have not advanced at the same rate as men.

Given the apparent differences in the nature of talent-related challenges, this study first

explores the broader question: How do professional cultures shape people’s work experiences

across similarly high-status professions—science and business? Cultural processes have

increasingly been shown to shape workplace and inequality outcomes, but have been largely

missing from our understanding of professions. This dissertation leverages the life sciences

industry—a professional field with both the science and business professions central to its

operations—as a case to address this question. I draw on conceptual tools from cultural

sociology, further taking a comparative perspective, to shed new light on how work experiences

as a whole vary between professional cultures. I extend research on work culture, which often

narrowly focuses on organizational contexts and disproportionately emphasizes women’s

experiences, by considering the broader professional cultures in which gender inequality is

embedded. Whereas extant work has defined the concept of the “ideal worker” as a singular

masculine worker image strongly committed to paid work, I bring a comparative cultural lens to

conceptions of worker ideals. I home in on the critical role of professional cultures to contribute

to our understanding of work experiences, challenges, and pathways, and situate gender

inequality within this context. Specifically, I examine the role of how one does their work—the

culturally valued qualities related to interpersonal relationships and presentation styles, beyond

mere technical skills and ability—on professionals’ career experiences and pathway decisions. I

investigate how professionals define, interpret, and fit with desired interpersonal and

presentation styles. As this study shows, how—through interpersonal relationships and

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presentation style—and for what purpose work is done bears equal and, at times, greater weight

on people’s daily work lives and overall careers than what work is done.

Overview of the Arguments

This dissertation’s key insights, based on my analyses of these professional cultures are:

(1) that a profession’s level of cultural ambiguity—which I define as the extent to which the

perceived professional ideal is either singular and clearly envisioned or multifaceted (often in

contradictory ways) and nuanced6—systematically shapes individuals’ work experiences and

career decisions, and (2) that this variation in cultural ambiguity is rooted in a divide between the

professions’ cultural ideals of expertise (in science) and morality (in business). I conceptualize

the professional cultural ideal as a cultural schema that defines workers’ interpersonal and

presentation qualities considered most worthy of success.

Across both science and business, professionals find eliciting trust through interpersonal

relationships of core professional importance. Yet the particular type of trust valued in each

profession differs in ways that lead to important differences in professionals’ strategies for

engaging in these professional relationships. Consistent with Mayer, Davis, and Schoorman

(1995), who defined the concept of trust to overcome its previous elusive usage, I use “trust” to

refer to “the willingness of a party to be vulnerable to the actions of another party based on the

expectation that the other will perform a particular action important to the trustor, irrespective of

6 The term “cultural ambiguity” has generally not been conceptualized in the sociological literature. I define the term in a way that is consistent with the current dominant approach among cultural sociologists by which “culture” refers to shared meanings about the social world—that is, cognitive frameworks for making sense of the world rather than a characteristic of individual people (see Lamont and Small 2008 for an overview of recent conceptions of “culture”). This definition is consistent with the ways the concept has been used in some management literature on organizations (e.g., Robertson and Swan 2003). By contrast, where it has been used in other literatures, it has referred to an individual’s demographic characteristics, such as having a multiracial identity.

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the ability to monitor or control that other party” (712). This definition captures the contexts in

which both scientists and business professionals in the life sciences industry find themselves

needing to establish relationships to achieve their core professional goals—discovering,

developing, and selling scientific technologies and therapeutics, or providing related services to

contribute to these ends.

Indeed, for several decades, sociologists and organizational scholars have examined the

economic benefits of social capital and trust (e.g., Coleman 1990), especially showing how trust

can enable greater efficiency and information sharing (Powell 1990; Uzzi 1996, 1997). More

recent research on trust (e.g., McAllister 1995; Chua, Ingram, and Morris 2008) has focused on

differences in the types of trust. The current study extends this line of research by further

exploring the causes and consequences of these types of trust, which I introduce below in

providing an overview of this study’s findings. Where the referenced earlier sociological work

on trust in organizations and markets took a largely structural approach and focused at the

organizational-level, I show how cultural elements in an organizational field shape the type of

trust required and the specific strategies for developing it at the individual professional level.

In science, the ideal worker engages interpersonally to obtain trust in their work

(generally in order to complete the work itself), requiring internal organization relationships and

group-oriented teamwork. This type of trust scientists must garner is cognition-based or “trust

from the head” (e.g., McAllister 1995; Chua, Ingram, and Morris 2008), whereby trustors use

objective, extant empirical evidence, often about the trustee’s competence in specific

circumstances, to assess whether they will trust the trustee. In this way, cognition-based trust is

still closely associated with work-related competence. Scientists must elicit others’ trust in the

quality of their data, knowledge, and analytical capabilities. In essence, they must present

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themselves and their work in a way that signals competence, through technical focus and diligent

work.

The interpersonal relationship and presentation qualities associated with the science

cultural ideal of expertise have a low level of ambiguity; it is relatively clear what the cultural

ideal is and how one may go about achieving it. My analyses suggest that ambiguity is minimal

because the science professional ideal (or primary purpose for engaging in culturally-valued

ways) is related to seeking or showing expertise—a quality directly related to work production

itself. The low ambiguity associated with this profession’s ideal leads to more drastic career

decisions—actively staying in or leaving the profession—because people have a clear

understanding of whether they fit with or enjoy what is required of them.

In business, the ideal worker engages interpersonally to obtain trust in their character,

requiring external industry networking and individually-oriented rapport. They present

themselves and their work in a way that signals credibility, through strategic framing and

tailoring styles. These qualities associated with the business cultural ideal of morality have a

high level of ambiguity; professionals find the ideal to be highly complex and nuanced, leaving

multiple, conflicting strategies for how to achieve success. I attribute high ambiguity in business

to the profession’s ideal being focused on morality. Business professionals must demonstrate that

they themselves have worthy characters, not only that they can produce quality work. This

professional ideal requires developing an affect-based trust or “trust from the heart,” whereby the

trustor draws on their emotional instinct to determine the trustee’s motive. This form of trust is

associated with friendship and warmth rather than with a work-based competence (Chua, Ingram,

and Morris 2008).

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Often enjoying the social culture of business, many business professionals experience a

reasonably high level of fit with their profession and interest in staying in a business-oriented

role, while nonetheless regularly struggling to balance ambiguous expectations for fulfilling their

profession’s ideal worker image. I argue that the ambiguous ideal worker image in business

enables professionals to still feel that they fit because their identities are not explicitly

constrained. For example, the business ideal of having a worthy character does not strongly clash

with cultural notions about being a successful man or women, nor does it categorically reject a

specific interpersonal or presentation style. At the same time, the ways to successfully engage in

these culturally-valued ways are highly intricate and ambiguous. For a synthesis of the argument

about the relationship between professional cultural ideals and career outcomes, see Figure 1.1.

While research has not generally addressed the effect of what I term cultural ambiguity at

the profession-level, extant research on organizational settings shows varied, complex effects of

11

ambiguity in the workplace. Ambiguity can enable professionals to maintain multiple identities

in the workplace, while still causing them to experience a range of other challenges. For

example, Robertson and Swan’s (2003) study of scientific consultants in a knowledge intensive

firm where roles were ambiguous found that consultants were able to bring in multiple identities

(e.g., science expert, consultant). Yet while they were able to freely engage multiple identities,

the high level of ambiguity tied them to the organizational identity focused on elitism,

demanding their unwavering commitment in order to signal their elite status as the very best

professionals. This overarching organizational logic perpetuated cultural ambiguity within the

organization, as consultants tended to shift among various identities to make sense of the

organization’s control. This suggests that even when professionals are not categorically

constrained from engaging particular identities, they may still face confusion trying to manage

the ambiguous work situations they confront.

It is with this macro cultural understanding of what people believe is the ideal or what it

takes to succeed in these professions that the present research further examines the mechanisms

of gender inequality: How do the processes by which gender inequality persists vary even among

similarly male-dominated professions? I show how variation in each profession’s level of

cultural ambiguity is particularly exaggerated for women. In this way, the broader cultural

context that leads to different experiences between the professions for both men and women

similarly contributes to continued gender inequality in these professions. Drawing on these

findings, I argue that incorporating broader cultural concepts, especially an understanding of

professional culture, into theories of the ideal worker better explains workplace outcomes.

In sum, by taking a comparative cultural approach to science and business, I uncover how

cultural processes vary between these professions and, in turn, contribute to different career

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challenges and outcomes. Drawing on both substantive (interpersonal relationships and self-

presentation) and analytical cultural concepts (schemas, boundaries, and identities) and

organizational theories of trust (Mayer, Davis, and Schoorman 1995; McAllister 1995; Chua,

Ingram, and Morris 2008), I develop a novel explanation related to cultural ambiguity for the

persistence of gender inequality across high-status professional contexts. Importantly, the

findings of this study show how broader cultural processes that shape all professionals’

experiences in these contexts matter for gender inequality.

The remainder of this chapter reviews extant explanations for gender inequality at work,

characterizes the shortcomings of current approaches, and provides insights from cultural

sociology that I use to examine career experiences and outcomes across professions. I then

present the methodology used to study how work cultures shape career experiences. I conclude

by providing an overview of the subsequent core empirical chapters and concluding chapter of

this work.

Explaining Gender Inequality and Work Outcomes Gender and management scholars have posed numerous compelling explanations for how

gender inequality persists across social contexts and in workplaces, in particular. Where earlier

work focused on the interactive processes through which gender is performed (West and

Zimmerman 1987, Martin 2004), increasingly scholars have built such interactions into a broader

institutional approach to the concept of gender (Acker 1990, 2006; Connell 2005; Lorber 1994;

Martin 2003, 2004). Collectively, this work has more fully captured the ways that gender shapes

professional and other life experiences. Further advancing this perspective, Ridgeway (2011)

offers an overarching theory to explain the persistence of gender inequality more generally,

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contending that individuals use gender as a framing tool to interpret, give meaning, and inform

behavior in all spheres of life. From this perspective, society is arranged by a broader “gender

system” (Ridgeway and Smith-Lovin 1999, Ridgeway and Correll 2004), which refers to the

range of social practices—such as social interactions, themselves embedded in social contexts

like organizations—that “constitut[e] people as different in socially significant ways and

organizes relations of inequality on the basis of the difference” (Ridgeway and Smith-Lovin

1999). Below I first elaborate on this extant research examining the persistence of gender

inequality in workplaces. I then present important limitations of extant conceptual approaches,

which the present study addresses.

Extant Conceptual Approaches and Empirics

Drawing on the institutional approach to gender, some scholars studying gender

processes in the workplace have highlighted the role of organizational structures. They focus on

the gender composition of given workplaces (or specific jobs within a company), extent of

organizational hierarchy, and work and management organization (e.g., self-managed teams,

project teams, bureaucratic direct reporting). This line of research shows how men’s and

women’s different structural positions in organizations lead to observed gender differences in

behavior and outcomes (e.g., Kanter 1977, Pierce 1995). In her landmark study of a large

corporation, Kanter (1977) attributes women’s negative career experiences to their occupying

organizational positions devoid of power and advancement opportunities, in turn leading women

to engage in self-perpetuating powerless behaviors. Similarly, women’s structural position as

“tokens”—members of a highly skewed minority group (within a given context)—in the

organization led to increased performance standards, harsher ongoing evaluation, and overall

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negative interpersonal dynamics at work. Throughout, Kanter emphasizes the fundamental role

of organizational structure on people’s career experiences and outcomes more generally and in

ways that especially disadvantage women’s career success.

Other research, however, shows how gendered organizational logics (e.g., Acker 1990;

Williams 2001; Williams, Muller, and Kilanski 2012) persist even when structures change.

Acker’s (1990) well-known theory of gendered organizations contends that gender inequality is

embedded in organizational structures themselves. This perspective holds that organizational

functions are designed with the image of the ideal worker in mind—and the ideal itself is a man

(Acker 1990). As the logic is deeply embedded in organizational operations, even when

organizational structural shifts occur—altering who occupies which roles, for instance—the

overall gendered logics of the organizations (e.g., assuming lack of childcare responsibilities,

such that workers can commit exclusively to work) perpetuate gender inequality (Acker 1990).

For example, Williams (1992) finds that, rather than experiencing career constraints, as do

female tokens in male-dominated occupations, male tokens in female-dominated occupations

receive career advantages—they ride the “glass escalator.” Similar patterns of gender inequality

have persisted even as the “new economy” of recent decades has shifted from stable, long-term

employment and hierarchically structured career ladders to more dynamic career patterns

characterized by greater networking and teamwork (Williams, Muller, and Kilanski 2012).

Most recently, scholars have begun extending gendered organizations research by

showing the cultural processes by which the ideal worker image shapes professional experiences

and outcomes. While some scholars have focused explicitly on the ideal worker concept and

others more generally on cultural fit, here I consider these works together, in order to synthesize

and build on the current approaches. “Cultural fit” refers to congruence between one’s identities

15

and the qualities idealized in a particular context. For example, someone with leisure activities,

interests, and an overall self-presentation style valued by an organization would be considered a

good cultural fit (Rivera 2012). In this way, we can think of cultural fit as one having actualized

the ideal worker image (or holding the belief that they comfortably can).

Some of the cultural fit and ideal worker research—primarily that examining corporate,

business, and leadership roles—has explicitly drawn on the ideal worker concept, particularly

because current conceptions have emphasized the long work hours and intense work ethic often

associated with these roles. Other research on a number of STEM, business, and professional

work at large has focused more explicitly on the role of cultural fit (e.g., Rivera 2012, 2015;

Wynn and Correll 2017).7 On the demand-side, research on hiring practices among elite

professional services firms shows that hiring managers use their beliefs about a job applicant’s

cultural fit to decide whether to hire or reject them. Likewise, on the supply-side, STEM

professionals’ beliefs about the alignment of their identity and their occupation’s culture

influences whether they intend to remain in their organization or occupation (Wynn and Correll

2017).

Empirical research focused on male-dominated corporate work environments shows how

the culturally valued resources to be perceived as successful and the image of the ideal worker

are particularly masculine in various male-dominated corporate work environments, such as the

leveraged buyout industry (Turco 2010) and across Wall Street occupations more generally

(Roth 2006). For example, sports knowledge (Turco 2010) and an unwavering commitment to

7 Wynn and Correll (2017) use the term “cultural alignment” in their study of the high tech industry to refer to “the extent to which a tech employee believes he or she matches the attributes of a stereotypical successful tech worker” (47). While they differentiate this from “cultural fit,” I treat these concepts as theoretically similar, given their emphasis on congruence between individuals’ identities and cultural aspects of occupations or organizations. However, methodologically (discussed later in this chapter), I utilize measures more consistent with “cultural fit,” as I ask professionals about the ideals they actually see in colleagues or well-known industry contacts, rather than those of a broader stereotype.

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work at all hours—which contrast with cultural images of motherhood—are the industry norms

(Roth 2006, Turco 2010). Further, this work emphasizes the poignant strength of the ideal

worker image among and its divisive effects on women’s lives especially. In her in-depth

interview study of highly successful professional women, Blair-Loy (2003) finds that pervasive

“work devotion” and “family devotion” schemas—shared cultural models used to make sense of

the world—shape and perpetuate women’s career and life pathways. The work devotion schema

exemplifies the ideal worker image. It requires strong devotion to one’s firm; an intense, single-

minded work ethic; and a greater life purpose in pursuing the work.

Other gender and work culture research has examined male-dominated STEM

occupations. Wynn and Correll (2017) argue that many technically competent women in the high

tech industry believe they are a poor cultural fit because the image of the ideal worker in that

field is a masculine nerd, isolated with his computer, coding for hours on end in his basement.

Such incongruence between these professionals’ personal identities and the ideal tech image may

increase their likelihood of existing the industry. Other research suggests that STEM professions

have highly masculine cultures such that women need to present in a hegemonically masculine

way in order to be successful in them. For example, women in these professions may distance

themselves from engaging in feminine practices (e.g., being assertive and avoiding giggling) and

denying the existence of gender inequality in science by emphasizing its gender-neutral,

meritocratic operations (Rhoton 2011).

This theoretical and empirical research on the image of the ideal worker and cultural fit

has added an important layer of explanation about the culturally-valued qualities for workplace

success. Further, this work has strongly emphasized the connection between the particular

culturally-valued qualities and gender inequality. Specifically, this work has shown how

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organizational and, to a lesser extent, professional culture can influence individuals’ beliefs

about themselves, their desire to remain in the field, and their career experiences. It highlights

the need to focus on the cultural context to understand the ways that inequality is manifested

across organizational contexts. While these and other extant explanations have provided

important insights on the persistence of gender inequality, they collectively have fallen short of

examining the processes by which gender inequality may be perpetuated differently even in

otherwise similarly male-dominated or masculine professions. I turn next to these key limitations

in research on gender inequality in high-status professions.

Limitations of Extant Approaches

I contend that there are three core reasons why the processes perpetuating gender

inequality have not been adequately addressed: (1) scholars have defined the “ideal worker” in

an abstract, yet narrow, way that constrains the potentially fruitful ways that the concept could be

used to more richly understand processes across contexts; (2) research examining the roles of the

ideal worker image and cultural fit focuses primarily on binary or quantitative decisions or

outcomes (e.g., on the employer side, the decision to recruit or hire; on the employee side, the

decision to remain in or exit an organization or occupation); and (3) there has been little

comparative work across similarly high-status professions, resulting in comparisons between

male- and female-dominated (e.g., care work) professions. The ideal worker conceptual issues

suggest core revisions to extant theory about how gender inequality in workplaces persists. The

disproportionate emphasis on binary and quantitative decisions limits our understanding of

outcomes, the various ways in which work experiences and success may be measured. And the

lack of comparison highlights the need to further expand on the research design—specifically,

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our approach to understanding workplace processes. Below I elaborate on each of these

limitations in turn. I subsequently present a new conceptual and empirical approach—drawing on

the analytical lens of cultural sociology—that I take in the present study to overcome these

current limitations and further advance our understanding of cultural workplace processes and

inequality.

IDEAL WORKER CONCEPTUALIZATION. First, considering the analytical constraints in the

current conceptions of the ideal worker and in related research on cultural fit with such a

professional ideal, there are three primary issues. For one, the ideal worker notion has been

focused on only one facet of what may be a theoretically ideal worker. Both theoretical and

empirical studies on the pervasive effects of the ideal worker image have strongly emphasized

the time commitment capability of the ideal (Acker 1990; Bailyn 2006; Williams, Muller, and

Kilanski 2012; Reid 2015; Williams 2000; Kelly et al. 2010). That is, the ideal is conceptualized

as someone who can be available at any time of day and gives full and discretionary effort. The

implication is that this person is a man, given that cultural beliefs about parenthood differ for

mothers and fathers. Being both a professional man and a father is part of a “package deal”

(Townsend 2002), whereas being a professional woman and a mother are perceived as

contradictory (Hays 1996), resulting in hiring and wage biases (Correll, Benard, and Paik 2007;

Budig and England 2001). Even childless women experience workplace penalties because they

could become mothers (Turco 2010).

While the role of extensive work hours—or even the cultural expectation to express total

devotion to work—may explain gender differences between jobs that vary in this respect, it

cannot account for variation in the way gender inequality persists in similarly high-status

professions with different cultures. Both STEM and various business occupations demand

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similarly strong time and emotional commitments. Top-tier professional services (Rivera 2015),

finance (Turco 2010, Roth 2006), STEM (Sharone 2004), and elite jobs in general (Cha 2013,

Blair-Loy 2003, Bailyn 2006) have all been shown to be particularly demanding in this regard.

Many of these scholars suggest that cultural beliefs influence workplace experiences and

outcomes, yet a systematic understanding of the various ways that professional cultures shape

these outcomes remains unexplored. For example, some cultural images of the tech ideal—a

nerdy, isolated coder, argued to constrain women’s preferences for high-tech jobs (Wynn and

Correll 2017)—is not relevant to a number of other high-status professions, such as business.

Further, despite its narrow focus on work time commitment, the ideal worker image has

generally been conceptualized in an abstract way, intended to collectively capture the vast and

variegated nature of U.S. workplaces. This approach fails to take into the consideration the

various cultural ideals that exist across organizational contexts. It has been especially devoid of

variation by profession, instead focusing on organizational contexts. For example, research on

the impact of the ideal worker image is shown to apply at large across a given organization (e.g.,

Brumley 2014). Focusing on organizations at the expense of professions is a theoretically

important omission, as research has shown the central role of professional identities on

navigating one’s career (Reid 2015) and how the broader industry context, especially the role of

client-relations, can shape gender-related outcomes (Erickson, Albanese, and Drakulic 2000).8

Even professionals maintaining a similar professional career path but shifting from technical and

8 In addition to professions, other work-related units, such as specific roles, could matter beyond organizations, as well. I selected professions as the unit of comparison, given extant work on professional identities, as well as the vast amount of gender scholarship that has focused on these professions. I nonetheless gave attention to more fine-grained variations in specific occupations or roles in my empirical analysis, but found that broader profession-level cultures best explained outcomes in career experiences and decisions. As Chapter 2 highlights, within this industry context, the science and business professions have shared and competing cultural logics that permeate various particular occupations within each profession in similar ways.

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managerial roles to advisory roles engage in an iterative adaptation process—they try on and

revise “provisional selves” as they attempt to become one with their new role (Ibarra 1999).

Further, that family constraints cannot account for women’s early exits out of STEM occupations

(Glass et al. 2013) and that beliefs about “cultural alignment” with such occupations are

associated with women’s intention to continue in some of these occupations, such as high tech

(Wynn and Correll 2017), suggests the importance of examining the role of professional cultures.

Another core problem with the ideal worker concept is the built-in assumption that

organizations are inherently gendered. Britton (2000) critiques Acker’s (1990, 1992, 1995)

accounts of gendered organizations and the related ideal worker concept on this account. Yet

empirical work interested in gender inequality has not fully disentangled itself from this

gendered organization logic. As Britton argues, by assuming that particular organizational

practices are inherently gendered, we may inadvertently change the wrong practices. Though I

focus primarily on professional cultures rather than organizational ones (acknowledging that

daily work lives operate within and are influenced by the organizational context), a similar

approach to the professions is warranted. We must first understand the broader cultural context

and then how specific aspects may or may not differentially impact men and women.

DEPENDENT CAREER MEASURES. Second, the outcomes examined have often been limited

to binary (e.g., retention and hiring decisions) or otherwise quantitative measures, such as

salaries. To be sure, these are highly important outcomes and I intend not to critique scholars’

work in obtaining and analyzing these organizational data. Rather, I suggest that, given our

understanding of such outcomes, we additionally not only turn our attention to the processes that

lead to such outcomes, but also consider a wider range of significant outcomes. Professionals

may experience a range of work outcomes that are more qualitative in nature. Focusing

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exclusively on more easily quantifiable outcomes constrains our ability to identify the

mechanisms that ultimately lead to such outcomes. We could strengthen our understanding of

ultimate outcomes, such as gender disparities in retention in STEM or advancement to senior

leadership roles, by examining intermediary qualitative outcomes, such as greater daily struggles,

frustrations, or job enjoyment. Initial work that has moved in this direction has been fruitful, but

considerably more is needed to address inequality processes across occupational contexts. For

example, research on gender inequality in the life sciences shows how women confront

challenges when working in particular organizational structures (specifically, internal

hierarchical rather than across external networks), which in turn leads to gender disparities in

patenting and overall career mobility (Smith-Doerr 2004a, 2004b).

COMPARTIVE PERSPECTIVE. Finally, the lack of comparative research on gender inequality

in male-dominated workplaces is theoretically and substantively significant. From a theoretical

standpoint, we currently lack an understanding of the more micro-level processes by which

aspects of occupational and organizational cultures interact with gendered identities in ways that

affect individuals’ work experiences. Research that has qualitatively delved more deeply into the

relationship between work cultures and such micro-level cognitive processes has generally done

so only in single-occupational contexts (e.g., Turco’s (2010) study of the leveraged buyout

industry, Rivera’s (2012) study of elite professional services firms). Though this research lacks a

comparative perspective by profession, it emphasizes the strong role of cultural contexts in

shaping work outcomes (Turco 2010). This suggests the need to further develop theories on how

the cultural context shapes outcomes across various work environments. Understanding the

various ways in which occupational cultures influence work experiences has substantively

important implications, as well. The particular ways in which professional cultures influence

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work experiences and gender inequality affect the ways we might go about changing such

cultures or advising people on how to succeed within them, if desired. By examining single

contexts and applying changes, we may inadvertently develop solutions that do not address a

given profession’s problems.

Revising the Ideal Worker Concept: A Cultural Framework for Examining Inequality

In this dissertation, I draw on conceptual tools from cultural sociology to examine how

professional worth is defined across professional categories and, further, how such valued

qualities may contribute to gender inequality. To revise extant conceptions of the ideal worker, I

use cultural concepts related to social categorization. I approach categorization as a socially

located process, consistent with social identity research that has taken a cognitive, contextual

approach rather than assuming strict, universal categories (e.g., stereotypes) (Brubaker and

Cooper 2000; Brubaker, Loveman, and Stamatov 2004; Tajfel and Turner 1979). Specifically, I

utilize the concepts of cultural schemas (Sewell 1992, Blair-Loy 2003) and symbolic boundaries

(Lamont 1992, Lamont and Molnar 2002) to explain how work cultures and gender inequality

vary across professional contexts. Cultural schemas refer to the shared cultural models that

people use to understand and assess the social world (Sewell 1992, Blair-Loy 2003). Symbolic

boundaries refer to the points of differentiation people make between those considered worthy

and unworthy (Lamont 1992). I use the former to understand the shared meanings about being a

successful worker in a given profession, while I use the latter to further sharpen our

understanding of the ways that differentiations are made—both differentiations between the self

and others, as well as those between successful and unsuccessful others.

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The combination of these conceptual tools enables me to address the limitations of

current conceptions of the ideal worker concept for explaining variation in the particular ways

that gender inequality persists across professional contexts. Professional cultural schemas

situated in particular work contexts (i.e., within organizations, as well as within broader industry

fields consisting of professional interactions) overcome the ideal worker concept’s

disproportionate emphasis on time commitment and family issues. Whereas a broader singular

concept of the ideal worker may be considered a master cultural schema, its potential analytical

power is undermined in the absence of the profession’s context. Therefore, I incorporate

professional culture into my conception of the ideal worker, which I earlier introduced as

professional cultural ideals, examining both science and business ideal worker schemas. This

conceptual approach enables me to examine the ways that people’s understandings of successful

images shape perceptions of their own performance, their lived work experience, and their career

decisions.

In high-status work places that share notions of strong work ethic, analyzing professional

schemas allows us to understand variation in factors that enable and constrain success between

professions. Blair-Loy’s (2003) study of devotion schemas demonstrates how schemas about

broader life spheres—work and family—can influence women’s decisions about which path to

pursue. Indeed, these schemas can serve as such a strong cultural lens, so as to make alternative

life choices seem unattainable. Given the strength of schemas, it is fundamental to examine how

they guide experiences, evaluations, and outcomes in other areas of social life—such as the

science and business professions examined here—where women have seemingly confronted

different issues, subsequently leading to early exists in science and constraining advancement in

business or more leadership-oriented roles. Moreover, examining how schemas enable and

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constrain outcomes (e.g., experiences, decisions, or evaluations) addresses limitations of

gendered organization theories that assume gendered logics are embedded in organizational

structures and the current ideal worker conception. Rather than assuming a gendered dimension

to professions, I step back to first understand the broader cultural schemas for each profession.

Only with this understanding do I then further explore how those schemas shape gender

inequality.

Symbolic boundaries complement my analytical use of cultural schemas to address the

ideal worker concept limitations. Whereas I present the professions’ cultural schemas as shared

understandings about their respective ideal workers, I further examine the symbolic boundaries

that people draw between successful and unsuccessful professionals. Collectively then, the

shared meanings of success and the symbolic boundaries provide a holistic understanding of the

messages that shape professionals’ beliefs about what they feel they need to do and avoid doing

in order to succeed professionally.

Because symbolic boundaries can be used to elucidate the way people evaluate worth,

they function as a particularly useful tool for examining contexts laden with a wide array of

evaluations, such as high-status work settings. Other organizational research, including Rivera’s

(2012, 2015) study of elite professional services firms, highlights the strength of using symbolic

boundaries to study workplace processes such as hiring. Here, I extend the use of symbolic

boundaries to examine workplace processes in everyday work life. Rather than examining an

explicit point of evaluation, I consider the ongoing assessments people make between worthy

and unworthy others, and how this shapes their own work experiences and decisions.

Further, the analytical use of symbolic boundaries is consistent with a recent call in

cultural sociology for a more comparative approach to studies of evaluation and inequality

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processes (Lamont, Beljean, and Clair 2014). As Lamont and Molnar (2002) note, gender

scholars have implicitly and explicitly drawn on the concept of boundaries to explain how and

along what dimensions differences between men and women are created. Yet extant explanations

for gender inequality could benefit from a richer application of boundaries in order to understand

how profession-specific cultural categories lead to exclusion. As discussed above, existing

research on workplace inequality has suggested that the local cultural context of work matters for

career experiences and outcomes, yet it has not taken a comparative perspective to understand or

explain variation across these cultural contexts.

I further draw on, and also extend, approaches to cultural schemas and symbolic

boundaries in workplaces by giving particular attention to how professional cultures fit with

individuals’ identities. To explain the role of professional culture on career experiences, I draw

on work by both cultural sociologists and social psychologists who have highlighted the role of

social identity to explain work outcomes. Tajfel and Turner’s (1979) well-known social identity

theory asserts that individuals try to achieve a positive social identity, defined as “those aspects

of an individual’s self-image that derive from the social categories to which he perceives himself

as belonging” (40). More recent theoretical and empirical explorations of identity have focused

on how people manage multiple and conflicting identities in the workplace (Ramarajan and Reid

2013; Ramarajan, Berger, and Greenspan 2017; Ramarajan, Rothbard, and Wilk 2017). This

research shows how the way professionals’ identities fit with their work context influences their

operational performance (Ramarajan, Rothbard, and Wilk 2017) and other organizational

behavior, such as prosocial behavior (Ramarajan, Berger, and Greenspan 2017). Examining the

relationship between identities and professional culture is particularly important for

understanding the processes by which people may have or lack fit with their profession’s culture.

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Applying these cultural tools of categorization—schemas, symbolic boundaries, and

identities—I focus substantively on two core dimensions of professional cultures: interpersonal

relationships and self-presentation style. Extant organizational and identity research has shown

the pervasive ways that social skills, relationships, and overall presentation style matter for

personal and professional life outcomes. However, as we lack an understanding of how cultural

schemas and boundaries (both in relation to individuals’ identities) vary across professional

settings, we also know little about how these particular aspects of culture shape individuals’ own

career pathways and experiences. Indeed, Rivera (2012, 2015) calls for work that explores how

cultural similarity affects individuals and organizations once people are employees of

organizations (given her own research focus on the recruiting and hiring stages). She suggests

giving attention to comparing work styles to play styles (e.g., leisure pursuits, cultural ease of

conversation), which I incorporate in my examination of interpersonal relationships and self-

presentation style.

Consistent with impression management (Rosenfeld, Giacalone, and Riordan 1995) and

professional image construction (Roberts 2005, Roberts et al. 2005) literatures, I conceptualize

self-presentation as a particular form of identity work. The types of self-presentation individuals

engage in are influenced by their work-related and personal identities. Broadly, extant research

has differentiated between identity work intended to conceal negative or stigmatized identities

(Goffman [1963] 1986; Rosenfeld, Giacalone, and Riordan 1995; “covering” in Yoshino 2006;

“protective” self-presentation in Ibarra and Petriglieri 2007) and identity work intended to

emphasize positive identities (Ely and Rhode 2010; Ely, Ibarra, and Kolb 2011; Dweck, Higgins,

and Grant-Pillow 2003; “acquisitive” self-presentation in Ibarra and Petriglieri 2007).

Quantitative measures of identity and self-presentation similarly differentiate between an

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individual’s focus on positive and negative characteristics (Roth, Snyder, and Pace 1986).

Importantly, the approach people take—whether strategic or otherwise—matters for their career

success and personal well-being. Specifically, when individuals engage in identity work whereby

they are attempting to conceal stigmatized identities, they are less likely to professionally excel

than when they are actively trying to create an identity consistent with what they believe is

beneficial for their career. In this study, I additionally conceptualize interpersonal dynamics as a

similar form of identity work. This dimension of culture captures the social skills people engage

when directly interacting with others, generally those with whom they’re forming some sort of

professional relationship or a diverse network of relationships.

To be sure, individuals are necessarily engaged in some form of self-presentation while

interacting with others. So while one conception of interpersonal relationships and self-

presentation may not be entirely mutually-exclusive, I draw an empirical distinction between the

two in order to examine work culture in a more holistic way. Further, these two dimensions of

work culture have often been situated in different lines of research (e.g., networks subfield of

sociology, self-presentation and impression management literatures). Conceptually, I

differentiate between these concepts by emphasizing the way relationships must be managed

when referring to interpersonal styles or dynamics, while I address aspects of formal and

informal presentations of both work and one’s physical self when referencing presentation or

self-presentation styles.

I find both empirical and theoretical value in examining both interpersonal relationships

and presentation styles to gain a holistic understanding of the role of professional culture on

work experiences and outcomes. Empirically, examining both dimensions of professional culture

enables us to understand a fuller range of the social and cultural factors shaping individuals’

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work experiences. From a theoretical standpoint, examining both ultimately serves to show the

robustness of the broader professional cultures: through both relationships and presentation style,

a culture of expertise in science and of morality in business shapes experiences and practices. For

both interpersonal relationships and self-presentation style, the framework discussed in this

section enables us to understand how the fit between professional cultural schemas (including

their associated boundaries) and individuals’ identities shapes experiences. In the next section, I

describe the research design used to measure and analyze these concepts and their effects on

work experiences and pathways.

Methodology Case selection, sampling procedure, and qualitative data collection and analyses were

fundamental to identifying the study’s findings and developing the arguments presented in this

dissertation. To systematically compare science and business cultures, I selected a single context

in which to examine these professions—the life sciences industry. Chapter 2 delves into the

empirical intricacies of this industry setting and presents an argument for examining professional

cultures within an organizational field. In this section, I intend to highlight the theoretical

grounds for the industry’s selection. Within this context, I conducted rich, in-depth interviews

with industry professionals and fieldwork at industry events. My analyses incorporated a multi-

stage inductive process. I review these elements in turn below.

Case Selection Selecting a single industry enabled me to control for the broader industry culture, so that I

could home in on the role of professional cultures for people’s work experiences. Beyond

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selecting a single industry to control for the industry culture, I intended to situate professionals’

experiences in the broader context in which they operate, which can often extend beyond their

company’s walls. This approach is consistent with both cultural and organizational scholars’

understandings of the relational, power dimensions that exist in shared social spaces. As

elaborated on in Chapter 2, I draw on Bourdieu’s (1983, 1993) field theory and Fligstein and

McAdam’s (2011) theory of strategic actions fields (SAFs). Though Fligstein and McAdam

discuss the importance of utilizing SAFs primarily to explain collective action, the interactive,

knowledge, and power dimensions of SAFs are similarly useful for understanding how cultural

meanings develop and shape individuals’ work lives. Indeed, cultural categories of evaluation

(e.g., in the present study, interpersonal style) and the particular culturally-valued qualities in a

context (e.g., developing a vast professional network) are strongly influenced by power

relationships. Where people define culturally-valued qualities, they create symbolic boundaries

between those worthy and unworthy of success. Understanding these divides requires knowledge

of the broader context in which particular professional or organizational groups may be vying for

social or economic power.

The valued qualities required for a given profession also depend on their particular

structural location in a SAF. For example, research on innovation-oriented industries, including

the life sciences and high-tech industries, highlights how regional network characteristics shape

innovation outcomes and individual-level career pursuits, such as patenting (Owen-Smith and

Powell 2004, Saxenian 1996, Whittington and Smith-Doerr 2005). While these studies have

focused on the role of structure, rather than culture, I incorporated the broader field into my

investigation to better understand the source and purpose of professional cultures. In particular,

embedding individuals’ experiences in the broader life sciences SAF in which they operate

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informed my focus on the reasons why professionals valued particular qualities or skills, which I

elaborate on in the data analysis section below and which were ultimately fundamental to my

theoretical development.

In terms of the particular field selected, it was important that the industry had both

science and business in comparably central roles. In this way, I sought to ensure that the broader

societal status of these occupations operated similarly in the local cultural context. The life

sciences industry fulfills these criteria and serves as an effective case study of the way that both

of these high-status professions operate. Further, the industry itself has a large social

significance, influencing human health, scientific advancement, a vast number of individual

careers and livelihood, and the broader economy. Given the regional clustering of the industry, I

focus on Massachusetts’ Cambridge/Boston “supercluster,” the highest ranked life sciences

region during the years this study was conducted. Over 63,000 employees in Massachusetts are

employed in biopharmaceutical occupations in the private sector alone, with job opportunities

expected to increase by 6.7% between May 2015 and May 2018 (Massachusetts Biotechnology

Council 2016). Thus, while I argue that this study’s core theoretical contribution may be applied

to other professional contexts, the empirical and theoretical contributions of the study itself are

conducted in a socially and economically important context. Drawing on the SAF approach, I

included professionals working in a diverse-range of organizations and specific occupations

within the broader science and business professions of interest. I note these below in discussing

the participants and data collection process.

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Sampling and Participants

To study the processes by which science and business professional cultures affect

individuals’ career experiences, I utilized a combination of in-depth interviews and participant

observation. In-depth interviews, in particular, are particularly well-suited for developing a rich

understanding of the cultural schemas that shape individuals’ thoughts and behaviors, and have

been frequently employed by cultural sociologists examining cultural schemas related to other

areas of social life. The core portion of my data is from semi-structured, in-depth interviews with

94 life sciences professionals, 9 which includes 51 men and 43 women with ages ranging from 23

to 73 years (mean=46.0 years).10 Approximately a quarter of the sample (n=24) was born outside

of the United States.11 Given the particular industry in which this research was conducted,

respondents have a particularly high level of formal education: 48 interviewees hold PhDs (46 of

which are in a science or engineering field), 7 hold MD or DVM degrees, 16 hold non-MBA

Master’s degrees,12 14 hold MBA degrees, and 4 hold JD degrees (not all were practicing

attorneys). Further, the majority of respondents have at least an undergraduate degree in a STEM

9 Two interviewees participated in one of the interviews due to the original interviewee inviting a more junior colleague into the interview. Further, some interviewees participated in multiple interview sessions, given time constraints during the first one, but their willingness and interest in expanding on the issues discussed. For consistency, then, I refer to the number of interviewees, rather than to the number of interviews. 10 There is missing age data for seven respondents. Of these seven, only one was due to an explicit request to not indicate his age. For the remaining six, I estimated their ages based on the year in which they received their bachelor’s degree. Additionally, I used age 40 for one respondent who vaguely indicated his age as “early 40s.” The mean indicated in-text incorporates these estimates. The mean based only on exact, reported responses (n=86) is similarly 46.0 years. 11 Sixty-two respondents indicated they were born in the United States, while there exists missing information on country of origin for the remaining eight respondents. 12 This excludes those who may have received a Master’s degree in the process of pursuing their PhD, but includes one respondent who was enrolled in a PhD program when interviewed but had only completed a Master’s degree to date.

32

field. See Appendix A, “Interview Guide” and Appendix B, “Selected Characteristics of

Interviewees.”

While the occupations in which interviewees worked at the time of their interview are

skewed toward professionals in business occupations, many respondents had been in strictly

science roles at some point in their career. This more even distribution of scientists (by training)

and business professionals is reflected in nearly 50 percent of the sample holding a STEM field

PhD (with a few additional scientists holding bachelor’s degrees in these fields). Thus, the

present sample captures a rather even distribution of the categories of professionals in the

industry: distinctly science track throughout their career, distinctly business track throughout

their career, and previously science track/currently business track.

I used theory based and snowball sampling techniques to select interviewees (Miles and

Huberman 1994). Specifically, I sought variation along broad professional track, specific

occupation (to ensure that I captured the range of experiences in the broader science or business

professional track at large), organizational type (in order to disentangle occupational and

organizational aspects of work culture), professional seniority, and gender dimensions. After an

initial piloting phase of using professional listservs, I began attending industry events, where I

met professionals whom I subsequently interviewed. I also asked participants for referrals,

leading to another portion of the sample being obtained through snowballing.13 In the early

stages of my research, I interviewed people across any of the theoretically-relevant categories.

As my research progressed, I homed in on specific categories that were underrepresented. As I

discuss in the section below on fieldwork, these high status professionals were otherwise difficult

to reach. By directly reaching out to professionals in person and being referred by their

13 Both interviewees whom I initially met directly and those to whom I was referred provided referrals.

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colleagues or friends, I was able to interview people who fulfilled several theoretically important

categories and whom I would have otherwise been unable to reach.

Consistent with the SAF approach, I included interviewees from across a range of

occupations and organizations within the broader life sciences industry. On the organizational

front, this includes biotechnology, pharmaceutical, and medical device companies. These are the

locations of the core industry functions of drug discovery, development, and commercialization.

Such processes also depend on an intricate network of universities, other research institutions,

contract research/manufacturing organizations (CROs/CMOs), financing organizations (e.g.,

venture capital (VC) firms, investment banks, and angel investor groups), other professional

advisory services for the life sciences (e.g., consulting and law), hospitals, and government.

Within these organizations, I include professionals working across a large spectrum of specific

occupations. I use the term “science” to characterize the technical track (in some cases, these

individuals may be more focused on engineering or information technology (IT), especially in

the case of medical devices). I use the term “business” to characterize both roles directly focused

on commercialization (e.g., business development, sales) and roles in related operational and

advisory domains (e.g., communications, consulting, law, regulatory affairs). In short, I use

“science” and “business,” respectively, as shorthand to capture the varied range of occupations

on each side of the industry, given the theoretical motivation to focus at the broader profession

level.

I conducted interviews primarily with industry professionals based in the greater Boston

area, one of the top regions, and recently the leading hub in the United States for the

biotechnology and pharmaceutical industries (2017). During my early interviews, I also

interviewed a few professionals who were located outside of this region, but who were employed

34

by core industry firms comparable to those in the Cambridge-Boston, Massachusetts hub.

However, because of the particularly strong role of regional resources in this industry, I made a

decision early on in my research to limit all future interviewees to only those based in the

Massachusetts hub. I further gave attention to sample from professionals in a diverse range of

organizations, ranging from small virtual start-up companies to large, global pharmaceutical

companies. Extant research (e.g., Smith-Doerr 2004a, 2004b) suggests that different

organizational structures between start-ups (with a greater focus on self-directed teams and more

fluid networking opportunities) and traditional firms (with more rigid bureaucracies) lead to

different career outcomes for men and women. Further, this allowed me to account for variation

in the relevance of perceived age or youthfulness, which I expected may have a disparate effect

between men and women (Neumark, Burn, and Button 2016) or between science and business

(e.g., Frick 2014 on ageism in tech).

Early in my research, I sought to gain an understanding of the overall landscape of the

industry, given the tightly interwoven nature of the industry that early respondents and my own

review of industry literature suggested. I therefore conducted some interviews with professionals

who held roles at the periphery of the industry, such as attorneys who specialize primarily in

issues with life sciences clients. Similarly to develop a richer picture of the broader

organizational field in which the cultural work processes could be examined, I conducted

interviews with a few respondents who were still completing postdoctoral fellowships

(“postdocs,” and one who was completing a PhD) at the time of the interview. Otherwise, all

participants were in industry on both the science and business sides. Though other research on

the life sciences industry has addressed important issues related to academic and industry

relations or differences (e.g., Owen-Smith et al. 2002, Whittington and Smith-Doerr 2008), my

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focus was on analyzing comparable industry roles in science and business. Therefore, my SAF

approach considers how the academic-industry dynamics shape individuals experiences, where

such issues emerged inductively, but does not centrally focus on them.

Interviews

Interviews ranged from 30 minutes to 3 hours 17 minutes, with the average interview

duration 1 hour 16 minutes. Slightly over one-third of all interviews were at least 80 minutes and

nearly all (n=88) of the interviews were at least 40 minutes. These times reflect only the formal

recorded portion of the interview, but I nearly always had further conversation with participants

before and after this more formal, recorded portion. I additionally spoke more casually with most

respondents at the industry events where I met many of them. Further, I interacted with some of

my interviewees at later industry events that we both happened to be attending. These repeat

meetings were not always even hosted by the same organization, suggesting the high level of

interconnectedness of the industry. The majority of the interviews were conducted in-person at a

cafe, restaurant, the interviewee’s office, or a comparable professional or public location. A few

interviews were conducted at the interviewees’ homes, when that was the primary location for

their business or work (e.g., entrepreneur who ran lab out of her home office), and ten of the total

interviews were conducted via phone.

The purposes of the interviews were to identify how science and business professionals

understand their profession’s culture, more generally and how it operated at their organization,

and how well these meanings fit with the identities that they hold for themselves. Additionally, I

intended to gain an understanding of how these cultural schemas about their profession, and their

relationship to those schemas, shaped their career experiences. To address these issues, I began

36

interviews by asking about participants’ general work experiences and the nature of their

interactions. Here the purpose was to gain an understanding of their overall career trajectory, as

well as to understand the general structural and cultural context in which they were working at

the time. In the next portion of the interview, I sought responses related the dependent variable

work outcomes. To measure work outcomes, I focused on both performance—their own

evaluations as well as self-reports of others’ evaluations of their performance—and their overall

job experience (e.g., direct question about how they felt that work had generally been going, as

well as their discussion throughout the interview about victories, failures, and challenges). An

additional work outcome item, which generally was discussed at the end of interviews (though

sometimes respondents brought it up earlier on their own), asked participants about their future

career plans. I probed about both their occupational (e.g., science or business, similar track but

simply interested in advancing) and organizational (e.g., small versus large company) plans. To

assess professional (and to a slightly lesser degree, organizational) culture, I asked interviewees a

series of questions about others in their profession whom they find to be particularly successful,

as well as any professionals whom they found to be a disaster. The latter informed my

understanding of the symbolic boundaries that influence the behaviors that professionals seek to

avoid, or those behaviors that they at least believe would be negative for attaining broader

success in the profession. I then further probed on the particular cultural aspects that were

theoretically informed: interpersonal dynamics, which focused on the nature of their professional

relationships, and self-presentation style, which focused both on how they present themselves in

overall demeanor, how they present their work, and how they attend to their physical appearance.

I measured cultural fit through multiple responses: direct questions about how well respondents

feel that they fit in (in their role and in their organization), related items about how they would

37

ideally engage in work or present themselves, and an overall assessment comparing responses in

this respect where they may have emerged in respondents’ answers to other questions.

The interview experience itself required attending to some of the very issues I was

interested in discussing with these professionals—interpersonal relationships and self-

presentation style. Regarding interpersonal relationships, I learned early on in my interviewing

process that it was important to demonstrate a broader understanding of the industry and,

generally, to have some level of background knowledge on professionals whom I was

interviewing. In interacting with a highly-educated and network-oriented population, it was

important for me to culturally fit in with them, in order to develop rapport and for them to more

freely discuss the issues in the interview.

I gave particular attention to the extent to which I engaged as in insider or outsider, a

methodological issue frequently debated among qualitative researchers. In this context, I found it

fruitful to be perceived as having a baseline understanding of the industry around issues of

business substance, science trends, and industry structure (rather than on either issues related to

my research questions or highly technical knowledge about the science) to gain their respect as a

serious researcher and professional. At the same time, I wanted to avoid their omitting important

information, assuming I was familiar with it. Therefore, I always stayed up to date on major

science and business happenings in the industry by subscribing to life sciences professional

association listservs and news sources. This enabled me to engage more easily when speaking

with participants (either in interviews or at industry events I attended as part of my fieldwork,

discussed below) but on issues that were not central to my research questions. Further, because

the industry is highly professionalized, participants would often expect that I knew something

about them professionally, given the standard in informational interviews with prospective job

38

applicants for having prepared with background diligence. While our interview purpose was

different, I considered that, in light of my PhD student researcher identity, this was likely the

context in which they had spoken to others who are demographically similar. I was therefore

careful to not emphasize background diligence about them in order to avoid skewing the

discussion or exacerbating their perception of the interview in this way. I sought to make them

feel that it was a more comfortable conversation (indeed, some respondents commented

afterward that they felt they had just been to a personal therapy session), while also gaining their

professional trust and confidence. I drew on my existing knowledge of their experience only to

guide an interview on general transitions in their career. In these ways, I operated in “the space

between” (Dwyer and Buckle 2009), an outsider of the life sciences but an insider of an

educated, professional sphere.

Observational Fieldwork

In addition to the interviews, I conducted observational fieldwork at life sciences industry

professional events and within industry companies. These included industry-wide conferences,

networking dinners, venture business competitions, professionalization seminars and workshops,

social mixers for particular professions with in the industry, training and networking sessions for

women specifically, and more technically-oriented information events. When interviews were

conducted at an interviewee’s workplace, I observed some of the organizational structure. Often

there were time constraints. However, one business development director provided me with a

full, detailed tour of the medical device company where he worked. Smaller companies

frequently lacked substantial physical space. And those employed by the large pharmaceutical

companies typically asked to meet for lunch or coffee in a nearby restaurant or cafe.

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The fieldwork portion of my research served multiple purposes. First, it provided me with

an opportunity to gain access to a diverse range of professionals who were representative of

those working in the industry’s greater Cambridge/Boston area hub. Because of the status and

time intensive nature of their work, many of these professionals would likely not have responded

to emails about an academic study. Indeed, early on in my research, I used professional

association listservs and LinkedIn groups to try to sample across the industry, but these

approaches were not fruitful in eliciting responses. The in-person connections I made at events

were thus fundamental to obtaining interviews with people in a range of positions and levels of

seniority across the industry. I was able to make connections with those from CEOs and others in

executive positions to financiers to junior professionals navigating their career ladders and so on.

Further, making the in-person connections and explaining my research led to opportunities that

further enriched my research, such as being invited for a personal tour of a medical device

facility and to other industry events.

Beyond merely serving to connect me with professionals for interviews, the fieldwork

offered an opportunity to observe how these professionals present themselves and interact with

others in a range of professional settings. While the focus of this study is on professionals’ self-

assessment of how well they fit their perception of the desired professional ideal, the

observations added a richer layer of understanding about these practices at the aggregate level.

Specifically, these observations informed my understanding of the types and content of various

professional interactions that occur outside of single organizational contexts. For example, I

observed how business professionals framed their start-up companies during pitches and at

professional event poster sessions. I also observed how these professionals interacted one-on-one

with a diverse range of other professionals, including financiers and contract organizations

40

seeking out the entrepreneurs as potential clients. This knowledge enabled me to probe on these

issues during interviews, where I otherwise would have lacked an understanding of the contexts

in which professionals found themselves, missing opportunities to direct questions about their

experiences beyond their organizations.

Relatedly, fieldwork at the various industry events provided me an opportunity to

examine and identify the broader processes of professionalization that occur within the industry.

I observed the success strategies that professionals in general—as well as women, specifically—

are taught at various stages of their careers in the life sciences industry. I developed insights on

these issues by subscribing to a range of professional organization email listservs (including

those focused primarily on women’s opportunities in the industry). These organizations

frequently send notices about their various events and the topics to be covered. I also personally

attended several of these events, which included direct discussions of interpersonal and self-

presentation skills. Indeed, some events were explicitly intended as coaching sessions on these

very issues.

Finally, the fieldwork gave me a richer understanding of broader practices, conventions,

and trends within the industry. This was important for better contextualizing issues that arose

during interviews that industry professionals took for granted and may not explain. Having this

industry knowledge also allowed me to develop rapport with others in conversations at events,

rather than simply approaching people as an outside researcher asking them to participate in a

study. For example, I would reference popular industry conferences that many professionals

were attending and discussing, or engage in discussion about general therapeutic trends.

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Data Analysis I listened to full audio recordings of all interviews in full, writing thorough, highly

detailed summaries of each interview segment addressed in the interview schedule. These

interviewee data summaries included verbatim phrasing from the participant throughout

(recorded in quotes) and especially so when discussing key concepts, in order to record the exact

supporting evidence of an issue discussed. I structured the summaries around the central

concepts of interest—career trajectory background, occupational tasks and organizational

structure, occupational culture (including the interviewee’s personal experience and discussion

of valued qualities, as well as the interviewee’s perception about qualities in successful or

unsuccessful colleagues), perceived cultural fit between the interviewee’s identity and their

perception of their profession’s culture, and career outcomes (including self- and others’

assessment of performance and future career plans). Thus, while the specific coding and theory

development process, elaborated on below, was inductive, this initial data organization should be

understood as based on a priori selected areas of investigation. The flow of the interview

generally followed in the order of the interview schedule. However, as some interviewees

mentioned an idea that we explored further, before circling around to the intended order, this was

not always the case. For the purpose of systematically analyzing the responses, I drafted the

interview summaries by the broad conceptual topics noted above, so that responses on particular

concepts could be evaluated and compared across interviewees. These summaries, which also

incorporated notes based on my impressions of the interviewee or the interview context, resulted

in 867 pages of single-spaced interview data.

To analyze these data, I constructed codes and synthesized these interview data in

accordance with Charmaz’s (2014) grounded theory construction principles, which included a

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multi-stage coding process. As I drafted each summary, I developed and applied detailed codes

corresponding to each component of the explanatory model. For examples, I developed a series

of inductively derived codes related to the interpersonal (e.g., code for developing a wide-range

of organizational or industry relationships) and self-presentation (e.g., code for presenting

oneself in a confident way through body language) dimensions of culture. I further developed

and applied codes capturing the intended purpose for possessing a particular quality or engaging

in a particular behavior (e.g., to demonstrate likeability, to facilitate discussions). Through this

process, I identified a substantively and theoretically meaningful difference between behaviors

intended to convey personal characteristics and those intended to more directly achieve a work

outcome. This distinction, and the corresponding level of ambiguity associated with each

subsequently informed my theory development about the science culture of expertise and the

business culture of morality.

I concurrently wrote memos about emerging themes—first substantive themes, and

subsequently theoretical ones. After developing and systematically applying detailed codes

throughout the interview summaries, I then sought to further aggregate these data. For each

variable of interest, I captured the primary responses of the interviewee. I organized these

syntheses by the interviewee’s current (at the time of interview) occupational and organizational

categories in order to compare experiences. I further made notes of their career trajectories, so

that I could give attention to variation between science and business experiences at the individual

level when a professional had changed tracks across their career. Based on these syntheses, I

developed an understanding of the patterns that emerged between professional groups and

between men and women.

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Beyond the Ideal Worker Summary and Chapter Outline This introductory chapter identified a gap in our understanding of how gender inequality

manifests itself differently across similarly high-status professions—science and business. I

introduced a novel theoretical explanation, which emerged inductively from systematic analyses

of in-depth qualitative interviews. In short, I offer a critique of extant explanations for gender

inequality at work because they cannot account for variation in the different ways that gender

inequality persists between similarly high-status professions. I contend that the current

conception of the ideal worker—which has been used to explain workplace gender inequality—is

both too abstract (being applied across all professions) and too narrow (focusing primarily on

time commitments, typically related to family constraints). Research on cultural fit has been

applied to explain a number of professional outcomes, those related to both gender and other

demographics (e.g., social class). I leverage conceptual tools from cultural sociology—

particularly cultural schemas, symbolic boundaries, and social identity—to examine the role of

fit in people’s career experiences across professionals contexts, but ultimately find that a

profession’s level of cultural ambiguity best explains both overall and gender variation in career

outcomes between the professions. I attribute the variation in cultural ambiguity between science

and business to the different purposes of engaging in culturally-valued work styles. Science

demands one to show good work and competence, while business requires one to demonstrate

good character and credibility.14

14 Many business professionals in the industry have some level of science education, often PhDs in scientific fields. In many business roles, respondents find that some level of scientific knowledge is required, but this is not the core emphasis of the role. Some business respondents who do not have a science background (e.g., Shane in strategic alliances in a large pharmaceutical company and Sheila in sales at a CRO) noted that, at various times, they have given effort to develop and demonstrate some baseline level of technical knowledge.

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I then described the methodology I used to address the study’s research questions. The

research design incorporated an industry case selection that allows for a comparison of

professional cultures, and further applies the analytical strengths of a field. The in-depth

interviews, observational fieldwork, and related analyses were informed by the cultural concepts

mentioned above.

The remainder of this dissertation proceeds as follows. Part I continues with Chapter 2,

where I present the life sciences industry as a strategic action field, developing my argument

about variation in professional cultures and the relevance of the broader industry’s cultural

context where the professionals whom I interviewed live their professional lives. I argue that the

broader industry culture’s focus on the sacred nature of human life heightens the expectations for

the science and business professions to align themselves with this culture. For science, the path

to doing so is relatively straightforward because the profession’s objective practices—drug

discovery and development—are readily understood to be aligned with helping improve patients’

lives and advancing scientific innovation. In business, the objective practice is to earn a profit,

which is viewed as orthogonal to the industry’s mission, and possibly even ill-intentioned. To

align with the industry’s culture, business professionals develop a culture of morality to signal

their alignment with the patient-oriented mission. While I develop this argument specifically

from the life sciences industry, the basic processes I identify suggest that the divide between

production or service and business in a given industry may elicit similar work- and character-

oriented professional cultures.

Parts II and III consist of the four core empirical chapters, two each about the science and

business professional cultures, respectively. Part II presents empirical evidence illustrating how

the science culture of expertise influences the profession’s valued teamwork style of

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interpersonal relationships to obtain cognition-based trust (Chapter 3) and its singularly focused

and diligent self-presentation style to convey competence (Chapter 4). In parallel structure, Part

III compares and contrasts Part II’s science culture of expertise with the business culture of

morality. Here we will see how professionals seek to show that they have good character. They

build individually oriented rapport in interpersonal relationships to garner affect-based trust

(Chapter 5) and craftily frame and tailor their presentation styles to signal credibility (Chapter 6).

The key insight across both the interpersonal relationship and self-presentation

dimensions of culture is that the level of ambiguity about the profession’s particular ideal

worker shapes people’s daily work lives and broader career decisions. With its emphasis more

directly on the work itself, engaging in relationships and presentation to show expertise in

science involves relatively unambiguous strategies. This leads people to experience relatively

distinct feelings of fit or lack thereof (that is, strong alignment or misalignment between their

own identities and the profession’s culture), which in turn leads to more drastic career shifts,

such as exiting to business roles. Some of these decisions are premature given changes in the

nature of work along the science track. At the same time, some who stay on the science track

because of their cultural preferences early on find themselves somewhat discontented later on

when more managerial and leadership responsibilities come into play, taking them away from

their pipettes. By contrast, the business morality culture’s high ambiguity results in more

consistent, moderately high levels of fit but with greater ongoing daily work challenges, while

professionals try to navigate the cultural rules of the game.

Along both the interpersonal relationship and self-presentation dimensions of culture and

across both professional tracks, the effects are markedly stronger for women, a story presented

across each of the chapters in Parts II and III. That the particular cultures have a disparate effect

46

by gender explains why gender inequality persists in both professional tracks. But the distinct

variation in cultural ideal ambiguity explains how gender inequality manifests in unique ways

between these professions. Specifically, on the science side, the narrow image of success is

particularly constricting for women because the specific definition contradicts cultural norms

about femininity. On the business side, the highly ambiguous nature of the professional ideal is

even more ambiguous for women because of complexities associated with a gendered double-

bind in contexts where friendliness are professionally valued.

Part IV concludes this work with Chapter 7, in which I discuss the theoretical and

empirical significance of the findings presented in the preceding empirical chapters. In this

chapter, I especially highlight the contributions of a cultural sociological approach to gender and

organizational scholarship. By drawing on the conceptual tools of cultural sociology and taking

a comparative approach to the professions, I show how there are multiple ideals that are rooted in

a richer cultural ideal rather than one focused nearly exclusively on time commitment, as in

previous ideal worker conceptions. Further, I show the unintended consequences of cultural fit—

where professionals fit, they may nonetheless be struggling to manage ambiguous rules of the

game, constraining opportunities to be fully engaged in their work. For cultural sociology, I

emphasize the need to focus on a particular quality of schemas—their level of ambiguity—that

should be examined going forward in a range of contexts to better understanding the

reproduction of social inequalities. Where valued cultural resources are defined in ambiguous

ways, the dominant group can more easily preserve their social and economic advantages.

Finally, as I found that the broader organizational field shaped the professional cultures and

subsequently the valued cultural resources among individual professionals, it suggests that

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research at the organizational, occupational, or professional levels give attention to the broader

industry or organizational field context in which actors are embedded.

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// 2 // The Industry Village: Professional Landscape of an Innovation Ecosystem

The Life Sciences Industry as a Strategic Action Field

The life sciences industry landscape—its physical structure, social and cultural milieu,

and power relationships—serves as the foundation for the profession-level (i.e., science and

business) dynamics that occur within it. Drawing on Bourdieu’s cultural field theory (1983,

1993) and Fligstein and McAdam’s (2011) theory of strategic action fields (SAFs), I

conceptualize the life sciences industry as one such SAF while focusing on the cultural practices

within it. This chapter presents the life sciences field characteristics that I find shape the

professions’ cultures of expertise (in science) and morality (in business), which are then explored

in detail in the next four empirical chapters. I argue that the life sciences field shapes the cultural

resources valued among individual professionals. By applying these field theories to the

empirical case of the life sciences industry, I ultimately develop a new theory of cultural

ambiguity about the way that these professional cultures influence individuals’ career

experiences and gender inequality.

In his seminal work on fields and cultural capital, Bourdieu highlighted the central roles

of both relational dynamics among actors in a shared space struggling for power and their

cultural habitus. His analysis (1983) of intellectual fields informs the particular forms of power

relationships that I focus on in the life sciences field. Specifically, I identify competing economic

and production logics that industry field actors seek to preserve. I refer to this as the professional

cultural divide between expertise and morality. Expertise is valued in science, the core

production side of the industry. Morality is valued in business, where an economic focus is

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perceived at odds with the social good, mission-oriented nature of scientific production. Though

organizational research examining individual-level career experiences has increasingly drawn on

cultural concepts (e.g., Blair-Loy 2003; Turco 2010; Rivera 2012, 2015), it has generally not

focused on the broader field in which professionals are situated. I extend current research by

examining the relations among various categories of actors within the life sciences field,

identifying the broader cultural reasons why variation between individuals’ career strategies in

science and business exists.

In combination with Bourdeiu’s cultural approach, I apply Fligstein and McAdam’s

particular conceptualization of an SAF. This chapter shows how the life sciences industry exists

as “a meso-level social order where actors (who can be individual or collective) interact with

knowledge of one another under a set of common understandings about the purposes of the field,

the relationships in the field (including who has power and why), and the field’s rules” (3).

Importantly, the SAF concept draws attention to the highly dynamic nature of power in a field

where human capital (or technical expertise) and economic capital—enabling commercial

fruition of intellectual prowess—are constantly in flux.

Extant social science research on the life sciences industry has not explicitly taken a

complete SAF approach to the industry field, but has made important strides in showing the

highly interconnected relations among various organizational and institutional (e.g., education

system, federal government) actors in the field (see Porter, Whittington, and Powell 2005 for an

overview on the Cambridge/Boston hub development, in particular). Much of this research has

focused on the industry’s structural effects (e.g., network connections and collaborations among

individual, organizational, and institutional actors) on patenting and technology transfer (e.g.,

Owen-Smith and Powell 2001) and innovation more generally (e.g., Powell 1996, Owen-Smith

50

and Powell 2006). Two particular structural characteristics of the industry—its regional

clustering and its network form of organization—have been shown to be especially consequential

for organizational-level outcomes (Owen-Smith and Powell 2004).

The innovation and commercial success of life sciences organizations is enabled, in part,

by the physical geography of the life science’s organizational field (e.g., Owen-Smith and Powell

2004, 2006). Unlike many large industries, which broadly operate across most major

metropolitan areas, the life sciences industry exists in distinct regional hubs. The work for

successful drug discovery and commercialization typically requires a diverse range of

interdependent organizations and professionals, a structure that fully exists in only a select

number of city hubs globally, primarily in the U.S. This dense clustering of resources—

expertise, capital, and human capital—enables the development of new biotechnology ventures,

in particular (Stuart and Sorensen 2003). At the time of data collection and writing for this study,

the Cambridge/Boston hub has been the considered one of the industry’s leading hubs, claiming

the top spot for National Institutes of Health (NIH) funding and lab space, and with venture

capital (VC) funding (in dollars and number of deals) and patents second to the San Francisco

Bay Area hub (Genetic Engineering and Biotechnology News 2016). Particularly relevant for

understanding the dynamics explored in the present study is that such hub rankings exist and are

frequently referenced (both in industry literature, as well as in my experience from attending

industry events), as this speaks to the industry’s community essence.

Regional clustering alone, however, is insufficient for innovation success (Saxenian

1996). Indeed, the Boston region itself has only emerged as an innovation industry leader in

recent years. From the mid-1970s to early 1990s, the Silicon Valley region outpaced Boston’s

Route 128 electronic technology firms (Saxenian 1996). The life sciences industry has followed

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a similar trajectory, having recently developed as the place to be for biotechnology, as

biopharmaceutical scientist Matt characterized:

Cambridge was a very different place and it’s not been that long ago. But it was just kind of entering into this sort of boomtown thing. I mean, when I started working in Kendall Square, there was the Marriot Hotel, Legal Seafoods, and Biogen. And the transportation center. So it’s been five years since I went there everyday. Every time I go there now, I’m just astounded at the growth.

Important organizational research has shown how the life sciences industry’s particular

network structure and changes to this structure over time have affected innovation levels (for a

review, see Powell 1990). In contrast to large organizations functioning only within their highly

bureaucratic walls, tightly concealing their ideas, the network form of organization—prevalent

within in the biotechnology arena—enables inter-organizational flows of learning and knowledge

transfer (Powell 1998). This more open, sharing dynamic increases inter-organizational

collaboration and, in turn, drug discovery and commercialization (Powell 1996). Further, such

flatter organizational structures have been shown to reduce gender disparities in patenting—an

important success metric in science and technology fields—with women in these organizations

more likely to achieve patented inventions than those in more hierarchically structured

organizations (Whittington and Smith-Doerr 2008). Together, this research shows the advantage

of taking a field approach rather than treating organizations as individual actors to explain

economic outcomes

The present study extends this social science research of the life sciences industry, which

has focused primarily on the role of structural configurations on organizational outcomes by

examining how cultural processes within this context shape individual career experiences and

outcomes. It leverages the industry characteristics discussed above, particularly the physical

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density and network form of organization, to examine the cultures of two lucrative professions—

science and business—while controlling for the broader industry field context. In this way, I

bring together both the structural and cultural dimensions of the life sciences SAF in order to

explain individual experiences and outcomes. By understanding the ways that people define

professional worth and seek personal fulfillment or traditional metrics of career success (e.g.,

patents for scientists, revenue earned, promotions), we can better address the ongoing learning

and collaboration needs highlighted by other social science scholars. Further, by qualitatively

examining a greater range of career outcomes, we can better understand the various ways in

which work culture may shape careers, in addition to more clearly defined measures such as

patents or organizational retention.

This chapter begins building my overarching theoretical argument, expanded upon and

illustrated with in-depth interview data in the next three empirical chapters, by contextualizing

the broader industry and professional spheres in which people’s daily work takes place and

overall careers develop. As Chapter 1 outlined, I argue in this work at large that a profession’s

level of cultural ambiguity about what it takes to be successful shapes professionals’ career

pathways and experiences. Science culture prioritizes technical expertise, requiring scientists to

take a focused, streamlined approach to interpersonal and presentation aspects of work. This

leads professionals to make more drastic career decisions—strongly committing to the science or

exiting the profession. Business culture demands proving moral character, pushing business

professionals to take a nuanced, multifaceted approach to work. Professionals experience

ongoing struggles to manage these ambiguous cultural expectations but rarely reject the

profession outright.

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Drawing on both primary data sources (from in-depth interview analyses and

observational fieldwork at industry events) and secondary sources (including both life sciences

industry literature and social science research on the life sciences industry), this chapter shows

how the life sciences industry’s macro structural and cultural forces contribute to the valued

cultural styles that ultimately affect individuals’ day to day work lives and overall career

trajectories. Importantly, I show here how the ultimate purpose of each profession—conveying

expertise or morality—is highly salient in the field’s cultural milieu. In this chapter, I argue that

competing cultural schemas at the industry and profession levels, along with structural and

cultural characteristics of the professions themselves (which further strengthen the professions’

cultural schemas), inform the particular valued work styles explored next.

This chapter connects each dimension of SAFs with features of the life sciences industry

case where I ultimately examine professionals’ career experiences. First, this chapter depicts the

physical configuration of the industry, focusing particularly on the case of the Cambridge/Boston

hub examined in this research. Then, it explores the industry field’s cultural milieu in which both

the science and business professional cultures are embedded. We will see in this chapter how

industry actors—from individual science and business professionals to organizations, such as

biotechnology and pharmaceutical companies and industry professional associations—maintain

shared understandings about the field’s purpose to treat patients and advance scientific progress.

I will show the contexts in which these actors develop relationships within the field, for what

purposes, and how these relationships change for professionals’ over the course of their careers.

In contrast to (and, in part, because of) shared meanings about industry purpose, I will then

characterize the divergent nature of cultural schemas about the industry’s science and business

professions. We will then see how, taken together, the industry field’s shared understandings and

54

the science and business power dynamics, along with their divergent understandings of purpose

at the profession level, lead individual actors to give more or less emphasis to certain field rules.

In the subsequent chapters on interpersonal relationships and presentation style, I then present

evidence showing how the emphasis on certain rules—specifically, those demanding expertise in

science and morality in business—influence the particular culturally valued styles professionals

engage in or perceive to be fruitful for achieving professional success.

Lay of the Land: Inside the Cambridge/Boston Life Sciences Village

Exiting Cambridge’s Kendall Square T station15, you are immediately immersed in the

vibrant epicenter of “Genetown.”16 The dense, complex ecosystem of the life sciences bustles

with a variegated mixture of Silicon Valley entrepreneurial tech “cas” (short for “casual”) as

angel investor Alan called it, more traditional corporate polish, and nuanced hybrids of the two.

Barely off the subway steps, Johnson & Johnson Innovation Center—with its combined big

pharma name brand, strategic venture capital investment arm, and JLABS incubator space (just a

few blocks further down)—greets you with the dynamic essence of the industry where cutting-

edge science, financial sophistication, and all of the actors required for the perfect storm of drug

discovery and commercialization are intertwined. MIT’s campus lines the left-hand side of a

stroll down Main Street, while coffee shops and restaurants brimming with scientists, pharma

executives, and venture capitalists branch off on side streets from centrally located Technology

Square.

15 The greater Boston metropolitan area’s public transportation system is referred to as the “T,” with an underground subway and busses running through the MIT/Kendall Square area. 16 This term is an industry play on Boston’s famous nickname “Beantown.”

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Within only a few blocks radius of Kendall Square’s center, the full spectrum of

organizations and professionals required for the industry’s primary goals of drug discovery and

development, patient treatment, and science advancement are clustered. Biotechnology start-

ups—in their early days sometimes operating sans a physical office—seek various forms of

capital. Perhaps most tangibly, they require financial investments from either venture capital,

which comes from either life sciences-oriented VC firms or the strategic investment arms of

some large pharmaceutical companies, or angel investor groups. The latter’s presence in the

Boston area has been particularly strong and focused on the life sciences industry. While the

angel investors have fewer funds, they are more inclined to take risks on inevitably risky

companies, even the most successful of which can fail with a late stage FDA rejection.17

Regardless of the particular strategy for obtaining funds, start-up company heads are

often pitching their business to investors of one type or another at a number of venture

competitions in the area, a couple of which I attended. Other similar competitions were spoken

about in interviews and advertised—for presentation submissions—on the industry listservs to

which I subscribed. Indeed, start-up CEOs whom I met at venture pitch events often spoke of

other competitions where they had pitched their business when I later interviewed them. For

many entrepreneurs with fledgling companies, like Dan, an early 30s PhD physicist turned start-

up CEO, fundraising consumes the majority of their time, which is spent contacting, pitching to,

and following-up with investors.

This space—the entirety of Kendall Square and even well beyond—is not a place to be

gossiping about colleagues, clients, or company financials even with a whisper, lest your table

neighbor be one of them. No matter the time of day, biotech chatter dominates Technology 17 This understanding of the relative strengths and shortcomings on different investments types is based on the reported experiences of several entrepreneur and investor respondents alike. Further, the strong presence of angel investors was evident across both interviews and from my attendance at industry events.

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Square. At 7:30 a.m. on a Wednesday morning, while waiting for a interviewee to arrive at an

Alewife18 Starbucks—despite not even being directly in Kendall Square—a deep biotech

conversation was already in full force next to me. Two casually dressed men in jeans discussed

cancer editing opportunities (indeed, one of the ripest industry topics at this time), where the one

man’s company would be in six months, and various personal connections they had in the

industry.

Over an extended lunch and cappuccino at Catalyst—a chic, local fare restaurant

frequented by the industry’s financially successful and dubbed “the cafeteria” by some at a

nearby pharmaceutical company—Jacqueline, who has worked in business development and

sales for about fifteen years (currently at a CRO), explained that she had seen several of her

industry contacts during our meeting. Shortly after mentioning this, a scientist at a nearby

biotechnology company whom Jacqueline later characterized as a “big wig” passed through.

Recognizing Jacqueline, she stopped at our table. Jacqueline warmly greeted her, “Hellooo! How

you doing? You look beautiful. I will tell you all about Christy later. Christy, this is my dear

friend Samantha.” Jacqueline demonstrates the ease of connecting required in a relationship-

focused industry. Jacqueline said I needed to connect with Samantha because she is a very

successful woman and then told Samantha to give me her card. Jacqueline declared to Samantha,

“You would love it [discussing the interview issues with me], because I know you,” though I

soon learned they had only known each other for a few months. She then continued the substance

of their interaction, with Samantha inviting her to a large dinner to celebrate her birthday.

Jacqueline said she would stay as long as she could, then demonstrated deference, asking “What

time do you want me to show up?” adding, “Maybe I can buy you a bottle of champagne.”

18 Alewife is an area in Cambridge outside of Kendall Square, but directly accessible from Kendall along the T’s Red Line.

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Catalyst, where science executive Dennis quipped “typically everything is small” in reference to

the dish sizes, was frequently the default recommendation for a meeting location with other

senior professionals, particularly those in business or finance.

The longer corporate lunches and dinners represent only one portion of a complex,

nuanced industry. More frequently, there is an apparent, pulsating hustle. Just a half block down

from Catalyst is Area Four, a trendy, modern style combined cafe and restaurant, with metal

chairs along community style long tables. Large pharma scientists, executives, and biotech

entrepreneurs alike quickly flood in and out of the small cafe side, leaving constant gusty drafts

in the winter months, while customers, with coats on, work intensely on their laptops or in

collaborative discussions. Despite having an ambience much different from Catalyst, the tightly

connected dynamic remains the same at these more casual establishments. Interviewees

frequently ran into colleagues or other industry contacts while we met. By virtue of embedding

myself in the area, I too quickly began encountering industry contacts even outside of industry

events. To further gain a sense of the general industry environment, I often arrived early to

interviews. I would typically wait at a nearby cafe to avoid interrupting interviewees too early at

work. And it was the norm rather than the exception to see a fellow customer or passerby whom

I had either personally interviewed or frequently seen around at the industry events I attended.

And this important character of the environment is at the forefront of everyone’s minds.

Companies jostle for space, carefully trying to weigh the value of location to price, particularly

when functioning in the risky start-up space, where even highly promising therapeutics may

receive late stage rejections by the FDA, dissolving the entire company in an instant. Industry

real estate executive Russ described the shift in his profession, previously focused in the “old

days” as just needing to house employees, whereas the industry’s development has led to

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strategic location decisions and internal design considerations. Smaller companies—and

increasingly, even the larger ones—have to make careful cost-benefit analyses of their proximity

to Kendall Square, given rising costs with the industry’s expansion. But when the cost is not

entirely prohibitive, the “cultural reason,” as large pharmaceutical research and development

(R&D) executive Greg called it, for being in Cambridge is strong, allowing them to “engage with

the world around us, make sure that we are being in outside views in order to foster innovation

through “partnerships and collaborations with different companies [given their R&D model is

one of external rather than internal innovation].”

Several interviewees, as well as life sciences industry literature and speakers at industry

events I attended, frequently used the terms “ecosystem” or “village” to characterize the

industry’s Cambridge/Boston hub. Importantly, these terms—and their common usage—reflect

the diverse range and interconnected nature of people and companies, as well as a deep

understanding of their relevance for individuals’ personal careers or companies’ operations and

survival. Until recently, life sciences service provider executive Darren had been working in

another industry. He described the transition to his current role as requiring not just substantively

learning a new job, but becoming part of the industry community:

Especially around here, it’s a big village, it’s one huge village. And almost as I was entering it, you know, I’m coming from the outside trying to become a member of the village and you have to hang around for a while before you’re accepted as a true villager.

Speaking at once of a colleague’s success and the interconnected nature of the industry, Darren

explained: “If a person needs help she’ll figure out a way to help because she is so wired into the

ecosystem. There’s always someone she knows that can help you.” Even more, he explains:

[My colleague], because she’s almost like one of the founders of the village, she knows

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everybody.19 She knows how it’s all wired together...The interconnectiveness of the village is really important. And [she] socially is…it’s what networks, in the way networks work, she’s one of those hubs and she might be one of the stronger hubs connected to many, many, many and also connected to people who are connected to a lot of people. And she facilitates things happening. The interconnected nature of the industry extends beyond scientists and the core

biotechnology or pharmaceutical companies. The tight community atmosphere is experienced by

the full spectrum of industry actors, including those financing these ventures. VC investor Brad

explained that the nature of his investment work in the life sciences industry stems from

characteristics of the life sciences industry itself, and varies for investors in other industries. In

high tech, for instance, he contends that the relative ease of market entry (i.e., less capital

requirement for software) means that syndicates and multiple VC groups investing in a given

company are generally not required. He contrasts these other investment experiences with his

experience in the life sciences industry, in which companies often require multiple investors:

There’s a different sort of atmosphere on the life sciences side which is, what we do is really freakin hard—to take, you know, this early stage academic science and try to develop a drug. It takes ten years or more and most stuff doesn’t work and even the stuff that does work goes through gut wrenching moments of certain death and failure and most of our companies have three weeks of cash at any one time, so there’s sort of this, ‘This is really hard, we’re all in this together.’ We’ve all worked together because we’ve all syndicated. When I say ‘all,’ there’s probably 5 or 6 firms that do the type of investing that we do and so we’ve worked together a lot. We’ve all sort of been in the trenches together where a company has had an awful failure and you really have to work together to try to right the ship or we’ve worked together where there’s been a great success…so it sort of happens through those shared experiences of being on a board together is one way.

Beyond simply needing to work together frequently, Brad further highlighted the physically

dense nature of the industry itself. He noted:

19 Throughout all chapters, italicized quoted text reflects the respondent’s own emphasis.

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And then the other is, it’s just a very small community…So we all know each other and we’re all generally clustered in this area and so the actual nature is just, getting together to grab coffee to talk about what we’ve been working on and talk about areas of interest and things we might work on together. You know, grabbing beers, grabbing dinners. And so there’s a lot of networking.

This physical infrastructure enables the frequent interpersonal interactions—elaborated on in

detail in Chapters 3 (for science) and 5 (for business)—and contributes to the particular cultural

styles that are valued.

Overarching Industry Culture

Within this physically closely-knit community, cultural scripts20 about the purpose of

work shape professionals’ experiences in their professions. The particular science and business

cultures examined throughout this work must be understood as existing within both the shared

physical space, described in the section above, and a shared cultural space. The tensions between

scientific and business goals, discussed later in this chapter and throughout the forthcoming

chapters, manifest in part because of the cultural scripts that govern the industry field as a whole.

Those tensions, in turn, shape how each profession defines itself and the categories of worthy

professionals within it. Thus, while the present study’s primary focus is on the professions’

cultures, we must first consider the industry field’s broader cultural context.

Two cultural scripts most strongly orient the industry field: relentless commitment to

patients and to work itself. That the former suggests a moral commitment and the latter a work-

20 I use the term “cultural script” to refer to shared cultural understandings in a way similar to “cultural schema” referenced earlier in Chapter 1. For intelligible purposes, I reserve the term “cultural schema” for the broader collective set of cultural beliefs that orient the industry and professions with it—namely the expertise and morality schemas associated with science and business, respectively. Here I intend to highlight specific cultural scripts that ultimately inform these two primary schemas.

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oriented one is not coincidental. I contend that each of these scripts is strongly shared across the

industry field.

This overarching industry culture is understood as relatively compatible with science’s

objective practices of drug discovery and development. However, the patient commitment script,

in particular, is at odds with stereotypical conceptions of business that hold business

professionals as less morally committed. This is due largely to the fact that the objective business

practice is to earn profit, which is more readily viewed as misaligned with the sacred nature of

science. The professional cultures seek alignment with the industry culture in order to be

perceived as legitimate in the professional sphere in which they operate. At an individual

professional level in science, this largely means just focusing super intensely on their scientific

work, reflecting a science professional culture of expertise through their interpersonal

relationships and self-presentation style. By contrast, for individual business professionals, this

means overcoming the negative connotations of business practices by developing interpersonal

relationship and self-presentation strategies to reflect a culture of morality. In this way, the

business profession is better able to share cultural elements with the broader industry and science

cultures and reduce conflict in individual and organizational level operations. Let’s now turn first

to the two overarching cultural scripts within the life sciences industry as a whole.

It’s All About the Patient

One of the most dominant cultural scripts across the industry is its “patient driven”

mission. For those outside the industry, this likely contradicts all recent general media articles on

the industry which have addressed the astronomical drug pricing surges by “pharma bro” Martin

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Shkreli21, amidst ideological concerns about gene editing therapies and the potential creation of

so-called “designer babies.” Within the industry itself, however, the patient-focused sentiment

has diffused across the field. The industry’s professional associations incorporate this language

at their conferences and events and in social media posts, even with hashtags designated for this

purpose.

Professionals’ references to a patient-centric mission do not simply dismiss the industry’s

other motivations. Indeed, they recognize and explicitly state that work needs to be done to

transcend financial gains only motivations. During one industry conference, a prominent VC

investor admitted that, particularly within VC, there are ‘too many people with dollar signs in

their eyes,’ which he claimed limits success. Focusing instead on the patient, he contended,

allows everything else to fall into place.

The acknowledgement that too much focus may be on money and more needs to be on

the patient was not limited to those working in VC or other financial roles. At another general

industry event, itself held at a large biopharmaceutical company and which included both

business and science oriented panels, one speaker—who had previously worked at each of two

global large pharmaceutical companies—admitted that pharmaceutical boardrooms are not

focused on patients, but rather on efficiency. She argued that the industry at large needs to focus

more on effectiveness and on giving power to doctors and patients. During a cocktail networking

session following the event’s panels, a loquacious biotechnology CEO circled around the

corporate lobby space. He spoke to an increasingly larger group, built as he pulled people in and

introduced them. He explained his belief that there are two categories of entrepreneurs: the ones

with a sole focus on money and the ones for whom the money comes because they are focused

21 For example, see https://www.nytimes.com/2017/06/22/business/dealbook/martin-shkreli-trial.html (accessed June 22, 2017).

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on something like the greater good, in this case ultimately helping patients. He then added that

these two categories are equally successful, but that he looks down upon the former, and is

personally definitively in the latter camp. Like the panelist, then, this CEO acknowledged that

some industry professionals have a primarily financially-oriented mission, but that the patient

should be the true focus.

Larger industry conferences I attended—which included virtually every rank of scientist

and business professional (including investors)—similarly emphasized that the shared purpose

uniting all of their work was improving patient lives. Plenary sessions featuring large screen

videos of patients struggling with or managing illnesses brought a face to the otherwise scientific

discovery and related business and financial issues. Speakers advocated for patients with these

conditions, providing richly personal accounts of themselves or family members. And panels

explicitly otherwise focused on scientific and business trends nonetheless engaged the deeply

personal outcomes for which all of their work was ultimately intended.

The patient-centric script salient at the industry association level is echoed within

organizations. Most commonly, this is the sentiment at biotechnology start-ups, where early

employees are often highly committed to the company’s therapeutic purpose. Some

biotechnology entrepreneurs, like Cynthia and Eric, did not even particularly like the business

aspects of their work. What drove them to take on and continue in their roles was their belief in

their company’s broader mission.

Start-up CEO Eric, for instance, had always been captivated and motivated by the science

while he worked tirelessly on the technical side. But it was the broader effect of his work on

patients when clinical trials began that further strengthened his work commitment. This is when

it moved beyond the “intellectual exercise” that it had been and even the general awareness that

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“this could do good.” But then, “the thing is, we saw these people, too…You know, they weren’t

data points; they were people.” Expressing how salient his experience with clinical patients was,

Eric continued that even if this wasn’t the type of information I wanted for my research, he at

least needed to recount the story of the “first time it really got real” for him. A patient

participating as a study volunteer complained of a physical symptom22, which a medical doctor

on the team investigated, learning that the patient had only ten months to live. Jeff was struck by

this experience:

I went, ‘Oh fuck.’ You know, we’re doing this to, you know, get people out of hospitals sooner but a lot of the people that are in our target demographic are in advanced stages of complications where you know, we can do something for them, but [pause, indicating that some cannot be helped] yeah. And that hit me. I’m kind of losing words here. Yeah, that was one of those things that definitely left an impression. And you don’t see that in a dataset, right. I mean, you don’t see that they’re people unless you’re actually there.

Eric further recounted other detailed, personal stories of understanding and caring for the

patients, even though I had not asked or probed, suggesting a rather deep connection to the core

of the business. Reflecting on father and son fights, patients ripping out IVs, among “all sorts of

crazy stuff” he also witnessed and described, Eric realized, “That’s what these pristine crystal

clear data sets that come back from the CROs don’t show you what actually happens in them,”

some of which fundamentally affected the treatment itself.

The patient-centric script permeated even larger companies. Discussing the cultural

milieu at his previous mid- to large size biopharmaceutical company, Russ described a

culturally-valued purpose similar to that found at biotechnology start-ups:

[A mid- to large size biopharmaceutical company, where Russ previously worked] was all about excellence. And this is maybe becoming cliché for life sciences companies now,

22 Some details, such as the particular symptoms and diagnoses described, have been omitted to protect the confidentiality of the interviewee and his company.

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but it’s all about the patient. So you have hierarchies and at [this biopharmaceutical company] the unofficial hierarchy was patient first…So it was the patient first, the insurance companies or country second, the Wall Street third, and the employees fourth. Now [the company] absolutely revered their employees so the fact that they were fourth doesn’t mean that they were mistreated, it’s just to mean that they weren’t important to the whole, but the theory was that if the patients were taken good care of, if everything surrounded the patients, then the insurance companies or whoever was paying that $200,000 a year for that drug therapy, they’d say, ‘Okay, this is good.’ And if you were being paid, then Wall Street was happy. And if Wall Street is happy, everybody gets to keep their jobs. So that was the kind of unofficial thinking there.

Elaborating on the extent to which these were not simply the words on a hidden company culture

document, Russ described the everyday salience of this mission-oriented focus at that same

company:

So I could tell you one time I was coming in, a beautiful day like today, and walking up the stairs at [the company], and the CEO was walking down and he said, ‘Hi Russ, how ya doin?’ I said, ‘Great, it’s a beautiful day out there.’ And he said, ‘It is a beautiful day and don’t forget about the patients.’ And that was his style. Every single day, every single hour, you were reminded about how important the patients were.

Large pharmaceutical senior R&D executive Greg similarly spoke of “patient-centricity” as the

reason that he felt comfortable in the particular area of the company where he worked, admitting

that this is something that many companies talk about but that “we are really looking to make

sure that it’s part of our DNA across all parts of the organization.”

That the industry’s products—whether drug therapeutics or medical devices—are

intended to treat human (or in some cases, animal) ills should not be overlooked when examining

the cultural dynamics that occur within it. One can easily cite evidence supporting motives of

both potential corporate greed and unwavering commitment to human health and livelihood. The

purpose here is not to argue that a particular motivation (financial, human well-being, or

otherwise, such as the advancement of science itself) characterizes the fundamental intention of

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all or even most of the industry. Rather, it is to highlight the highly salient, dominant cultural

logic that infuses expressed discourse and courses of behavior, even beyond individual-level

motivations.

Given the industry’s explicit health and scientific advancement goals, there is a unique,

sacred dimension to production that exists regardless of any given individual’s career

motivations. As the leader at a professional association conference said in his opening remarks,

the industry has a “shared mission” to ‘rid the world of disease,’ adding that ‘What we do saves

lives,’ and making a call for that to guide discussions over the days of the conference.23 This

broader shared understanding that industry professionals should ‘remain strongly focused on the

patient’ has the unintended consequence of contributing to divisions between science—more

explicitly understood to be neutral and focused on the core shared mission—and business, which

can focus more on dollar signs, as the VC investor mentioned above noted.

All Hands on Deck

Because the mission-oriented purpose of the industry is held to be sacred, work itself is

considered a mission rather than merely a job. The culturally valued full-blown commitment to

work reflects an extreme form of the ideal worker image as conceptualized in sociological

literature. Importantly, as this script is pervasive across the entire industry, it alone cannot

account for the observed variation in individuals’ career experiences and outcomes. While the

23 I use single quotes when indicating comments that were not audio recorded, in which cases the precise words or ordering may have differed slightly. This was generally the case during fieldwork involving attending networking, business, and professionalization events and conferences and observing or touring company offices. I took notes immediately when possible, or as soon as possible when jotting notes would have been out of place. I use double quotes to indicate the exact language people used, which is the case in the in-depth, semi-structured interviews upon which this dissertation draws. When single quotes are used within a respondent’s broader quote, they indicate a respondent’s quoting someone else, but are nonetheless the respondent’s exact language.

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industry as a whole values an unwavering commitment to work, many believe there is a divide at

the organizational level in this respect, with small start-ups better exemplifying the strong

commitment to the patient and to the work itself. Still, because start-ups’ innovations are at the

heart of the industry’s identity, so too is the start-up work ethic. That is, though respondents

believe there is a divide between small and large companies in this respect, it remains as a valued

cultural script ostensibly held by professionals across the industry.

The core argument of this dissertation focuses on how cultural differences between the

professions shape work experiences and career outcomes and, further, contribute to gender

inequality. Here I present relentless commitment to work as a broader industry script that also

maintains a cultural divide at the organizational level because I contend that it, too, further

intensifies the cultural division at the profession-level that also causes gender inequality to

persist in different ways in each profession. In particular, the overarching belief in full,

intrinsically-motivated commitment to work, ultimately for the greater good, exacerbates the

expertise and morality valued within each of the professions. That there exists perceptual

variation in the extent to which professionals at each type of organization are committed serves

to highlight the way that the sacred can be tainted and must be preserved.

Social science research on the life sciences industry has differentiated between smaller,

nimble, more adaptive companies and large immobile bureaucracies, confined by their own

walls. I find that the particular type of valued work ethic is similarly stratified along these lines.

Julia, the scientist who pursued industry despite its then “wicked step child” reputation, worked

at a well-regarded large biopharmaceutical company for about a decade. She initially worked in a

group that did not fit with her perception and value of “scientific rigor,” explaining: “And that

didn’t fly for me. I had just come from [a top-tier university where she completed her postdoc]

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where the scientific rigor was really impressive and I always felt like the stupidest person in the

room at [that university]. And here I was being told not to show a control […] That wasn’t going

to work for me.” Despite moving to a new group that she felt was better aligned with her

academic background and within which she felt well recognized for her achievements, she found

herself not fitting entirely with the bigger company culture. And, as her husband had been

working with start-ups, she had a well-known point of comparison. Julia described that she felt

“jealous of the energy that he came home with, with this really cool small setting and everyone’s,

you know, rowing in the same direction, and everyone’s excited and every day’s very impactful.

And at the same time, at [her large biopharmaceutical company], very successful company but

made their success by buying late stage assets, not by discovering and developing internal

assets.”

By contrast, of the start-up where she “loved it…there was this do or die mentality. So at

[her previous company] if your project didn’t work, it didn’t matter, right, because somebody

else’s project would work or they’d buy another company. And that’s true at big companies no

matter what. At [her start-up], if the projects that I was overseeing didn’t work, we didn’t have a

company. Not that I was so important, every single person was important…And I loved that.

There was no place to hide. There was no mediocrity, whereas a bigger company, there’s a lot of

mediocrity. People just sort of coast because they’re, you know, collecting a good paycheck,

they’re working 9 to 5, maybe 9:30 to 4:30. There’s never a need to come in on a weekend. You

know, you’re not breakin’ a sweat.” Confirming that this was the particular case at her previous

large company, Julia says that she “kept a mental list of the twenty people I would fire the next

day if I had the authority. People that I felt were not pulling their weight.” However, these people

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would likely never be fired because they were “lifers” and the company never laid anyone off

during that era.

Julia believes turnover is important for organizations, with “new blood” actually

“invigorat[ing]” organizations. She perceived employees who knew they wouldn’t get fired as

becoming “complacent.” She emphasized that while these are characteristics of her specific

former large employer, she did not intend to put them “under the bus,” as she found many hard

working and smart people there as well. Further, she believes the problems she described as

simply the results that occur at any large company. By contrast, at one of the start-ups where she

worked, “I loved the fact that everyone was committed to saying ‘yes.’ So that’s a really critical

part of succeeding in biotech in my opinion.” In large pharmaceutical companies, many people

need to say “no” for a variety of reasons, whether budgetary, risk, or commercial liabilities

related: “There are literally a thousand people telling you ‘no.’” By contrast, “at a small

company, if you’re not committed to yes you disappear.” Yes to what, I probed: “Yes to this

project needs to move forward.”

Consultant Nicole has found a similar divide in cultures between relatively smaller and

larger companies based on her experience advising industry professionals on their careers. She

explained:

The big company versus small company is a really big deal. Like there are certain people that love wearing lots of hats, doing their things, being involved in a lot, so they should be in a small company where they can do all of that. If they are at a large company, they might feel stifled and feel like their job is too narrow and may not feel fulfilled because of the work […] So the biggest reason I see things don’t work out is because of that issue of people being in the wrong type of environment.

Further, Nicole believes that many people believe that they can easily shift, and may think they

want a challenge or new experience after working in one type of organization or the other for

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awhile. However, in practice, she believes that this often does not work so well because people

are inclined to approach work in ways that either fit better with the “all hands on deck” needs

and quick pace of smaller companies, or the more structured and supportive environment of

larger company. In the coming chapters, we will see the varied experiences of professionals

across a variety of organizational and professional contexts, and explore the particular cultural

qualities perceived for achieving success in each, how clear the valued styles are to

professionals, how well they fit in those contexts, and the career consequences of these issues.

Aligned With and Against the Industry: The “Great Chasm” between Science and Business

Not only despite, but I argue, in part because of, the industry’s tightly woven community

and its shared patient- and work-centric scripts, stereotypical tropes about scientists and business

professionals abound. As Janet, a former bench scientist turned head of a life sciences service

providing company, assuredly explained while we were chatting at an event for women in

science, ‘There are business people and science people.’ Janet’s comment during the early stages

of my fieldwork foreshadowed what I later found to be a deeply embedded cultural belief,

characterized by a molecular biologist as the “great chasm between the business people and the

R&D people.”

[…] it’s a lot like the movie industry. As a matter of fact, I can’t think of another industry that’s more like the pharmaceutical industry than the movie industry. In the movie industry, you have the creatives, you have the actors, the cinematographers, […] the music people. And then you have the suits. And I’ll tell ya something, it ain’t too damn different in the pharmaceutical industry. You have the creatives—you have the chemists and biologists, the chemical engineers, who make the drugs—and then you have the business people. […] So many things are so similar [between the two industries]. Something like only 30 percent of FDA approved drugs carry the profits for the whole company, the others just make up their costs or barely do so, and it’s just a very few blockbusters that really make the industry what it is. Same with the movie industry. How many movies turn a profit, how many just recover their costs? And then you get

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something like, I don’t know—what was the big Academy Award winner?—and it makes untold amount of dollars that just recovers all the losses. The other thing is, the suits, I mean, they know, they know it’s gonna be commercial. They know and person comes and they pitch a pitch and ‘That’ll never be any good’ [said imitating business person’s response]. How often are they right?

The deep divide between scientists and business professionals is such a taken for granted

phenomenon that some industry consultants have found their broader organizational consulting

focused on these issues. Consultant Elaine, who also holds a science PhD, attributes many of the

pitfalls made when people shift from science to business to a fundamental difference in the

professions’ cultures: “First, they don’t understand the different culture between business and

science. Very different cultures.” Elaborating on the central differences in these cultures, Elaine

explained:

For example, in science, you have, you know you’re very interested in one hundred percent accuracy. That’s what you’re rewarded for, that’s what you’re trained for, that’s what science is all about. A hundred percent I’m trying to find out the laws of nature. Business, if you wait for a hundred percent certainty, you’re not going to act and you’re going to lose money. To illustrate this with a bunch of, a crowd of scientists, I’ll take a dice and roll it and say, I’ll give them a little betting thing and they don’t want to bet. And I explain to them that if you’re in business, you’re making bets all the time. That’s one big difference.

Here Elaine’s use of the term “culture” captures each profession’s shared understanding of the

way work ought to be done—either by meticulously ensuring accuracy or by taking tasks even

under uncertain conditions. Both groups of professionals view each approach as simply the taken

for granted way things are done.

That this divide exists in such an interconnected “village” may seem somewhat peculiar,

particularly as there is a great deal of fluidity across professional tracks throughout one’s career.

Indeed, the majority of business professionals I interviewed were previously scientists. Some

who were in distinctly business roles when I interviewed them even still identified as scientists.

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When I asked business executive Wendy how well she felt that she fit in her current role

compared to how well she fit in as a scientist, she quickly corrected me to regain her identity,

“I’m still a scientist.” And others made not only a single shift from science to business, but wove

back and forth between various science and business roles depending on the opportunity. For

some, like Maria, this ran the spectrum from senior R&D roles to VC to business executive roles.

In light of the frequent interaction between scientists and business professionals and the pursuit

of both career tracks, why does the divide exist and how does it shape people’s experiences?

My research suggests that the cultural divide between science and business divide exists

because the sacred nature of the industry’s purpose aligns with widely held cultural beliefs about

science and contradicts such beliefs about business. As we saw in Elaine’s characterization of

both types of professionals, scientists are perceived as valuing technical expertise and rigor.

Scientists’ unbiased and relentless pursuits of health solutions are virtually synonymous with the

industry field’s patient-centric cultural script. Business professionals are trying to figure out an

effective way to profit while maintaining at least the image of being patient-centric. If a company

goes under, its therapeutic will not be delivered to patients. Yet while both the science and

business are necessary for achieving the field’s purported patient-centric mission,

commercialization of sacred or intimate spheres is often met with uneasiness (Zelizer 2005). In

the subsequent chapters, we will see how business professionals take on highly nuanced practices

to mitigate these tensions, while scientists hone in on their already mission-aligned commitment

to the science.

Even when they themselves shift back and forth between science and business,

professionals often maintain the disparate beliefs about each profession. Rather than revising

their views about science and business in general, they instead frame their own purpose for doing

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one or the other as being better aligned with both their own identity and the industry’s patient-

centric mission. In this way, the patient-centric script serves to maintain the cultural divide

between the professions, even when people’s own experiences suggest more fluidity between the

two.

Some people pursued professions that were not particularly aligned with their personal

identity, but felt compelled to do so because of their strong commitment to medicine and science

that would be enabled by their taking on the business role. This was particularly the case for

several entrepreneurs with whom I spoke. Eric, the start-up CEO referenced earlier in the

discussion of the patient-driven script, is a self-trained engineer (and indeed, an engineer at heart,

in his characterization). After initially meeting him at a venture pitch where he presented his

company to a group of angel investors, I interviewed Eric in a Kendall Square hotel lobby

popular for business meetings, because his company was the “quintessential three guys in a

garage—and we didn’t even have the garage—it was just three people distributed and a lot of

that was myself.” What has made Eric able to successfully transition to interacting with people,

required in the start-up arena for his company to gain traction, was his adaptability and openness

to engaging in more social and relationship-oriented ways. He explained:

I like to think of myself as somewhat adaptable. I guess you have to be to make the transition that I did. But I think, by nature, by nature I’m actually pretty introverted. I know, you’ve seen me in front of a podium and like talking in a microphone so that probably doesn’t come across. But I would say, for me, I won’t say that people, actually I would say that people skills are kinda learned. You know, I think they are for everybody. That’s sort of what socialization is to a certain degree and some people get it younger than others. But I guess, you know, by nature, I’m kinda the geeky little kid in the corner. I’m pretty comfortable with that. I just kinda realized at some point in time that you can do more when you’re not trying to do it all yourself, which sounds very obvious and it ought to be, but for the geeky little kid in the corner that’s like an eye opening experience and you know, for us, taking the stuff that we did in virtual isolation and getting it out there in front of people feels awfully rewarding. It feels, it feels like we’re making, and

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it’s not just a matter of feeling, we’re making incredible progress, we’ve got incredible traction, really because we’ve done all of the work.

At more open active cocktail networking events, Eric believes he comes off as rather

“gregarious” and that others have described him that way, despite his having previously been a

“wallflower.” But as he realized the social aspect is important for his company’s survival, he

began interacting more and ended up actually enjoying it. In his assessment, he was not a

“people person by nature” but now finds professional social events fun.

For some, the interpersonal skills required for succeeding as an entrepreneur have led to a

fundamental shift in identity and how they engage with others, even when they’re not in a

business setting. Like Eric, Walter similarly feels that he has a good interpersonal fit in his

current role, having been brought in by a business friend to run the company, despite an earlier

life as a “heads down engineer.” His interactions with people range from simply being more

proactive in starting casual conversation, such as asking someone in an elevator how they’re

doing, to having recently struck up a conversation with someone (not in the life sciences

industry) while waiting in line at a Dunkin’ Donuts, whom he met up with later that week to play

golf. This is a similar style of interaction that Walter developed out of necessity in his work life,

which didn’t come naturally until he was “forced” into it by virtue of his roles requiring such

skills. Eric’s and Walter’s experiences show how even those who once held technical roles

maintain distinct cognitive categories for science and business. They have pursued the business

side to achieve their broader mission, but they still recognize and frame the professional

categories distinctly, and as requiring different fundamental personalities (not simply different

tacit skills).

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Training Culture and Pathways

The professional division discussed above further exists because of the unique training

and professional pathway of science, which transforms over the career course in ways that the

business pathway does not. Industry science’s deep roots in academic science intensify its

emphasis on technical rigor and expertise and on pure accuracy, which is turn define the

industry’s culture as one where expertise and morality must be preserved. Professionals continue

to attribute stereotypical qualities to scientists based on the skills that are required early on in

science, despite the fact that this changes as they advance in their careers. As people move up on

the science track, their work focuses on a much bigger scale, and assessments are often made

with larger business and company goals in mind. That is, I find that broader cultural differences

between science and business persist in practice to some extent at all career stages, but it is more

so the case when comparing business to earlier career science. Perceptions of cultural differences

between the professions remain virtually constant. The section delves into these structural and

cultural changes over the professional life course in greater detail.

Connection to Academia—the Gold Standard

The culturally valued qualities among scientists, as well as the extent to which they are

perceived as important for job performance, undergo fundamental shifts across the scientific

track career course. The earliest shift for industry scientists occurs when they transition from

academic labs to industry labs, which involves an education to work transition unique to

scientists’ training structure. Though some scientists spend their entire careers in academia, this

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study focuses primarily on industry scientists and business professionals. Here I present aspects

of academia to the extent that they shape industry professionals’ experiences, but do not intend to

capture the full range of academic experiences.

Business professionals—regardless of the particular role—generally come from MBA,

JD, or directly out of undergraduate degree programs, and then separately begin work in an

applied industry setting. They have transitioned into securing sales, negotiating partnerships,

developing marketing strategies, and so forth, from being students, typically reading and

interacting about business issues in a classroom, but not actively engaged in the business

practices that occur in their jobs. The scientific professional track, by contrast, is more enmeshed

with academic training. Because some scientists continue in academia as professors after their

doctoral degrees and postdoctoral fellowships, their training focuses on laboratory work that is

similar to work they may perform as bench scientists in industry early in their careers. Indeed,

the academic path is often strongly considered, even the path that many believed they would take

when they began their PhD programs. To be sure, as several scientists pointed out, academic

science is often less (if at all) focused on applied drug discovery and development, and rather

more focused on understanding biological or chemical processes and disease mechanisms, and

on the primary metric of academic productivity—peer-reviewed publications. What is important

to understand for the observed outcomes in career experiences is that the practice of science in

academic labs can seem in many ways similar to industry practice, in that both positions

emphasize laboratory experiments.

Further, academic science is perceived as the gold standard of practice, and many idealize

it as the place where the most successful scientists work. This emphasis is important for

understanding the scientific metrics of evaluation both early in scientists’ careers, as well as their

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vantage point when interacting with business professionals. Jenn, who was about to begin the

final year of her PhD when I interviewed her, wanted to stay in the program slightly longer than

her committee believed was required in order to learn additional scientific techniques to be

“more sellable to the biotech industry.” While Jenn’s advisor was highly supportive of her

decision to go into industry, Jenn considers herself incredibly lucky in this regard, noting that the

standard belief is that “academia is the only way,” which other academic and industry scientists

with whom I spoke had experienced. As now industry scientist Ryan explained:

There’s a hard line of academic versus industry science. And it’s one of those things that you kind of keep to yourself. I think that once your PI understands that you want to go the industry route, it might pigeonhole you in a bad area.

Even postdoctoral researcher Lindsey, who thought her principal investigator (PI) would be

reasonably supportive of either an academic or industry career path, felt too uncomfortable to

speak with her PI about her plans to leave academia.

Beyond individual advisors, doctoral students and postdoctoral researchers are more

broadly immersed in an environment that pushes their careers toward academia. A

professionalization event for female scientists, including those interested in pursuing industry

jobs, emphasized the perceived superiority of academic career pathways. I later interviewed

Rachel, a senior scientist at a small biotechnology company, who had also attended this event.

While explicitly intended to address issues that women in STEM careers may experience and

how to navigate them, Rachel explained that the entire career pathway push in the event’s

presentation was toward academia. Of the successful academic presenter, Rachel noted:

She was very severe I think. It was interesting hearing her come from such a pro-academic perspective because in my field [microbiology] a lot of the female scientists have left academia. I mean, some of the male scientists have, too. And a lot of that has to

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do with having kids. It’s just too difficult to do. I guess I disagree with her. Although I don’t know if she was trying to make this point—that not to go into academia is to waste your training.

Rachel believed that others at the event had similar concerns, reflecting on a fellow

female scientist attendee’s comment, which I had also recalled from the event, about the limited

number of academic job opportunities. Summarizing the other attendee’s comment and concern,

Rachel noted, “Everyone might be aiming for that, but eventually you have to say, this isn’t

going to work out, and leave the very top people to become professors at MIT, and not everyone

can do that.”

Rachel’s comment highlights the frustration that results for those seeking non-academic

pathways in disciplines where academia is most prized. However, it simultaneously shows how

the deeply engrained belief that the “very top people” work as scientists in academia is held even

among industry scientists. And while Rachel is a senior scientist (i.e., relatively junior in the

overall science career track), other more experienced scientists hold similar views. Chad, a

biologist by training, left academia (after holding postdocs at top-tier universities) for finance

and now works as a start-up entrepreneur and life sciences consultant. Of his earlier career

transition out of academia, he admitted: “As smart as I am, I didn’t really have a big promising

future in academia, so I started looking at industry.” Similarly, Fred, whose undergraduate and

graduate degrees in chemistry are from two of the top-ranked universities, has worked as an

industry scientist for over 25 years, currently in a strategic scientific role in a start-up. Reflecting

on the recruiting process for his science team, which he was working on at the time of our

interview, Fred described his recent prospective hires:

I’m talking to absolute top-notch talent. Total gold-sealed pedigree, great experience, the sort of people I would want to hire into any company. You know, very smart, who

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apparently can learn to do whatever needs to be done…You know, MIT, Harvard, Tufts, sort of, good. If they were any better, they’d be on track to go get an academic job somewhere. These are people who typically, you know, have figured out they want to be in industry. So are they the absolute very best people? Well, in my experience, I’d have to say ‘no’ because the absolute very best people are going to get faculty positions at Harvard, MIT, Stanford, Caltech, Berkeley, whatever. And those people you can’t get because they’re going off to do that. After that, in this context, yeah, they’re [the chemists whom Fred has been interviewing] about as good as you can get.

Even PhD scientists who framed their decision to pursue industry as an active preference

rather than a personal shortcoming recognized the commonly held belief that academia is

superior to industry. Like Chad, VP level scientist Julia completed a top-tier university postdoc

in her field, but explained that she always knew she wanted to ultimately pursue industry rather

than academia, despite the former’s lower status image, which was particularly true at an earlier

time when she was making her career transition:

I just wasn’t drawn to [academia], and industry actually was just coming around at this point. I did my postdoc in [the mid 1990s], and industry was very much the wicked stepchild of science. People thought, well, if you can’t make it in academia, you go to industry. Even with that in mind, I knew that I really wanted to go to industry. I wanted to do something that was applied. I really wanted to make a difference in people’s lives. Not that academics don’t—they obviously do—but in a much more tangible, directed way.

The primacy of rigorous academic science is similarly held relative to those holding

medical degrees, and even among those with medical degrees themselves. This is because pure

scientific practice, rather than applied practice (whether with commercial or medical treatment

ends) is considered most rigorous and sacred. Describing her shift from practicing medicine to

pursuing a PhD in pathology, Cynthia felt a lack of intellectual stimulation in her medical

practice. “I really liked the science, which is different than medicine, you know. So I like and

I’m very good at hypothesis driven research, writing papers, you know, really focusing on that.

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That is one of my talents, I would say. I like that very much.” She contrasted science with

medicine by emphasizing that the latter “isn’t hypothesis driven, it’s diagnostic driven.”

Similarly, consultant Tim, a medical doctor who previously worked first in academia and then in

his own private practice for nearly twenty years, described practicing medicine as “a little rote.”

Despite enjoying the tangible positive results in treating patients, Tim felt unable to exercise his

naturally curious tendency.

The Worth of a Degree

This high value placed on academic science leads to industry biotechnology and

pharmaceutical companies employing a disproportionately high number of scientists with PhDs.

While there are junior scientists or lab technicians holding only undergraduate bachelor degrees

in science, they are categorically constrained from advancing, no matter how much experience

they gain. This is the case even in relatively small biotechnology companies. Amanda, a junior

scientist with a bachelor’s degree in biochemistry, explained that in order to become a senior

scientist at her company, she would need to hold a PhD. Remaining as a junior scientist means

that Amanda can “never do anything that has to do with managing people or making decisions or

anything. I’m just stopped at giving data away.” That is, Amanda focuses on more task-oriented

experiments behind the scenes, rather than working on developing more big picture ideas or

advising others on scientific strategy.

This steadfast practice is so pervasive across companies that some professionals with

undergraduate degrees in science ultimately shift to a more business-oriented track in order to

advance their careers, in lieu of obtaining a PhD. Due to financial considerations, Jill, a business

development executive at a large global pharmaceutical company, decided to shift to the business

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track in the life sciences industry, having initially begun on the science track after completing her

undergraduate degree in biotechnology. Jill realized early on in her career that in order to achieve

management positions, she needed to quickly shift tracks if she were not going to pursue a PhD.

She explained that the true turning point for her came after receiving highly positive feedback on

her performance at a small drug discovery company where she worked a couple years out of her

undergraduate degree. Jill then asked the human resources department when she could move up

or manage her own team, and they explained it would “never happen”:

And I said, ‘What do you mean it’s not gonna happen?’ She’s [HR personnel] like, ‘Well, you don’t have a PhD, so you’re never gonna be management.’ I said, ‘So you’re telling me…’ and I looked at her, I said, ‘You’re telling me, if I work here for twenty years and I prove myself time and time again that I can do the job, that I’ll never be management?’ And she basically, you know, in a roundabout way, said yes. And I was like, wow, okay, time to switch, time to switch.

Consistent with junior scientist Amanda’s experience, Jill contends that this structure constrains

many talented scientists working in the labs at large pharmaceutical companies from advancing

in their careers. She notes that this is the case even for those scientists who can not only

complete the lab work, but also analyze and present it well and know the broader direction the

project should take.

In light of this structure, one might reasonably assume that these constraints serve a

functional purpose, such as ensuring that only those with higher levels of technical competence

signaled through their credentialing, are able to occupy the more senior technical roles.

Interestingly though, this is not the case across all technical occupations, even in the combined

life sciences and medical devices industry. Specifically, the cultural meanings associated with

worth shift in medical devices. From conversations with her close friends and family members

who are engineers, Jill noticed early on that engineers hold senior leadership positions, such as

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vice president, with a bachelor of science degree, whereas in the life sciences industry (excluding

medical devices, which is where engineers typically work) she believes one can virtually never

achieve that rank with only a bachelor’s degree. One of Jill’s close relatives works as an engineer

in the medical device industry, where Jill has not observed the same bias that she sees in the life

sciences with respect to the need for a PhD or MD in order to hold a leadership role on the

science track.

The disparate, yet equally engrained shared meanings about professional status were

captured in a discussion Jill had with her engineer relative about business cards. After she

received her MS and MBA degrees, she was debating putting these credentials on her business

card, and ultimately decided to do so, reasoning that nearly everyone in life sciences indicates

their PhD and MD degrees. Her relative, perplexed, asked why her degrees were on her card and

she explained it was standard in the life sciences industry. He found it laughable because “in his

world, it’s what you know, who you know, how you can present yourself, how you address the

project, how successful you are generally in your role, not the letters at the end of your name.”

Consistent with Jill’s understanding of the role of advanced degrees in achieving

management positions, Ron, a mechanical engineer by training, chose to pursue an MBA instead

of a PhD while still advancing on the R&D track within medical devices. To be sure, there

remains an overall strong emphasis on PhDs in the industry at large (i.e., life sciences and

medical devices combined), as Ron realized that medical device employers were looking for

PhDs, even at start-up companies, often seeking to advertise this credential of their R&D vice

present to investors. However, he did not feel categorically constrained from R&D management

without a PhD and, indeed, believed he had the flexibility to select the MBA program, whereas

he found the engineering PhD would not have provided substantively helpful training to advance

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in the R&D track. While Ron had switched over to a business development position by the time

of our interview, he worked in several senior R&D roles after completing his MBA. Both this

science track hiring and promotion structure and the perception of academic science training

influenced professionals’ later valued occupational qualities, and their experiences of job clarity

and fit.

The Structural and Cultural Foundations of Professional Pathways

The section above showed how the science track’s emphasis on a PhD for management

roles constrains and alters individuals’ preferences and pathways, leading scientists without

PhDs, such as Jill, over to the business track. Another later science track shift also influences

professionals’ education plans and career pathways, albeit in different ways. Specifically, while

both academic and industry scientists often begin their careers still directly practicing science

through running experiments, generally referred to as “bench work,” industry scientists quickly

move into more managerial roles, both project and team management. Project management

requires a more macro understanding of the direction of the scientific or company goals, while

team management demands an interactive skillset that is, by and large, not particular to scientific

roles. In short, industry scientists move from primarily individually oriented experimental work

to bigger picture and team-oriented work. This section further explains these transitions and

contrasts them with the relatively stable, even if more variegated, professional pathways in

business.

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The Early Scientific Track: At the Bench

Given that the science track hiring and promotion structure virtually always requires a

PhD, the vast majority of scientists enter industry out of academic labs, where a considerable

amount of their time is spent working on independent research projects. In the academics labs,

there is simultaneously an expectation to be highly productive and a distinct lack of structure or

social involvement. A typical day for Lindsey, a postdoctoral molecular biologist, begins after

her hour and fifteen commute listening to NPR, planning her day’s experiments and responding

to emails, after which she begins conducting experiments in a largely self-directed way, as she

and her boss meet only once every two weeks to discuss generally what experiments should be

done and what data he wants analyzed. On a daily basis though, Lindsey is in charge of deciding

what work needs done and preparing all of the experiments. Her particular research utilizes fish,

so after she has managed desk logistics, Lindsey will set up the fish to be imaged, which

involves mounting them and putting them on the microscope, routine tasks that she refers to as

“generic lab experiments.”

And then I usually take a lunch break sometime in the day, um usually on the computer a little bit more either looking up papers or reading or communicating. And then it’s more experiments for the afternoon and evening. So like today it’s going to be more imaging, running more experiments, and then usually I’ll get out of get of lab eight, nine, ten hours after I got there.

Lindsey will work later if experiments are going well or if she needs to set-up items for the next

day’s experiment, and she finds such preparation very important to do. Additionally, she comes

into the lab on a lot of weekends for shorter periods of time to check on, take care of, set up, or

breed the fish, so that she has a head start on the week ahead. In short, she summarizes that most

of her days as follows:

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[They’re mostly] some version of that where like morning and afternoon and evening are all experiments and you take a lunch break. It’s usually, it’s usually very self directed so if you want to be crazy, running from one place to another all day long you can you can be that. There are plenty of people in the lab that do that. Or you have time to set up meetings. You have time to take a coffee break usually. Um, it’s, it’s kind of lax in that respect.

Characterizing the experiments, Lindsey found that “most of them are pretty tedious and

repetitive, and don’t necessarily take that much skill on a daily basis.” Another postdoctoral

scientist (at a research institute) Hannah described a similar routinized series of experimental

tasks, with strategic intervals (when waiting on experiments) set aside for data analyses and

writing. Jenn, the biology PhD candidate interested in industry jobs, discussed earlier,

characterized her day to day work as somewhat varying, depending on whether she needs to run

experiments or think through ideas for writing, but as similarly independent.

While the purpose of scientific work changes between academia and industry, there

remains a similarity in relatively independent daily work between academic science and very

early bench science work in industry. Industry scientists who were in the earlier stages of their

careers spent the majority of their time on bench work. Kyle is an animated, t-shirt and jeans

scientist in his mid-twenties working at an early stage biotechnology start-up.24 A typical day

involves an entire afternoon from about 12:30 p.m. until 6 p.m. working directly on experiments.

At times—such as earlier in the day on which I interviewed him—Kyle finds his work

particularly detail-oriented and repetitive, as many of the experiments require highly precise

timing. He summarizes the hours before our interview as involving him “counting[ing] to ten

basically for six hours.”

24 Kyle left the start-up about nine months after our interview, and has since held roles at a midsize biotechnology company, all along the science and engineering track.

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In short, then, despite the exceptionally high level of education and intelligence required

to develop ideas to test in the first place, the day-to-day practice is often highly structured and

repetitive. This is not to be confused with ease or lack of standards. Josh, a neuroscientist who

completed his PhD and postdoc from two top tier universities and currently works at a large

pharmaceutical company, explains that he tries to present himself as scientifically rigorous

through the way he conducts experiments. To demonstrate the rigor that he finds is consistent

with his elite training, Josh gives attention to small details, like the amount of water added at

particular point the experimental process.

Advancing on the Scientific Track: Moving Away from the Bench

This independent, often isolated, nature of early science track jobs soon shifts to more

team oriented roles. In essence, the further scientists move up on the science career ladder, the

further they move away from the direct practice of science. Working directly on experiments is

replaced with developing bigger picture scientific strategy or, even more separated from the

science, managing other more junior scientists working on experiments. For example, early

career (with PhD) large pharmaceutical scientist Jasmin succinctly provides an overview of a

typical week, which is “lots and lots of meetings,” common among other scientists I interviewed

at a comparable level. Only on weeks that are a bit slower does Jasmin get to do what she calls

“actual work,” by which she means data analyses, literature searches, and keeping up on the

literature in her field. Further, she has already begun needing to seek out project coordination

with various support groups. By the time scientists like Bruce, also at a large pharmaceutical

company, reach director level, they have expanded to contributing to the entire portfolio of the

disease area they manage. People managing skills additionally take over their days, with cycles

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of meetings with direct reports, often among many more with the highly matrixed nature that

large pharmaceutical interviewees were nearly always quick to reference.

This particular change in science roles across the scientific career track has a variety of

career consequences. One discontent, expressed by Bruce among others, is that they are no

longer as close to the science. Bruce, in particular, enjoys his more senior role because of the

influence he has on the broader science strategy, but not the increased managerial positions.

Indeed, he highlighted that being “always in the lab” versus “pretty much never in the lab” is the

key difference between. Several successful scientists, even so high as Chief Scientific Officer

(CSO)25, who devoted nearly all of their time to relationships and managing them in similar ways

as required for business deals, felt “happiest” when working directly on the science. While these

examples show scientists who have nonetheless chosen to advance and move away from the

science (but still within the science track), scientist Tina decided not to pursue a PhD for the very

reason that she most enjoyed bench science and did not want to move up and away from it.

The Varied Nature of Business

In stark contrast to scientists’ highly structured career process with distinct phases, the

business trajectory follows a less set path. Yet this lack of structure is accompanied by a highly

varied set of roles and professional backgrounds. Indeed, the complex nature of business career

trajectories mirrors the cultural nuances of the roles themselves, as will be explored in the

coming chapters. Some, like former scientist Jill discussed earlier, navigated to the business side

strategically due to scientific constraints. CEOs like Cynthia may be true scientists only

25 In contrast to start-up company CEOs who could be still in their 20s, CSOs are virtually never hired right out of graduate school, according to Keith (and Ethan, a young entrepreneur describing his company’s CSO), because this role requires a range of experiences in order to have the market understanding of how a drug can compete and to understand the “whole pharmaceutical process.”

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temporarily taking on the role in order to advance their company, while others like Judith have

ended up there as a result of continually pushing for career growth. Others, like large

pharmaceutical alliance management director Shane, are “outliers” (his word) and have an

exclusively business background. They sometimes face technical challenges in a highly

competitive industry where even many business professionals hold STEM field PhDs. Even

more, a number of roles slightly more business- than science-oriented are effectively a complex

hybrid of the two, demanding highly technical scientific and business or financial skills (e.g.,

managing external R&D selection, health economics and outcomes research). And roles that are

distinctly business-oriented, such as business development, vary in the extent to which they are

more strictly sales- or strategy-oriented.

The Industry Village Summary

This chapter has shown the simultaneously energetic and complex nature of the densely

clustered and highly educated life sciences field. Throughout this chapter, I introduced the core

ways in which the life sciences industry operates as a strategic action field, an approach that

serves to uncover the roots of professional cultural dynamics. First, we saw how the industry

operates in a physically clustered space with a pulsating urgency—both for developing the next

therapeutic breakthrough and finding ways to fund it. And in this way, small start-ups and large

pharmaceutical companies are not disparate actors. They are tightly integrated in part because

many of the professionals working in each weave in and out of each throughout their careers, and

because there are ongoing possibilities for partnering or being acquired.

With this understanding of the physical space, I then presented the cultural meanings that

constitute this SAF. The theoretically relevant distinction I identified is between the mission-

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oriented script at the industry level, also relatively aligned with science’s practices, and the

perceived transactional nature of business. The industry’s sacred patient- and work-centricity

scripts heighten the cultural divide between science and business. Science is considered the core

of the industry, given its drug discovery and development focus, and its culture prides itself on

objective, technical rigor, further reflecting the broader industry’s purported mission. Business

tends to be perceived as having some level of deception or ill intention, and is therefore at odds

with such purity. The relationship between the industry culture and the professions means that

scientists value particularly intense focus on developing technically-oriented expertise, while

business professionals go to great lengths to establish that they have a good character and are, in

fact, part of the industry’s central mission.

I then moved to explain the variation in professional training and career pathways. I

showed how industry science’s deep connection to academia further intensifies the scientific

culture of expertise, while business operates only as an industry endeavor. Further, despite the

fact that science careers do, in fact, change somewhat over the course of one’s career

(increasingly moving away from direct lab science), the expertise-morality cultural divide rooted

in the stereotypes about the two professions persists. The broader industry field’s culture and the

deeply engrained professional cultures from early training explain this persistence.

In sum, the industry’s broader cultural framing of its patient- and work-centric missions

contributes to tensions between the science and business professions within it. The structural and

cultural contexts of the professions themselves further define these tensions and shape the

culturally valued work styles. The industry’s cultural milieu presented throughout this chapter

influences the specific interpersonal dynamics and presentation style qualities valued and used to

define those worthy of success, the latter two being examined in detail in the subsequent

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empirical chapters. The ideal scientist is unambiguous, projecting often singular and clearly-

defined interpersonal and presentation qualities, leading professionals to have distinct

preferences about whether to remain in the profession. The ideal business professional is

ambiguous, at times masked as flexible, leading many to feel that they still fit in, despite ongoing

struggles to manage the cultural rules. In both science and business, the particular effects on

careers are further exacerbated for women. In the chapters ahead, we will see how the culturally

valued interpersonal and presentation styles, informed by the broader field context presented in

this chapter, shape careers in these ways.

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// 3 // Trust from the Head: Internal Relationships and Teamwork in Science

The Evolving, Narrow Interpersonal Path of Science

In August 2017, then—since fired—Google software engineer James Damore sent a

company-wide memo titled “Google’s Ideological Echo Chamber,” which argued that biological

differences between men and women explain the lower proportion of women in tech jobs.

Among many claims, he contended, “Women on average show a higher interest in people and

men in things” and “Women on average are more cooperative.” Tech jobs, by contrast, Damore

asserted, are not about cooperation and people skills, but require more independence and

competitive drive. For this reason, he recommended that Google end its “arbitrary social

engineering of tech just to make it appealing to equal portions of both men and women” (Conger

2017). In a pointed response, former Googler Yonatan Zunger (2017) refuted Damore’s

argument on numerous grounds, most central being that Damore “does not appear to understand

engineering.” Without dissecting Damore’s claims about gender, Zunger highlighted that the

interpersonal skills Damore claimed were women’s inherent strengths are actually the core skills

required for being a successful engineer anyway, at least after the early stages of computer work:

“But it’s not a coincidence that job titles at Google switch from numbers to words at a certain point. That’s precisely the point at which you have, in a way, completed your first apprenticeship: you can operate independently without close supervision. And this is the point where you start doing real engineering.” Beyond such recent gender-related incidents in the high tech industry, the question of

how social skills influence people’s career experiences and outcomes has been addressed in

various areas of social science research. Beginning in the late 1970s, an emphasis on networks

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emerged in academic research and popular culture alike. The adage “It isn’t just what you know,

but whom” subsequently emerged and has become one of the most clichéd pieces of self-help

career advice. Indeed, it is supported by sociological research that highlights the role of industry

networks and internal organizational structures in obtaining a job (e.g., Granovetter 1995),

learning in one’s job (Powell, Koput, and Smith-Doerr 1996; Powell 1998), and achieving

advancement within an organization or career more generally, particularly in the life sciences

industry (e.g., Whittington and Smith-Doerr 2008). Much of this work has taken a structural

approach to examine the relationships among actors in a particular social sphere, such as the life

sciences industry. This work has shown that the structure of networks has important

consequences for innovation—by opening pathways for new knowledge to be exchanged, for

example.

Beyond examining the structure of network connections, more recent research

highlighting the role of cultural dynamics in organizations has emphasized the importance of

interpersonal dynamics, especially the nature of the relationships established. For example,

Rivera (2012, 2015) shows how elite professional services employers strongly consider job

candidates’ interpersonal style when assessing their fit for the firm and job. These employers size

up whether a candidate passes the “stranded in the airport test”—that is, they assess whether the

candidate is someone they would “enjoy handing with” even if stuck in an airport during a

snowstorm (2015:140). But how do professionals themselves navigate the field of networks and

manage interpersonal relationships in their jobs? And how does the profession’s particular

cultural context shape the valued styles of interaction that enable job and career success? This

chapter examines these less explored cultural aspects of science, while also showing their

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connection to the broader industry field and profession’s career structure, that explain

professional variation in culturally valued styles of interaction.

This is the first of two chapters taking the cultural aspects of professional networks and

interpersonal dynamics as its main substantive focus—the present examining their role on the

technical science and engineering side of the industry and Chapter 5, on the business side. As

suggested by the diatribe-like nature of Damore’s memo, interpersonal communications are not

just tasks one does—line items in a job description, so to speak—they represent a core (and at

times, contentious) aspect of work culture. Workplaces share meanings about the worth of

particular interpersonal and relationship practices, influencing who belongs, who should leave,

who thrives, and who struggles to manage the often-unwritten social intricacies. I explore how

the very shift from “sitting at your computer and hyper-optimizing an inner loop” to “doing real

engineering” of which Zunger wrote has these important career consequences. This chapter tells

the story of scientists’ interpersonal challenges along the scientific track—how they manage

them, the cultural reasons why they confront them in the first place, and how they have a

pronounced effect on female scientists’ careers.

In this chapter, my empirical argument related interpersonal dynamics and relationships

as a whole in science is two-fold: (1) The overall importance of any form of interpersonal skills

shifts as one ascends the science career ladder, leading some scientists to make premature career

decisions or to experience unintended career outcomes; (2) even at the science career stages

when interpersonal skills are more greatly valued, the science culture of expertise nonetheless

guides scientists’ interpersonal practices in a more directly work-oriented way, whereby

scientists focus on relationships to obtain cognition-based trust—trust from the head—in their

knowledge and technical merits of their work.

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I develop the two parts of this argument in turn. First, I examine how scientists formally

learn a narrow set of scientific skills early on the scientific track, and subsequently develop

distinct feelings of fit or lack thereof with the profession’s interpersonal culture. I then move on

to show the evolving social nature of the scientific career path and how the specific valued

interpersonal qualities change with it. As scientists move through the ranks, they need to engage

interpersonally to develop strong internal networks at their organization and functioning teams.

Still, these interpersonal styles remain focused on cultivating knowledge to advance their

substantive work performance, which they do by developing the cognition-based trust of their

colleagues.

In examining these interpersonal qualities, I advance the general theoretical argument

running throughout this dissertation: that a profession’s level of cultural ambiguity leads to

variation in career experiences and outcomes. In this chapter, in particular, I argue that, despite

requiring more social skills than in earlier scientific roles, the interpersonal requirements for

these more senior scientific roles remains relatively clear. Social interactions and teamwork

come more easily to some scientists than to others, and some enjoy engaging in them more than

others, but scientists across the board largely understand and concur on the desirable

interpersonal qualities. In other words, there is marked variation in feelings of cultural fit, but an

unambiguous cultural ideal. The expectations are relatively unambiguous in large part because

the perceived end goal of such interpersonal relationships is directly work-related. While

achieving this goal requires scientists to develop relationships to convey the seemingly more

elusive concept of trust, the cognition-based trust they seek remains in the work realm—they

need to convince others that their ideas can be trusted, as opposed to demonstrating a

fundamentally trustworthy character, the latter which we will see later in Part III is the case for

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business professionals.

I argue that the broader cultural distinction between the objective and sacred nature of

science (where the culture focuses on rigorously developing expertise) and the more subjective

sell-at-all-costs concern in business (where the culture focuses on conveying morality to

overcome these ethical concerns) maintains the divisions between science and business in valued

interpersonal styles. The form of trust scientists seek in interpersonal relationships mirrors the

profession’s cultural emphasis on technical expertise. Only scientists in the most upper echelons

of science, where roles take on a hybrid science-business nature (e.g., externally-facing chief

scientific officer), perceive the need to project a morally worthy character, as we will see is the

case across the business profession.

Science’s interpersonal ethos leads to profound career consequences. The lack of social

interactions early on leads to more drastic career shifts, such as switching professional tracks

among scientists seeking a more socially vibrant environment. Given that science eventually

requires strong interpersonal skills, exiting is not the only solution in order to achieve this more

social environment. Paradoxically, those who remain on the science track for the very reason that

they enjoy its relatively more independent nature early on end up further removed from the

science in in more socially-demanding roles. They often find themselves struggling as they’re

placed into people management roles, which is the way of advancement. The more successful

scientists become, the further away they move from the hand-on experimental work that ignited

their passion for science in the first place, causing them to catch the “research bug,” as a large

pharmaceutical R&D head called it.

As I present the valued interpersonal relationships strategies for garnering cognition-

based trust, in both the early and later stages of science, I show how each has particularly

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pronounced effects, on average, for women. I argue that this is because of the interaction

between the particular content of the narrowly conceptualized interpersonal ideal in science and

broader cultural gender views associated with women and interpersonal skills. Specifically, even

while interpersonal relationships become increasingly valued over the science career track, the

nature of those relationships and strategies for engaging in them—all highly work- and idea-

oriented—contradict the more socially warm qualities associated with “emphasized femininity”

(Connell 2005), a cultural script associated with the ideal woman. In essence, in the same way

that a clear but narrow interpersonal culture in science constrains all scientists from more

dynamic social relations, the culture has an even greater constraining effect on women’s

experiences because, even more frequently than men, they are likely to not fit with the particular

work-oriented interpersonal culture.

The Lonely Early Years

Chapter 2 showed how scientists experience several distinct changes along their career

track. As a reminder to the reader, this study is nearly exclusively focused on professional

comparisons within industry, with only a few interviewees who were still science post-docs (and

one PhD candidate) at the time of their interview. Thus, the career shifts discussed in this

dissertation do not refer to any that may occur along the academic career track. Those transitions

are referenced only in the context of respondents discussing necessarily (by virtue of my

sampling) not having ultimately pursued that route. As many industry scientists hold PhDs, those

who do not pursue academia professionally first shift from academic labs to industry labs. To

recap, this shift prioritizes medical application over scientific theory, and generally requires a

different approach to work. According to scientist Keith: “You need to understand that critical

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path: what do we want to do, what do we need to do, and people coming out of academics, they

do things differently.” Keith estimates that 70 to 80 percent of academic research doesn’t “hold

up to the scrutiny necessary to…develop something that’s going to go into humans as a

therapeutic.” Though this substantive nature of work changes in moving from academia to

industry, interpersonal dynamics remain somewhat similar. Crudely stated, many scientists

perceive them as non-essential. This is primarily because, as Chapter 2 showed, scientists remain

in roles directly working on experiments. Thus, while the purpose of their work has changed

when they move from the academic labs of their PhD programs to industry labs, the work in

practice seems ostensibly similar.

Working Independently, Socializing for Enjoyment

During their early industry career years spent almost exclusively on bench work,

scientists tend to work in a largely independent fashion. In this context, interpersonal and

relationship-building skills are perceived as virtually unnecessary. The low level of importance

of interpersonal style was often reflected both in explicit descriptions and in some scientists’

apparent confusion around the topic itself (not confusion about what was expected). Recent

postdoctoral chemist Jake, who was searching for an industry job when I interviewed him,

immediately rejected the importance of any interpersonal skills when I asked about his

interactions. The lack of interactions and communication had been so distinct that Jake felt

constrained from acting in his usual outgoing way, which he believes was “scary” for others in

the lab who were more reserved. Though he began his PhD being more open with people, the

closed off environment he confronted led him to frequently just come in to the lab, do his work,

and leave.

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Though Jake was reflecting on his experience in his PhD program lab, early career

scientists already in industry (i.e., nearly the entire sample of scientists in this study) described

similar experiences. For some (particularly those not seeking further interpersonal opportunities),

it was so apparently not important as to be a frivolous issue to discuss. When asked to identify

and characterize a successful scientist in a comparable role, Gabriel, a senior scientist26 at a

biotech start-up, selected a bioengineer affiliated with a top research university with whom he

has been collaborating. When I asked on the role of social skills for this person’s success,

Gabriel hesitated, seemingly thrown off guard, finally saying, “I really don’t know socially

because we interact just for work.” I further probed about how he would describe the way this

bioengineer interacts with people more generally. Seemingly confused—rather than perturbed or

guarding, as may otherwise be interpreted by his words out of audio context—he asked, “What

do you really want to know?” before finally summarizing that “the way we interact is a scientific

way.”

Focusing on the science in silos is not merely what some like Gabriel and his colleagues

prefer; it was a quality frequently associated with the cultural ideal—those whom my

respondents perceived as most successful. To clarify, it’s not the case that these idealized

scientists couldn’t present their work well. As we will see in the next chapter on presentation

style in science, the ability to communicate one’s scientific ideas in formal presentations is

highly valued among scientists. Nonetheless, they perceived social skills related to interactions

and relationships as unessential early on in their careers.

This early career unsocial nature is culturally constructed in a profession singularly

focused on scientific rigor and expertise. That is, the lack of interaction is neither inevitable nor

26 The title “senior scientist” refers at most organizations to early post-PhD scientists, whereas junior scientists are those without a PhD and who are generally not able to advance into management roles.

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necessarily functionally advantageous. The practice of science itself does not inherently

constrain scientists’ ability to interact. Scientist Monica finds labs that could, theoretically, be

highly conducive to getting to know others because breaks are inherent in the experimental

process itself. Early career scientists often find downtime when “you have something that is

running for half an hour and there’s not really much you can do except maybe check your email,

maybe browse through some literature.” Monica believes that time can be more valuably spent

meeting a colleague for coffee or lunch to get to know them better.

Importantly, the social interactions that do occur early on are generally at-will and

unrelated to achieving any work ends, neither those related to demonstrating good work (as is the

case later on the science track) nor those related to showing good character (as is the case in

business). Early career scientists spoke of meeting lab colleagues for drinks outside of work, but

with no work-related intention—that is, not even an indirect one to create better overall work

relationships. Indeed, for the jobs themselves, these scientists believe it matters little whether

they can work well together, or even tolerate others for that matter, as they are working so

independently. Monica’s social interactions with colleagues, described above, are simply

because they make her feel happier and allow her to take a break. She had not previously even

considered whether her social interactions would be professionally helpful in any way, prior to

my probing when she otherwise brought up personal enjoyment as a reason. The professional

benefit, she summarizes, is not one from the interaction itself—as in helping develop a

relationship for work. Rather, her simple enjoyment of it helps her work hard. She concluded

about its benefits:

It makes me enjoy my day more. And I guess, yeah, that’s just how I work. I do enjoy taking a break and then going back. Maybe if I take a break at like 4:30, 5:00 [p.m.] I

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don’t know, I’ll feel like reenergized and I’ll be able to stay a little longer in the evening, so I’ll get something else done. So in that sense, that might contribute to success, I guess.

Monica’s disconnection of relationships from the work itself (i.e., beyond enjoyment) stands in

marked contrast to the fundamental way that relationships begin to matter for scientists very

shortly after beginning their careers, even though the purpose then still remains on the work-

oriented purpose of obtaining or demonstrating knowledge.

To be sure, however, science culture within industry also trivializes the role of social

skills among junior scientists, similar to Damore’s assertions about engineering noted at the

beginning of this chapter. Junior scientist Amanda explained that she was either micro-managed

in her role or left completely alone to navigate the work itself. She believes her manager has not

cultivated the social skills to successfully run a team. Similarly, small company senior scientist

Rachel believes many find social skills to be a frilly extra, rather than an actual skill to develop

and improve: “I think having interpersonal social skills is an underrated thing in science. I think

most scientists don’t have that and, for a mediocre scientist, that’s a drawback. For a brilliant

scientist, it’s irrelevant. And so I think that it’s definitely, having interpersonal skills is a skill but

not everyone sees it that way.” Rachel further attributed the lack of importance placed on social

skills to the particular emphasis on science. Her description highlights a prevalent theme across

interviewees:

I think it’s important in science. I think it really gives you an edge, particularly because so many scientists don’t think it’s important. But again, when you’re in an environment like, you know an academic lab or a small company, perhaps it becomes less important, because, depending on the management, they can be very focused on the science rather than what’s happening in the day to day lab. So there have been some organizational issues caused by that management and I don’t think that, that this [was] recognized immediately as the cause because those skills are not nurtured […] They’re underrated as actual skills. You know, if somebody has problems with carrying out an experiment, they

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would be trained. But when someone has problems managing their junior scientists, too often it’s seen as a problem with the junior scientists.

In short, early on in their careers, scientists frequently experience a distinct lack of opportunities

for engaging socially in a way that is core to their work.

Early Career Consequences of a Clear but Isolating Culture

For scientists early in their careers, the perceived interpersonal expectations for success

are unambiguous. The overall career expectations emphasize their practicing good science. The

ideal scientist image largely lacks interpersonal skills or opportunities. Indeed, as shown above,

any lack of clarity surrounding interpersonal dynamics early on in science is generally only about

why such skills are not valued, when they could conceivably be beneficial. Further, as scientists

move into roles where such skills were required, the clarity of how to manage such relationships

is markedly low, as their earlier careers had been so devoid of needing to draw on these skills.

Scientists’ lack of opportunity for engaging socially leads to their experiencing distinct

feelings of fit or lack thereof with the occupation’s interpersonal culture. Importantly, most

interviewees who were in relatively early career stage scientific roles at the time of their

interview experienced a lack of fit with their job’s interpersonal culture. They recognized that

interpersonal skills—regardless of particular qualities or styles—are devalued. Yet they

personally either enjoy having more social interactions or believe it would lead to better work

outcomes were there opportunities to engage in more social ways.

Hannah is a postdoctoral researcher at a research institute who described herself as a

“people person” and as “someone who really thrives with good atmosphere, good environment.”

For Hannah, this means that, “If people are happy or in a happy environment, they’re just willing

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to put so much more effort into their project and give someone else feedback and positive

support.” Importantly, she characterizes her inclination to socialize with colleagues and support

them in their work as simply her natural way of behaving. However, Hannah realized that for

some in her lab, this does not seem to come naturally, which led her to second-guess whether she

had done something wrong. She explained:

It just goes with the treat other people how you want to be treated. I do it automatically, I don’t think about it. But I just realized that other people sometimes for them it’s more difficult, especially in the morning, they come in and rather start their work and ‘I don’t want to talk to anyone’ like even good morning sometimes is too much […] They’re just getting to work and now, ‘I need to get this done.’ A lot of us have lunch together, so it’s between 12 and 1:30 p.m., and then it’s like time to talk. But before that, and at the beginning, I had difficulties because I didn’t know. Is it something personal or did I annoy them or is it…? We just pass each other and smile and ‘Hi,’ so I think it depends on how people get used to each other.

Though Hannah has developed a better understanding for others’ personalities (noting, “And by

now I just know it may not be her day” when someone is not particularly social), she nonetheless

feels somewhat stifled in the way that she can express her own personality.

For some, a lack of social engagement persisted beyond academic labs into their early

stages of industry work, again highlighting the way in which the structural similarities between

academic and industry labs shape industry practices early on. Junior biochemist Amanda, who

currently works at a start-up, felt lonely and isolated in the lab at her previous start-up company.

In her new role, she has found herself slightly more comfortable, at least with those who are

similar in age and experience, because the environment is more relaxed and open—“more

personal” and “not always super professional.” This level of comfort has not only personal

consequences, but professional ones. In this more open environment, Amanda is better able to

find answers to issues she has with her work. She explained:

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I would feel more comfortable like going to my coworker who sits next to me and asking him like a stupid question that I’m sure that, if I asked my boss, she would probably look at me and be like, ‘You graduated college, right?’

Yet even in her current role, in which she feels less isolated, Amanda feels comfortable asking

questions to inform her work of only one fellow junior scientist (out of about seven people total

in her direct group). With her boss, “it’s sometimes kind of awkward because I don’t feel like I

have the trust or the comfort with her that I can be more, like, outgoing and personal and I just

try to keep it very professional and at that.” The lack of interpersonal comfort Amanda

experiences leads her to Google in search of answers to avoid feeling that she is spoken down to

should she go to her boss.

The constraints on Amanda’s relationships and, in turn, her ability to gain knowledge for

her work, are partially influenced by the academic training structure and related value system.

For example, when Amanda spoke with her boss about changing her management style—which

Amanda found to be “micro manag[ing]”—her boss “took it a totally different way and got really

upset with me.” Amanda attributed this to her boss believing that Amanda is incompetent

because she has only a bachelor’s degree in an industry brimming with advanced degrees: “She

would bring up her PhD a lot, saying, ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, I have a PhD.

the end.’ There’s no room for discussion.” Though Amanda owned up to the mistakes that she

had made, her boss took it as a sign of weakness. Since then, their interactions have been only

for the purpose of Amanda providing data to her boss. Though Amanda spoke with her

company’s HR unit, they could not resolve the situation because they believed “it’s her [boss’]

management style,” which meant that Amanda “had to change for her.”

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For scientists who are not only particularly passionate about the science, but additionally

derive strong enjoyment from the experimental process itself, working independently brings

pleasure and a sense of accomplishment. Yet because of the opportunity structure, the few people

for whom the more isolated, directly working on scientific experiments aspect of science was a

good fit had, in fact, also shifted into more business-oriented role. In these cases, it was often for

beginning their own company. For example, scientist-entrepreneur Cynthia discussed in Chapter

2 has, at least temporarily, sacrificed devoting most of her time to the experimental work she

loves in order to launch her life sciences start-up company. She explained that, having no

business experience at all, it’s been a “huge, huge learning curve.” Further, she’s not particularly

fond of it in itself, only for what she hopes to gain in providing an important product: “I

wouldn’t say [the business] is my favorite part of it. I like the science part. I like doing the

customer service. I like running the assays. I like the bench work. So really, my inclination really

is the science behind it rather than the business.” What has kept her going in this direction

despite a lack of fit in business and a strong fit in science is, perhaps unexpectedly, the science

itself—“discovery of things that have not been discovered”—which requires the business

succeeding to achieve.

Scientists find the lack of interpersonal opportunities early on has consequences well

beyond those years. Lindsey, the postdoctoral scientist introduced in Chapter 2, believes that the

structure of science early on in one’s career constrains the development of social skills required

later on the scientific track. Specifically, these scientists develop a narrow set of skills within

science, even though other management and business skills are needed as one advances into

more scientific managerial positions or over to explicitly business track roles. Without my

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probing, Lindsey expanded on her discussion of her boss’ poor management skills, which she

believes are prevalent in science:

There are a lot of undesirable management styles within science, within, well ya know what, it probably isn’t just science, it’s probably not exclusively scientists, but I think we learn how to, so, so a lot of scientists are really good at their experiments. So again, it’s independent work where you don’t really have to interact with very many people. And the goal is publications. So if you get the data and write up the paper and send it in, um, that gets you recognition and so the jobs are based on how many publications you have, how good they are, how good your science is, not necessarily if you have management or business skills of any sort. And then you become the boss [laughs slightly, but remains serious]. And then, yeah.

Gender Consequences of Early Science Isolation

The lack of value placed on interpersonal relationships early on in science has particular

career consequences for women, especially experiencing a lack of fit with the scientific culture

and deciding to exit the profession, moving into business professions or professional tracks (a

hybrid science-business career trajectory in some large pharmaceutical companies). Broader

cultural beliefs about gender related to both competency and sociability interacting with a

technically-focused, relatively independent work culture contribute to these career outcomes.

Women frequently spoke of their male colleagues’ strong confidence in the technical merits of

their work. Men’s sense of worth along this highly-valued dimension in the field enable their

enjoyment of and persistence in the profession, even when they lack social support from others.

Women, by contrast, experience a lack of fit with this more masculine, technically-oriented and

independent model of career success. Below I show how the interaction between women’s

interpersonal interests and the knowledge-intensive, technically-oriented professional culture

influence women’s experiences and assessments.

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Hannah has a strong interest in the social aspects of science that do exist, such as

teaching and mentoring, but hasn’t had as many opportunities to pursue these areas in her

research-oriented role. She illuminated the distinct lack of social interactions while explaining

some of the gender discrepancies in the lab. Many of the women, she believed, felt that their

work was failing because of their own personal shortcomings, thinking “‘Oh this is not working,

what did I do wrong?’ while the guys were just like, ‘Oh, this is not working, like the method is

not working.’” In her current postdoctoral role, she has found men similarly doubting their

abilities, but most interestingly says that she is one of the few who even knows about this issue.

It is only because she makes an effort to personally connect with people, whereby colleagues

have expressed their insecurities to her, that she even has this knowledge.

Hannah’s discussion highlights how the gender disparity in skill assessment, shown to

exist more broadly (e.g., Correll 2001), is further perpetuated by the broader cultural

environment, which limits social interactions (in turn concealing the issue). Hannah believes the

issue should be addressed given that it can affect the work product and also the experience of

others in the lab and what they have to handle if the other person is distracted with person

problems. Indeed, despite not being the lab manager, Hannah gives effort to listening to others

about these issues, as she believes open discussions and greater interpersonal opportunities could

reduce the issue.

Where social skills are ostensibly devalued, they are also believed to be associated with

women. Rachel believes that many attribute social ability simply to personality differences, a

distinction often conflated with broader cultural beliefs about women’s greater suitability for

roles involving social skills. Specifically, Rachel adds:

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Some people just see that they have an outgoing personality but to work out how to get along with other people—a wide variety of people—is a skill and I think it’s an underrated one and, maybe I shouldn’t say, but women tend to have it more than men. It’s difficult to say because almost all of the senior scientists in my company are men. And for that reason, a lot of them don’t manage people…They’re technically managers but there are people more skilled in that department. Where any focus on sociability does emerge in science, the interpersonal culture is often

a masculinized one. For example, when interactions do occur for scientist Amanda—even though

they’ve been somewhat limited—she believes, “the more masculine you are, the more you’re

taken seriously.” That is, there is little nuance in the expectation, even if it may be at odds with

the way some prefer to engage interpersonally. Amanda’s perception of her female boss’

interactions have shaped her belief about this cultural preference: “There is a boys’ club at my

company and she’ll like purposefully put herself in it […] So they’ll be having coffee and she’ll

just show up and just insert herself in there and be like, ‘Oh, what are we discussing?’ And she’ll

kind of steer it towards things she’d want to talk about […] like the project she’s on or, like,

what’s going on with her work.”

Previously, Amanda also tried to engage in small talk with the senior boys’ club, but

didn’t find it to be a good fit. “I’ve tried like the small talk thing with the senior scientists like

the way my boss does it, but it’s just not my thing. Like, I don’t want to hear about your kid’s

A+ in music or whatever or I don’t want to hear what you have to say about the snow and how

you’re going to complain about it and stuff.” The issue is not that Amanda doesn’t want to be

social—she does—but she adds that she wants to be able to talk about something meaningful that

she relates to and she feels she can’t relate to topics about kids and school. It feels “too fake” to

her when she tries to engage in that kind of chatter and, likewise, when she tries to be

authoritative. “If that’s what I guess is necessary for me to be successful and like move up and

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whatever, I don’t want that. If I have to compromise myself and like my personality to be

successful, I’d rather just not be successful.” The way that fits better for Amanda is one that is

actually more engaging in relationship-building skills, her natural way of interacting is “when

I’m teaching people…just kind of having a conversation. Like I don’t put too much authority in

‘cause I want that person to think that it’s okay to come to me with silly questions, and if you’re

not comfortable with something, it’s easier for that person to come to me and say, ‘Hey I’m a

little confused, can you help me out?’ I like to teach very hands on and stuff and I use my hands

a lot, too, and I like to draw little diagrams. But I don’t know, I try to make it more of a

conversation.” Amanda’s more natural, relationship-building and teaching-oriented style stands

in contrast to the more authoritative ideal that she believes exists at her company.

The sharp contrast between the highly masculinized, independent culture of scientific

brilliance and the social skills (generally associated with business) further influenced scientists’

feelings of fit and career preferences. Rachel felt a lack of fit in science both because she valued

the interpersonal skills and because of the standard of “brilliant scientist.” “I have solid science

skills but…I’m not a brilliant scientist who’s gonna be a professor at MIT or anything like that,

but I do have really good interpersonal and management and organizational skills, but that’s why

I’m looking at moving into a role where those skills are more valued. Whereas my partner is a

brilliant scientist and he is gonna be a professor, and so in his field, and he’s a physicist

[postdoctoral researcher] and he’s at [an elite university] now, so perhaps interpersonal skills are

less…and he’ll say this himself, some of the older professors who are just like [top] in their

fields, it doesn’t matter what kind of person they are. They can be a complete jerk and they will

still attract students. They will still attract funding…and it doesn’t matter what their social skills

are because their science skills transcend that—but it’s only in the upper echelons of academia

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where you can get away with that.” In looking for a new job, Rachel wants more interpersonal

opportunities: “And I do enjoy interacting with people and communicating science and meeting

people and finding out what they do and stuff like that.”

The stringent independent culture early on in science led many to exit. For example, only

a couple months after interviewing Rachel, she had moved into a role consistent with the more

interpersonal characteristics she described above. Lindsey, who had been seeking out alternative

avenues to academia, moved not only into industry, but into a business-oriented role that

emphasizes internal and external partnerships, leading a team, and developing broader strategies

that connect scientific advancements with business development.

In themselves, these transitions are not surprising (particularly those of the early career

scientists, less so the entrepreneurs earlier discussed). Considerable social science and policy-

oriented research has focused on retaining women in STEM occupations (e.g., Wynn and Correll

2017). However, as the present study shows, the culturally valued qualities and images of

success shape career decisions for both men and women. To be sure, this is not to dismiss other

gender biases in perception that extant research has shown. Indeed, the Google memo and a large

body of social science research shows how gender stereotypes and work culture can be conflated.

To address broader issues of inequality—whether related to gender or divisions—this work

suggests extending our understanding the broader context to examine the underlying factors

shaping such preferences.

Work-Oriented Relationships in Later Stage Science As scientists advance through the ranks, the overall importance of interpersonal

relationships becomes more important. Despite their greater importance, the purpose of these

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relationships remains largely focused on scientists’ ability to demonstrate and convey their

knowledge and establish others’ trust in their ideas. This section explores the interpersonal

relationship qualities that are culturally valued across most of the scientific career path.

I turn first to the internal organizational networking and teamwork skills through which

scientists seek to build trust in their ideas and demonstrate and advance their technical skills. I

then argue that, because these qualities remain strongly work-oriented, the level of ambiguity

about the culturally valued interpersonal styles remains low. As in early science, though the

expectations are relatively clear, they are narrow, leaving many with distinct feelings of fit or

lack of fit with the professional ideal, even as they are somewhat less constrained socially

compared to early science. Despite relationships increasing in importance over the scientific

career course, the cultural nature of these relationships being still strongly work-oriented

continues to have a particularly constraining effect on women’s careers. Rather than the strong

conflict between feminine sociability and isolated pipetting, as in early science, later science

brings managerial conflicts affected by gender beliefs, in part because, despite often having some

management responsibilities, the cultural emphasis is still on the scientific merits.

Internal Relationships: Managing the Organizational Web of Connections

Networking—whether treated as attempting to meet as many people as possible or as

seeking to establish meaningful relationships—is taken for granted in the business realm and

seen as being at odds with science. At the same time, except for in the very early stages of the

science track discussed above, scientists frequently emphasize the value of social skills for

professional success. The primary reason for this discrepancy is that the relationships most

culturally valued among scientists are those intended to advance their scientific knowledge and

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are often internal at their organization. Scientists seek knowledge through interpersonal

relationships for three main reasons: to be able to accomplish essential work (whether by

learning from others or pulling them into projects to complete work), to develop a more

sophisticated approach to project selection, and to obtain buy-in for their scientific ideas (both

cross-functionally but still within science and among business professionals). The commonality

among all three of these purposes is that scientists are developing relationships either to gain

information or to impress others with the knowledge they do have. The goal is not to develop the

relationship in itself, but rather to use the relationship to achieve and demonstrate their

technical expertise.

ACCOMPLISHING THE ESSENTIALS. First, for many working in medium to large sized

organizations, with their highly matrixed structures, a solid internal network is required for

simply being able to accomplish one’s essential work. Previously in smaller start-up companies

and academia, chemist and informatics scientist Seth recently moved to a large pharmaceutical

company. To inform his work strategy, he spends a part of his days simply trying to figure out

what other people are doing. In meetings with his direct reports, he focuses on what they’re

working on and how they’re interacting with other scientific teams so that he can “understand

their world.” In large global companies like Seth’s, navigating the structure and establishing

networks is no small feat. Indeed, it’s one of the biggest challenges he has confronted in his role.

As he described it, “The challenge comes down to, you know, trying to figure out who the

stakeholders are and who have the information you need to accomplish your goals.”

Though some scientists like Seth attributed some of the interpersonal skills required and

valued in their position to the company structure (e.g., small start-up versus large bureaucracy), I

find the divide is largely between science and business. Business professionals at large

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companies, by virtue of being externally facing, faced fewer obligations to manage the entire

internal network of the organization, for instance. So indeed, there is some variation within

science between small and large companies, but the primary difference exists between business

and science as a whole. Consider, for example, that scientists at small companies still highly

valued teamwork skills even if not needing to navigate a complex, bureaucratic network

structure.

Senior director-level scientist Travis, currently working at a mid-size pharmaceutical

company, interacts with colleagues in virtually an exclusively professional—as opposed to

partially personal or casual—manner. Yet he nonetheless strongly emphasized the key role of

establishing a broader network across the organization. Despite finding some of the fun social

opportunities coordinated by HR an impediment to work time (“There’s only so much time in a

day,” he asserted.), Travis nonetheless makes an effort to attend. He elaborated that it enables

him to know more people across the organization—such as those in legal, whom he may need for

various agreements—and to develop a positive relationship. That relationship then “helps the

work flow go better, because…you have a better understanding of the person that you’re

working with, it sometimes makes it easier to make requests and understand the process better as

opposed to, we’re not all robots, right, we have feelings…if you can read a person better you can

better empathize with how to get things done.” However, Travis believes some people don’t

understand that and then complain that they don’t understand why it’s taking three weeks to get

something done, for example. At these events, people will be more relaxed and “chit chat about

the process” so you can get a sense without getting upset or asking when you’re needing it why

it’s taken three weeks, extending the example. “They might even have a little bitching session

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about why it’s so difficult or what needs to be changed” in a more informal setting,

conversations that Travis has had at these events.

Travis’ description of the purpose of social events shows their more directly work-

oriented purpose—both his own and what others seek in him in attending. When he attends

various social events, which could be something like a St. Patrick’s Day celebration involving

just the company employees, for instance, “I’ll attend and oftentimes project leaders will just

come up to me and ask me for an update on a project timeline if they haven’t seen it in awhile.”

He admits that these events are also for developing relationships more generally across the

organization, particularly as the organization grows and he knows fewer people. Travis goes so

far to say, “the biggest contributor to my success is communication. So both on a one-to-one

basis and in a group.” Specifically, he notes giving attention to what he’ll say to someone on a

one-to-one basis versus in a group “because you have to respect how people are going to respond

when they’re in a group environment.” Travis emphasizes the importance for communication

and how to navigate it across various areas of the company as central to his role. Yet people like

Travis, despite naming communication as most important, do not engage in the social dimension

in the same way as business professionals do. Whereas the latter often combine personal and

professional styles in order to convey their morally worthy character, scientists like Travis focus

more directly on the knowledge and work benefits of interpersonal relationships.

Even those in the later stages of working at the bench often find internal relationships

essential to completing their work, highlighting the way in which social skills quickly become

important on the science career track. Scientist Tina has worked in similar research roles at two

mid-size biotechnology companies. Despite being very close to the experimental science and

performing bench work, interpersonal collaborations are essential to Tina’s role. At one of her

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companies, she needed to establish new assays for a project, which involved working with

outside vendors to evaluate different technologies. While this required some external

interactions, the bulk of her interpersonal relationships remained internal, as Tina needed to learn

new technologies from colleagues across departments in order to see how she might apply

aspects of their technologies to what she was doing, a process that “did involve working with a

lot of different people.” She similarly found internal networks effective for others for the same

reason—obtaining knowledge. Of a particularly successful PhD-trained scientist working in

another part of the company from Tina, she immediately said that the quality that makes her

successful is “networking—bringing people in to support your project and also I think just hard

work, but the networking might be even more important than the work aspect.” Whereas we’ll

see in the next chapter that business professionals needed to network for developing the

relationship itself, here on the science side, Tina explained that “the biggest characteristic [that

helped a fellow scientist succeed] would just be kind of reaching out to others to kind of help

inform what she’s doing.” In this way, there is a directly work-related purpose—obtaining

knowledge to inform one’s work.

Though a particularly deep rapport is less common among scientists than among business

people, some engage in such a way, but still for obtaining knowledge to complete work rather

than to convey a fundamental quality about their character. Neil, a biologist currently in a large

pharmaceutical company, has found that in order to improve on his work, he needs to know what

didn’t work, which in his opinion is the “Achilles’ heel” of industry (both biotechnology and

pharmaceutical companies) compared to academia—in academia, it can be interesting if

something works or doesn’t; in industry, it’s only good if it works. Neil therefore gives active

effort to finding out why a specific clinical trial failed: “Every time I see someone’s project here

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bite the dust, I take them out for beer, get ‘em a little loaded, and get the straight scoop on why

something worked or didn’t.” He uses a similar personable style to develop broader internal

networks, which are important for staying updated on what is going on across the organization,

in turn essential for deciding which projects to pursue. Elaborating on the need to maintain

strong internal networks for gaining knowledge, Neil explained:

You need to be able to have your finger on the pulse of the organization that you run and if people aren’t comfortable giving you news, chances that they’re going to give you bad news in a timely fashion and in a direct and honest fashion are fairly slim.

Nathan, like Neil, proactively nurtures these internal network connections because he doesn’t

know when in the future others may have the information he needs. He therefore spends time

socially not only with those whom he is currently working, but also with those whom he has

worked in the past in other areas. He believes it is important to catch-up with them over lunch to

exchange information “because you never know, they might know something that you don’t

know and can help your current program or future program.”

Scientists not only personally seek to effectively develop internal relationships in order to

know whom to contact to accomplish work; they also recognize this as a quality in successful

others. Director-level scientist Bruce, who works at a large pharmaceutical company, attributes

his long-term colleague’s success in getting drugs approved to treat patients to the colleague’s

“incredible network, an extraordinary powerful network of being able to just cut through red tape

and bureaucracy and just get to the right people to treat the patient, wherever the patient is and

whatever the patient needs.” That internal networking for accomplishing work itself is both

personally pursued and more generally recognized highlights the culturally embedded nature of

such social skills for scientists’ professional success.

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SELECTIVELY PURSUING PROJECTS. Second, though for a similarly knowledge-seeking,

work-oriented purpose, developing a strong understanding of the organization’s internal web of

connections enables scientists to know which projects to pursue. Consider, for example,

scientific manager Natalie, who works at a large pharmaceutical company. Only a couple years

out of postdoctoral positions, Natalie is “squarely positioned on the research side but with some

interactions with the BU [business unit].” Further, her group is considered to be more on a

“professional track,” which means about 60 to 70 percent of her day-to-day work consists of

people interactions—meetings, organizing people, and answering emails—that span across the

organization. For this reason, she finds it important to participate in what her recent boss had

deemed group “catch-ups” over drinks. While they are explicitly framed as catching-up on work,

“really it’s more gossip.” Natalie initially found these social engagements “strange,” but has

since found them particularly beneficial emphasizing that “you learn a lot through that type of

information sharing, especially someone being new to the company.”

These “gossip” sessions served an important professional purpose. Whereas PhD

scientists like Natalie came from academia where “everything’s simplistic, you had your own

project, you’re the driver, it’s priority,” when working in industry they need to prioritize multiple

projects with competing interests. Natalie therefore uses these sessions to learn about people

whom she otherwise knew on a surface professional level. She developed an understanding of

others’ perceptions of them, which she has found helpful for assessing the extent to which given

projects should be prioritized. Further, they provided insights on people’s motivations for

pushing a project. Describing how these conversations have informed her work, Natalie

explained:

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So some of the things people talk about are someone’s personal interest in a certain project versus the company’s prioritization. And for me, it was important to read between the lines of those actions. So having a little bit more background knowledge on people and groups and why certain interactions were easier.

Thus, Natalie uses these discussions to learn more about the informal structure of the workplace,

which allows her to know which projects are the company’s actual priorities—meaning that she

should prioritize them—and which are individuals’ own personal interests. As Natalie’s group,

like many scientific groups in large pharmaceutical companies, are often juggling several

projects at a given time, it is important to know how to prioritize them. Like Natalie, scientist

Jasmin is also on a professionally-oriented track, for developing into leadership roles, in a large

pharmaceutical company. This means that she’s not entirely technically-oriented, but also

doesn’t have direct reports, so she’s not a manager in the people-management sense of the word.

Jasmin similarly has found internal relationship-building strategies important for completing

projects. In fact, she has had to be proactive about finding internal “clients” to serve.

Beyond finding internal networks personally useful, scientists attribute others’ success to

engaging in these practices. Natalie believes it is even more effective than an alternative success

strategy she saw, which was self-promotion. By contrast, a woman who has been at Natalie’s

large pharmaceutical company for over a decade is successful because “she knows the history

and how things work and who to go to, to get things done.” Despite lacking knowledge in the

disease area—which otherwise might limit one’s success (and which the ‘self-promoter’ Natalie

mentioned had)—she has been able to compensate for it by having the “organizational

knowledge” and knowing “how to work her way through things, very well.” Her ability to

“activate that network because she has the history [at the company] and she knows how to

prioritize things to kind of weed through the crowd” has enabled her to do what would be best on

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the company level. By contrast, Natalie finds that the self-promoter had short-term impact but

would then move to whatever was best for himself personally.

Relatedly, cultivating these internal networks matters beyond the immediate prioritization

and success of projects. For example, Natalie further uses her knowledge of the organization’s

priorities to guide her own career trajectory. She explained that, “very quickly I started to realize

motivations moved and groups had different issues and alignments. That became really

important for me, and I had control over my own career going forward and trying to position

myself best within these interactions.” In Natalie’s experience, others use such information to

similarly inform their career. Some use this knowledge so that they “will not touch the project”

unless it will have impact, allowing them to receive recognition at the company level. Natalie

personally uses knowledge of organizational priorities so that she works on something that will

actually be used in some capacity.

ACHIEVING BUY-IN ON IDEAS. Finally—having covered the basic ability to do work and

knowing which projects to work on— scientists value building internal relationships to obtain

buy-in on their scientific ideas and related projects. Though selling is generally considered in the

realm of business, scientists discussed needing to sell or obtain buy-in on their ideas. Ultimately,

many need to gain buy-in from business professionals, who are often taking a different

perspective on whether a project should move forward. In this way, we again see how scientists

need to develop relationships in order to convey their knowledge within the science culture of

expertise.

Soft-spoken and meticulous in speech, chemist Nathan works in a team leader position at

a large global pharmaceutical company. The nature of the interview itself differed from the

highly personable interactions I often had with business professionals or executive level

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scientists. Friendly once he opened up, Nathan remained both direct and detail-oriented about the

particulars of the science, differentiating between the areas of expertise of the groups with whom

he frequently interacts. At the same time, these are not just scientific details that he finds relevant

as a scientist. I quickly learned that what I initially thought was highly specific, in fact, mapped

on to the similarly complex way he needs to navigate internal team dynamics. When I asked him

at the beginning of our meeting to walk me through a given day, he first characterized the nature

of three broad categories of meetings with different stakeholders, which include project-oriented

teams (often across global offices), peers (across various departments), and managers.

Ultimately, his projects must appeal to this diverse range of stakeholders. The highly interactive

nature of Nathan’s work as a scientist means that, despite being a self-defined introvert (though

he believes that extroversion is valuable for getting one’s work noticed), he gives considerable

effort to developing strong internal networks in order to achieve buy-in on his projects. Though

he enjoys the social aspect “to some degree” it is primarily because it enables his projects to be

endorsed, which brings him a great sense of fulfillment.

Given the divide between science and business discussed in the previous chapter,

scientists often feel cultural barriers in trying to sell their ideas, which are rooted in technical

rigor. I learned of some of the challenges faced by scientists when selling their ideas—

interacting with both other scientists and business people—over lunch with Ryan at an Irish pub.

Only in his mid-30s, Ryan is already a director-level scientist, currently at a mid-size

biopharmaceutical company, though he previously held R&D roles at a global large

pharmaceutical company. Before one hears words from Ryan, they hear him coming down the

hall. He’s a self-described “fast walker” because every second matters to him. And he seeks out

this intensity in others, describing the only successful woman he knows of at a level even

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somewhat comparable to his as a “fast walker, fast talker, gets things done.” Ryan explained how

his relationships across different functions of the organization vary, specifically highlighting the

challenges between science and business. He finds it more natural to interact on the science

side—not just because of his scientific expertise, but also due to perceived cultural differences

between the professions. To successfully perform his role, however, he needs to obtain buy-in

from both sides:

It’s easier for me to communicate in the science realm than it is in the BD [business development] realm, I think because um, I feel that I’m not, you know there’s probably an underlying theme. I didn’t grow up with a lot of money as a kid. Never thought that I was that good at things, so I’m always trying to prove to myself that I’m good and I think that’s probably something I’m always going to struggle with that I’m always just looking down or debating myself. Am I, do I deserve to be here? I think that when I go into those meetings with the CEO or CSO [Chief Scientific Officer] or CFO [Chief Financial Officer], I probably feel lesser, like it’s harder for me to communicate cause I don’t know if I belong there. Am I asking the right questions? Are they stupid questions? So I probably act different there than I do in a scientific meeting.

Responding to Ryan’s description of his self-doubt, I probed: Do you feel differently or actually

do things differently? He continued:

I probably feel differently, like more timid. [pause] I don’t know the right questions to ask, probably stumble on my words more, probably talk faster, don’t feel like I’m in control of the conversation because I’m not, I can’t lead it because I don’t know the areas like they do. They’re much more versed in that realm. Though most scientists whom I interviewed experienced challenges in the business

realm—describing it as a practice they had not fully mastered—some spoke of the strategies they

incorporate to address these challenges. Sam is a scientist in his early 40s who recently shifted to

a large global pharmaceutical company. Yet even in his earlier experiences, also on the science

track at a relatively smaller biotechnology company (though not a start-up), Sam still found it

important to navigate relationships and achieve buy-in and support from senior management,

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including those on the business side. Explaining what enabled his success at this previous

smaller company, Sam explained the shift he made in managing his internal network. Indeed,

some of the technical and work ethic aspects were constants: “What is outside of you, you don’t

have direct control…There are people, there are technology, there are satisfaction and drive in

people that is difficult to change and some people think in certain way and that is difficult to

change.” Despite those immobile pieces of the success puzzle, Sam found that the “single thing

that made a difference for me is, one day, I just look at things differently and I try to engage

several key people that I know and then try to put company objective on top and try to achieve

the company benefit as well as the benefit of all parties and people. That’s the important thing,

not just yourself, but everyone involved walks out with something good for their career. And

people respond to that. And it takes about a year to do that.” Sam found that one way to do this is

by presenting ideas to people in advance of meeting, so that it has time to “brew in their minds.”

This led to more fruitful follow-up discussions for him. This is the way that Sam connected his

work with the company objectives. Sam believes using this strategy was important for gaining

the support of his work from senior management, which included the chief operating officer with

whom he would have check-ins weekly.

Even when scientists engage in external networking, they draw on the more directly

work-related strategies that they use internally for buy-in. This further suggests the cultural

nature of the knowledge-seeking relationship-building quality above and beyond structural

variation between the professions. For example, scientist Sharon’s approach to external

networking for buy-in highlights how the approach to science relationships and business ones

differs along the interpersonal relationship dimension. Indeed, her role does not explicitly require

external networking—it’s typically internally focused as in the case of the other scientists

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discussed. However, because she works in a small biotechnology company that had been

struggling somewhat, she spends a lot of her time establishing relationships. That’s how I met

Sharon in the first place—at a networking event. She is aware that the work she is doing is

typically in the business realm: “Even though I’m not a business development person, I feel like

I’ve gotta make either contacts with other companies and figure out what they’re doing

scientifically to see whether we can collaborate or we can get business from them or, you know,

I will even approach venture capital or angel investors even though my CEO thinks that’s kind of

a waste [because they work on issues for which it is difficult to gain that type of funding].”

Sharon’s approach to networking further shows the divide that occurs between the types

of relationships that one can form when developing relationships internally versus highly

complex, ambiguous styles required for developing individual rapport in relationships in an

external context on the business side. For example, Sharon described her approach as, “You just

talk a lot and tell people over and over what you do. And then I try to get their card and then I

carry that back to my CEO who’s technically our business development person.” The strategy of

connection for Sharon not being in a business development (BD) role is strikingly different from

those in BD. She just focuses on telling people what her company does. It is very formulaic,

trying to get their card and so forth. She also lacks the macro view for interacting with people,

whereas BD people, even if they do not know the science, develop strategies to handle that

knowledge gap. By contrast, Sharon does not try to speak the business language, but rather “I try

to talk to them about the science, you know, what we’re doing and, you know, you only have so

much time with them. I always approach it, I am coming from the scientist point of view. If

somebody asks me a business development question like, ‘Well, really, how much money do we

need?’ I just balk at that question. Interestingly, Sharon is aware that she’ll be asked these

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questions, explaining to me that VC investors ask about these issues when she attends one of the

local programs in the Cambridge/Boston area designed to bring together investors and small

companies. However, she does not feel the need to give attention to preparing for these questions

because she’s the scientist and “not playing that role.”

Throughout this section, I have shown how scientists try to establish strong internal

networks and relationships to cultivate various forms of knowledge related to their substantive

work. To do so, they must garner others’ trust in their own knowledge and technical expertise,

such that colleagues believe they are worthy of support, information sharing, and, especially,

buy-in on their projects. These scientists recognize that, in all but the very smallest companies,

having a diverse range of internal connections can help them accomplish their substantive

scientific project goals within the company. In the next section, we continue to examine the

valued interpersonal qualities by looking at the type of relationships scientists generally form.

The particular types of valued relationships in science and business are theoretically important

because they are associated with disparate levels of ambiguity. The next section discusses the

relatively unambiguous, group-oriented relationship—teamwork—which similarly depends on

developing trust in one’s ideas based on a scientist’s past and current performance—a cognition-

based trust.

Getting the Job Done: Teamwork for Drug Discovery and Development

For all but the most junior of scientists, one of the most culturally valued social skills in

science is teamwork. This is because the process of drug discovery and development is one of

intense emotion, time and financial investments, multiple stakeholders, and potential conflict.

The ability to work within this context requires developing group-oriented relationships. As

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scientist Ralph summarized, each discovery phase—discovery, clinical transition, clinical

testing, and FDA approval—comes with a distinct emotion or “social language” that must be

managed through interpersonal collaborations. The intensely social nature of these phases stands

in stark contrast to the isolated scientist running experiments or engineer working remotely on a

computer all day. Ralph explained:

So what’s the social aspect of each of these? So there’s early discovery and the social language of that is enthusiasm. ‘Wow! We’re gonna cure Alzheimer’s. Wow.’ Okay, so that takes you up to discovery of the clinical candidate. Then you go into clinical transition, and what’s the social feeling around that? Concern. And the reason it’s concern is obviously you’re taking your drug and you’re putting it across a lot more biology than you ever had before. You start seeing things you don’t like. Concern. Every drug has concern. There’s no perfect drug. I remember, I had a business guy who came to me, he said, ‘Ralph’ he said ‘What we want is an antibiotic to which resistance can’t appear’ then we really got a good drug. Oh duh, we R&D people never thought of that, you know. So concern, all drugs have their problems. Then you go into the clinic and you start putting it into humans, okay, and then in humans you see things you don’t want to see. And the social around that is blame. Blame. ‘Who the hell authorized this? Who the hell brought this into the clinic? God!’ You know we’re seeing in twenty percent of the patients, you know, um, sedation. God, who’s idea was this? Blame. And that’s the point commonly where the inventor of the drug will be fired. John, get the hell, I want him out. And then we have FDA approval and the social milieu, celebration…Who gets lauded? Probably the person who did the marketing plan, the person who designed the NDA application, and all the people who really invented the drug, they’re [unclear, something about no longer involved].” Those social feelings are those on the side of the company.

EMERGING FROM SILOS. Within this dynamic discovery process, then, the ability to

productively work together was frequently emphasized in interviews with scientists across

company types and sizes. Indeed, there is no distinct point at which teamwork switches from

being not at all to highly important, except for the initial shift from academia to industry. Outside

of academia, there is a relatively linear increase in the perceived role of social skills and

teamwork, and in the opportunities for engaging social skills in a way that it pertains to the work

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itself (as opposed to socially spending time with people purely for personal enjoyment outside of

work, as was the case at the earlier stages).

Teamwork is sought out in and valued by even relatively junior people as they begin to

move up the track. Fred is the scientist recruiting his new team of scientist whose discussion of

their “pedigree” was mentioned in Chapter 2. In terms of the qualities beyond training status that

he values in job candidates, Fred immediately said, “Sociability. Some indication that they’ve

got, that they’re a little bit broader than just a scientist.” Explaining why sociability is important,

Fred added:

It speaks to the ability to be a member of a team. It speaks to, if they’ve done a little more teaching, have had undergraduates or other graduate students working, if they’ve mentored other people. If you see that there’s a mentor ability and a mentoring capacity, that’s good. Seeing some evidence that they’ve got a broader existence by you know looking at their college career, if they were part of clubs or something, that they’ve done a sport or music, just some indication that says they have an element of work life balance, that says that their head’s on straight and they’re likely to be a better more connectable colleague than less so. Gradually, an emphasis on teamwork begins to develop among the junior scientists

themselves. When I met biotech scientist Kyle representing his start-up at its poster display

during an open house event featuring various biotech and medical device start-ups, he eagerly

explained the important science behind his company’s work and the broader impact this would

have. Still early his career, Kyle believes that getting along with his team is important, even

attributing his getting hired in the first place—for which he believes he was socially “vetted”

over a meal—to his relatively extroverted personality. Yet he does not find working well with

others to be essential for the work product, only that it may cause some friction if he were not at

least somewhat friends with his colleagues, especially given their extremely close physical

proximity all working next to each other along the bench.

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It’s helpful to be friends with somebody because there’s a lot of situations where somebody will say, ‘So when you labeled this column like this, you messed up and that cost us two weeks of work and you might have broken a machine.’ So it’s important to have a background with somebody where you can still be friends with them even though the work is really intense […] Otherwise, it would be pretty difficult to sit next to each other for hours on end and not do small talk, it would be awkward.

Kyle’s characterization shows how interpersonal relationships start to become culturally

valued, but not entirely embedded in the entire fabric of organizational operations. It’s not

simply being friends for entirely non-work related reasons, but it also isn’t fundamentally

engrained in the ability to achieve broader outcomes. Soon after, the science track becomes not

merely somewhat social, but requires teamwork to complete the fundamental work in one’s role.

As Dennis characterized the process: “It’s a team effort, it’s not an individual, you never point

out a finger, personally you go individually and tell people I know you’re having a rough time,

don’t worry about it, let’s work together, let’s figure that out, how can we help you, what support

do you need, what additional resources you need, what you don’t know, what you need to know,

anything, without blaming, without saying I’m disappointed, you didn’t work hard enough.”

SHOWING RESPECT AND ENGENDERING TRUST IN THE WORK. In examining internal

networks, we saw that developing trusting relationships are important in science because

scientists need to obtain knowledge from others to be able to do the work itself. The highly

interdependent team nature of science means that, beyond merely having such internal

connections, people need to work well together to complete the scientific work. Showing the

team and internal dynamics as a central feature on the science side, VP scientist Gloria said of

her former group that if I were to speak with people more generally in the industry about her

group, they would comment on how successful it was: “I had one of the best groups in the whole

industry.” But what does having a good team and working well together mean in practice? Many

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find it requires showing that you value others’ time and work, in order to continue receiving

work or information from them in return, along with “discretionary effort,” as former senior VP

level scientist, now CEO Judith called it.

Despite the formal infrastructure that affords him with support groups for his

experiments, large pharmaceutical scientist Josh feels that it is nonetheless important to have

strong relationships with people in these groups. Specifically, he says, “I’m always very careful

to manage people’s time appropriately and I consider it extremely important to manage those

relationships well because, I mean, these people are your advocates, they’re helping you progress

what you want to do and if you treat them like crap you’re not in the end going to succeed

because you’re going to find that people aren’t that willing to help you. Or they’re not gonna,

everyone’s really busy and if you don’t, if you don’t pay attention to their schedule, they’re not

gonna pay attention to yours.”

When I asked Josh how he goes about managing those relationships, he initially said,

succinctly: “cookies.” I probed further, and he admitted that sometimes it is literally with

cookies, such as around the holiday time: “For everyone who hooked me up in some way, shape,

or form through the year, I brought them a little bag of cookies because I really value especially

being in [unclear] the help that people give me, the time that they take, so I feel like it’s

important to let people know that I value.” But on a more daily basis, Josh tries to signal that he

values people’s time by being very clear about why he is sending certain people meeting

invitations, clarifying when he is sending an invite so that they know he is considering them but

doesn’t necessarily feel they need to go or that it is up to them whether they want to go. He

elaborated on why it’s important to signal that one values others and how he goes about doing so

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through his interpersonal relations. Throughout, he emphasized the importance of showing others

that he understands them or is taking their perspective, effectively putting himself in their shoes:

I’m, I’m sensitive between the balance of necessary inclusion versus time wasting. Because nobody likes meetings. So I’m, there’s another project team leader on the chemistry side, I’m on the biology side, and I think I’m the real, I’m pushing forward basically on all levels of biology, and that’s really who I’m interacting with the most. And the chemistry leader is helping run the entire chemistry project, but he’s leaving all the other stuff up to me largely. So there’s meetings…that he doesn’t need to go to. I’m always trying to say, ‘Hey, do you want to come to this, or no? Let me know.’ I’ll include him on the invite, but if he wants to decline, I need to make sure that he understands that I’m going to invite him to everything and then let him decide.

In this way, Josh’s skills of navigating the interpersonal relationships of the company are more

consistent with what is generally perceived to be part of business jobs, despite his being solidly

on the science side. It is not simply that this is how he wants to engage in work, but his examples

suggest that this is a job requirement if one wants to be able to be successful and move projects

forward. This shows that while nuances exist in the particular types of interpersonal

relationships that need to be formed—and is perhaps what leads to the stereotypes still being

quickly drawn on—the nature of science quickly (in the scheme of the career trajectory) requires

some form of interpersonal skills. The important point to note here, and continually throughout,

is the directly work-oriented purpose of most of these relationships, and a distinct lack of

complexity in developing the relationship itself.

Similarly, Neil finds that while “big personalities are amplified in small companies,” they

are not as effective in large pharmaceutical companies. Indeed, at his company, fifty percent of

the employee bonus is based on whether someone reflects the company’s core values, which Neil

characterizes as largely comprised of behaviors, with a predominant one being “how you play

with others in the sandbox.” This means not engaging in bullying, intimidation, or selfishness,

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but rather engaging as part of the broader team. In highly matrixed large pharmaceutical

companies, engaging with a broader team is often an extensive project. For instance, Neil

directly manages a group of five employees but, because of the company’s highly matrixed

structure, he additionally manages anywhere from thirty to sixty people at a given time in a

project management role.

Dennis, a scientific director at a clinical stage biopharmaceutical company, found that his

previously stifled social skills constrained his career success. Seeking to advance, he cultivated a

more expanded “toolkit” to bring to work, describing his stronger interpersonal interactions as

one of the most important tools that has enabled him to create a more effective team and work

environment. Beyond understanding the project objectives and timelines, one of the most

important daily practices for him is “to understand the issues people face even though they don’t

talk about them.” Dennis explained how he has approached developing this more personal

understanding, since seeking career guidance on better managing others on his team:

So try to help, provide them the comfort that they can come out and say ‘You know what, I cannot do that. I said last week or last month I can do it, I don’t think I can do it. Things are not working well’ Try to make people feel comfortable that if they come out and share their weakness that they will not get punished. So how do you do that? By defending them or putting yourself when they are in the fire line—okay work together here […] Active listen, listening to other people and don’t focus all day long on work, work, work. Just take a few minutes here and there over coffee to talk about other stuff. Another one, show your weakness, don’t try to be a tough guy all the time. We all have weaknesses. Let it go. Show people your weakness so they feel like ‘Okay, I can share my weakness.’ Don’t be afraid to overcommunicate sometimes because people say, ‘Okay I say that once, people heard me, I’m done.’ Well, not everyone heard you. Somebody probably was at the iPhone. Somebody was at the iPad. Somebody was probably thinking about something. Just try to overcommunicate and really walk around. Don’t wait for meetings to communicate. Go up one to one individually, ‘What’s in your mind right now?’

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Dennis’ approach to teamwork involves listening, helping others, and proactively and

consistently communicating—all on both work and non-work related issues. These particular

qualities are common among scientists throughout their careers in working effectively on teams.

Indeed, this was a distinct shift for Dennis in his scientific roles over time, particularly as

he moved into roles where he needed to be sure employees are fully committed. “Before it was

like, I don’t have time to talk about the life stuff, whatever, tell me everything is okay at home,

just don’t spend your time telling me about your dog…” He continues that this social aspect now

is: “This is part of the job. If you pretend listen, it will come across, and it’s worse than to say, I

don’t have time for that. So yeah, that’s exactly part of it, you make it, it comes as part of your

DNA that it’s not all about work. It’s all about you, the human being, and work is part of that, the

majority, but there’s more about work you as the human being interacting with me the other

human being that does work. And we lose track of that because we’re always focusing on the

timeline.” In the past, Dennis wouldn’t have cared about the details of what people were doing

outside of work. Now if someone is interested in something—bikes, for instance—he wants to

learn about what motivates them and their interest. In a work-intensive industry, and particularly

at relatively smaller companies, work and home become so “intermingled” that “it’s all

together.” Given such interconnectedness, showing respect by helping others, such as offering to

pick up responsibilities if someone’s child is sick ultimately increases their work commitment:

“Definitely make the other person feel appreciated and that someone is helping me, and down the

road will pay you back with, ‘Okay, now it’s my turn to help you when you’re in need.’ And the

other thing is it’s good for the project and the company.”

Biologist Ralph similarly stressed the importance in more senior science roles, except the

very highest roles, which often have a more external dimension similar to many business roles,

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of having personal connections with people because it helps to “humanize” people. He

explained, “These out of work social things are of high importance because it humanizes people.

It helps me see my colleagues as human beings. So therefore, when something bad happens,

instead of saying, ‘Idiot – they messed up the project,’ you say, ‘Oh, maybe their kid was sick, I

don’t know, maybe they were sick that day, I don’t know. They’re a nice person, they’re well-

intentioned, they’re trying to do their best. If it didn’t work out that way, it wasn’t their fault.’”

Ralph has always tried to do social things and has even given effort to having people over to his

house socially. But within socializing, it was largely within his scientific team, even if the

broader group of scientists he was working with, as opposed to creating broader connections

across professional boundaries.

It is important to have strong relationships across science for high-level scientists like

Dennis and Ralph in order to substantively work on the science or drug development itself.

Ralph believes that, while in some cases, the practice of science tends to get siloed, teamwork,

including cross-functional (but still within science) collaboration is vital. People who can “speak

both languages” (i.e., different areas of science, such as biology and chemistry) are a huge asset.

For example, in small molecule discovery, “the most critical relationship is [that] between the

chemical team leader and the biological team leader. If these two people work well together, we

have a good chance of getting a dug. If they don’t, no way.” During Ralph’s days in large

pharma, he had R&D friends on both sides, relationships they further cultivated in a non-

professional setting, going over to each other’s houses and watching ball games on television.

This was useful because doing good science is also a “team sport.” Describing another successful

scientist, Ralph characterized her as someone who wasn’t a “lone wolf,” and instead got along

with many others in R&D. Being successful in the social culture in R&D requires not being “too

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analytical” to the point of constraining progress and also expressing interest in someone else’s

work and how you might help them.

Like being respectful, garnering others’ trust in oneself was similarly related directly to

the science knowledge itself. Scientists needed to show that the value and accuracy of their work

itself could be trusted in order to receive respect and trust. This existed not only within scientific

teams, where scientists like Bruce would have frequent meetings with team members to evaluate

the merits of their science. It extended to gaining trust from the business side, as well. Whereas

we will see in Chapter 5 that business people need to demonstrate fundamental trustworthiness of

character to the scientists, scientists seek to show they are strong and dependable scientists.

Business people need to be able to trust the amount of money the scientist says they need in

order to accomplish particular goals that have been agreed on as the product and disease areas

that make business sense to pursue. Ralph summarized the rather straightforward nature of the

process of reaching that goal: “Look, hire the best scientists you can, talk to them, make sure

there’s good mutual respect and understanding and then the answer the scientists give you is the

correct answer. And if you don’t like that answer then you’re gonna have to change your

business plan to get a different answer.” Though Ralph finds many people trying to advance by

“telling people what they want to hear,” he finds the honest, straightforward scientific approach

most valued among scientists, and the part he most enjoyed:

In the beginning, I navigated it very well because my boss came to me and said we want you to find a new antifungal. And I came back to him and said, ‘Here’s my plan.’ ‘Good plan, get on it, work as hard and fast as you can.’ ‘No problem.’ I loved it. I used to wake up in the morning and my first thought was to take a quick shower so I could run and see what was in the incubator that morning. Loved it, best job I ever had.

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The interactions with business professionals required in more senior R&D roles changed this

experience: “Then, things changed and I had a new boss who was interested in pleasing the

business people,” Ralph explained. His old boss, by contrast would tell the business side, “‘I

have an extra lab coat over there. Why don’t you put that on and go in the lab and show me how

to do it? Because if you can’t put on the lab coat and show me how to do it, then you’re just

going to have to trust me that I know how to do it and you don’t.’” Is that effective?, I probed:

“Obviously. Came up with two top ranked pharmaceutical products within that decade.”

Like the evolution of social skills as a whole over the course of scientists’ careers,

strategies for garnering trust become more sophisticated, too. Rather than simply “showing” trust

through the actual science, scientists like Keith told me of the more nuanced approaches that are

required in executive scientific roles. For example, Keith had given efforts to build trust with

contract teams based globally, when some may not even know their teams. Indeed, these were

actual efforts, not merely words: “That’s going to [country where his contract team is based] on a

fairly regular basis and spending a couple of days with everybody on the team. So that we get to

know each other, and you do, you build that personal relationship, that trust. That’s a huge part

of it. And I’ve seen so many times, I’ve been very active in the community talking about

outsourcing and different models for outsourcing and I still hear people would say, ‘Oh I’ve

never met my chemistry team.’ How can you do that? It’s the proverbial throw it over the fence

and see what comes back. And a lot of times nothing very good comes back. You know, you get

lucky but for me, it is, it’s about building those personal relationships.”

Except at the very earliest stages, good science alone could not typically compensate for

a lack of working respectfully and productively with others in a team—whether as a member or

leader. Most disaster scientists were often characterized as those who are technically exceptional,

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but who have bad teamwork and social skills. Natalie believes that, while one of her former boss’

left on his own will, others more senior were looking for reasons to oust him because he didn’t

get along with many. Where interacting in ways that show respect is core to successful

teamwork, this scientist “ was really smart but he was very bad at managing people under him

and also relationships with people that he didn’t respect.” Rather than show respect, he would

intentionally present ideas “to get a rise out of someone” if he didn’t have respect for them. He

would evenly openly talk about trying to push people’s buttons. From the situations she had

witnessed, Natalie concluded that “he’s smart but not smart enough” to engage in a way that

would enable his broader success—“very smart, I think could have been very good scientifically

but he was just a disaster on that personal interaction level.”

Yet some counterexamples existed. While those more senior in their careers typically

recognize the importance of teamwork for success in science, some find conflicting expectations

regarding teamwork. Cynthia, who runs a diagnostics start-up, reflected on the majority of her

career in medicine and science. She has personally valued teamwork throughout her career.

Indeed, throughout our meeting, Cynthia’s tone was not boastful, yet she assuredly noted that

everyone who has ever worked for her has liked her because of her skill in “managing down.”

She nonetheless admits that the “teamwork” nicety often heard within the industry does not

always hold true. “So all we hear about are team players and you should be a team player and

women are good team players. And I think that is a detriment for success as a CEO, as a

scientist. I think you don’t have to be a team player.”

Though scientist-entrepreneur Cynthia finds teamwork is not always essential, it is not

the stereotypical, anti-social scientist of early career science who she believes could still be

successful. Despite questioning whether teamwork really matters, Cynthia was quick to provide

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examples showing that interpersonal social skills overall are still required, even attributing them

to particular scientists’ career success. But in contrast to Cynthia’s ability to manage down, she

finds that many successful scientists “manage up really well.” By this, Cynthia means that “they

don’t care about who’s below them, but they’re really good at making sure that they’ve sucked

up to their boss or they make sure that the boss has everything.” Highlighting how this approach

differs from her own—and how her more team-oriented approach may even have partially

constrained her personal success—she continues, “Where I’ll say to the boss, look, my people

need this or I need this, or, and I’ll take that boss on. And so that’s, that’s always kinda probably

an issue for me, and that’s a difference [with the strategy of other successful scientists].”

However, it is important to differentiate here between what some find to be conflicting

expectations—as opposed to nuanced expectations—the latter of which emerged as a common

theme among business respondents. While Cynthia characterizes two potential ways of being

successful depending on one’s particular definition of success—that is, if it’s on a more direct

personal gains pathway or for a team’s or organization’s broader effectiveness—the particular

style of valued interpersonal dynamics is not itself unclear.

High Clarity, Waning Over Time: Ambiguous Expectations with Shift Toward Business As scientists move through the ranks, particularly in the most senior of positions, a lack

of clarity, similar to that on the business side, of which you’ll read in Section III, begins to

emerge. Specifically, as the scientists’ roles require bigger picture business decisions, the nature

of the trust required begins to change. Whereas we saw that, throughout much of the scientific

track, scientists devote efforts to demonstrating that their ideas can be trusted, those scientists in

particular senior roles begin to need to do what the business side does—demonstrate

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trustworthiness of intention or of character. Developing greater personal rapport is therefore

required in these cases.

CRO medical specialist Charles worked as a physician for a few decades before moving

into his current scientific/business hybrid role. While the substance of his role involves technical

expertise—evaluating and writing on scientific and medical issues—he ultimately is engaged

with a team who needs to win business for the CRO. With these business meetings comes an

increasingly more complex set of interpersonal strategies that we’ll see in Part III are common

among business professionals. A balanced strategy of being personable and engaging, but not

overly pushy or talking too much is best. These balanced strategies are required in order to have

meaningful relationships, not merely to directly get work done as is the case with many of the

scientists. Describing the most effective qualities of one clinical trial manager, Charles

explained:

Personal appeal…she’s friendly, she connects well with people, she can be easy going. She has a sense of humor. She can turn a tense situation into a less tense one by saying something humorous. She relates to people well. I mean, it’s just, all of these that go into making someone an ideal friend or someone you would want to work with or go to lunch with. In this industry especially, it almost doesn’t matter what your background is, if you’ve got those kind of managerial qualities and human relationship qualities, you’ll do well and get promoted.

Charles’ example shows how the shift to a somewhat business-oriented scientific role

may shape the qualities desired. This shift includes not only a change in the specific qualities

valued, but in their level of ambiguity, as the strategies for demonstrating trustworthiness of

character are multifaceted and complex.

Dennis captured the need for such trust in explaining what has led to some of his

colleagues’ downfalls. Scientific teams hesitate to trust demanding managers who don’t also act

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compassionately. Over the course of his career, Dennis found himself unable to work with them

for very long. Now that he is in a senior role, he believes that if “you don’t feel like I’m going to

stick my neck out for you if you need my help, because I don’t trust you, basically because I just

stuck my neck out for you, I’m trying my best to help you but if I don’t do my best then I’ll be

blamed for something that was not even my job in the first place.” Dennis added: “Because I

know personally that things will never go as planned…so trust is important because I know

things will go wrong and I want to know that you’ll be on my side to help me as I’m now on

your side to help you.” Because many things go wrong, people often look for scapegoats and the

“easiest way to blame someone who comes to help you is, ‘Okay it was my problem, but now it’s

your thing. Sorry, I’m busy about something else.’ It’s like, ‘Wait, I came to help you and you’re

running away.’” Thus, disasters are those who don’t establish trust, as this increases others’

concerns that they’ll be blamed if they make any mistakes. In an industry where failure is

inevitable no matter how technically good you are, this in turn makes team members not want to

go the extra distance in their work.

As scientists reach particularly senior positions, such as chief scientific officer, head of a

particular area of R&D, and in some case even senior positions before these points, new work

contexts demand greater change in interpersonal skills, adding additional nuance in expectations.

These scientists need to combine internal and external relationships. Further, the rapport and

personable nature of interactions that we’ll see are central among business professionals begins

to emerge. Additionally, without actively switching to a completely business-oriented role,

senior roles that combine technical and selling expertise become available.

Highly successful scientist Keith is in such a role, currently at a small start-up, though he

has a vast range of experience across the organizational spectrum. Though he also described the

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importance of internal communication and team building at length, he now also needs to develop

more personal relationships with external industry connections. Despite not being on the

business side, he needs to reach out and form more individual connections (rather than the group-

oriented ones we’ve seen scientists are generally making). Describing a budding relationship

with an external scientist whose research expertise could be valuable to the company, Keith

explained:

I first met him when we met with him for dinner last summer, June or something like that. We started talking about what we done, where we’ve been, the successes that we’ve had. And you can feel him saying, ‘Okay, these are good people, they’re going to do something important.’ Then we start talking about, and we’re having dinner, you know we’re having a glass of wine, we’re breaking bread, we’re starting that very personal relationship.

The informal personal way of better connecting with people over dinner and wine is generally an

important one on the business side. Thus, even though Keith is a scientist, because of his

extremely high status role, he needs to engage in a lot of the behaviors of the successful business

development professionals. Indeed, he even went so far as to say that a large portion of their

budget, which is still the early seed series, is actually for traveling so that they can be face-to-

face with all of these groups and establish such personal relationships.

The shift from relatively straightforward relationships for directly work-focused ends to

more complex relationships for establishing trust has substantive, professional consequences.

Keith, who works in head scientific roles across companies (closely involved with the

companies’ early developments), even changed which company he would continue with based

on these concerns. Keith developed an interest in a start-up company doing what he described as

“really interesting” work in a particular treatment area. After serving on a panel, Keith was

approached by one of the company’s founders, who asked Keith to listen to his pitch. Initially

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intrigued, Keith began to further consider the opportunity, despite some internal conflict among

the early starters. Thinking they may be able to work out the issues, Keith persisted, even though

he didn’t have time to help address the problems themselves due to his commitments with

another company. Ultimately, despite the potential upsides of the opportunity, Keith backed out

on his involvement because, “I couldn’t risk my reputation. I was bringing my scientific

connections in this. I was bringing financial investors into this who were friends and

acquaintances and I just said, ‘I’m not going to risk my reputation. You guys aren’t going to

work this out.’” The situation not only influenced Keith’s career decision, but the entire

company’s existence—with Keith not involved, one of the founders refused to continue and the

company dissolved. Summarizing the company’s dissolution, Keith said, “[The relationship

dynamics] started to go bad. They lost trust in each other. And again, once that happens, there

was just a lot of talking behind closed doors and people going three different directions.”

Unambiguous Interpersonal Culture and Distinct (Lack of) Fit

Those who felt a stronger fit in the more senior science roles often achieved this feeling

not simply because they enjoyed having a more social dimension their work but also because

they were people who had developed a sense that their leadership roles enabled broader impact,

in the same way that scientists in earlier stage roles held the purity of science to a sacred

standard. For many, the ability to engage socially as they advanced in science was positive. As

mentioned earlier, some for whom it was ill-fitting actually ended up in even more heavily

interpersonal roles as entrepreneurs. Thus, interpersonal fit did not always exactly predict career

paths, but had important consequences particularly early on, as those who didn’t have social

interactions exited, largely for this reason.

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Many scientists, at minimum, share a passion for using their science to contribute more

broadly to scientific advancement or human health. This shared purpose led many to enjoy the

teamwork nature involved in many of their roles. Recent consultant Doug, who spent most of his

entire career in VP and Senior VP R&D roles at companies of various sizes, enjoys a

combination of being social and serious about work. The opportunity to work with a lot of

people and help teams to work together is what enabled Doug to feel a strong fit as he moved up

on the technical track. Matt similarly found great fulfillment in working with teams. It is one of

the great appeals to industry for him. In industry, he finds that no one does anything by

themselves, whereas in academia you’re “kinda pitted against everybody else” and you have to

do everything individually. By contrast, in industry, you need a multidisciplinary team to

develop drugs and cannot do it alone. Matt finds that “there’s just a great deal of satisfaction

working together to advance, to meet your objectives or the company’s objectives.”

The other reason Matt is able to fit in well is because he enjoys navigating the internal

organizational network and figuring out how to apply different styles of interpersonal

relationships. When he began in his director-level role, he felt that he needed to survey the

internal organization to see what was and was not working and assess the changes that needed to

be made. He positively assessed his ability to have done so, adding that he believes others would

agree that he’s made positive changes for the group. Further, he fits well within the company

overall. Given their international offices, he gave particular effort to learning the language and

culture of one of the other offices with whom he frequently communicates: “So having made that

effort, I understand what works, what doesn’t work, so I’ve learned to fit in to that.”

Though rarer (among scientists), some find a particular fit with helping others to

develop—not merely working as a team member. R&D head Greg came from both a medical and

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academic background. I spoke with him about his transition from academia to industry, a shift

that he mentioned some people don’t handle well because it requires checking your ego at the

door. Greg feels that he has more humility than the average academic trying to transition into

industry, which made the move easier for him. He had a good mentor at the initial large

pharmaceutical where he worked. “People have different aptitudes and I found that I had aptitude

for managing people and leading organizations, which [his original mentor] was more of a

scientific track and a purist and the highest integrity and I really learned how to do cutting-edge

clinical research and very rigorous clinical research under him. But over time, I realized I wanted

to lead teams, but that took a few years.”

Many scientists find the internal navigation challenging, but the overall interpersonal

culture to be a sufficient fit. For example, Tina explained that her primary weakness was “just

within the company, kind of being able to network a little bit more and kind of utilize some of

those outside resources and kind of pull people into your project a little bit more […] Because a

lot of times when you’re working on a project, if you have support [from others] and get them

involved, your project can move ahead a lot more easily I guess.” While Tina admits this may

vary by company, she has experienced similar unwritten interpersonal requirements across the

companies and jobs in which she’s worked. Scientist Natalie even partially enjoys the matrix

style of navigation. Speaking of whether she likes the highly interactive nature of her current

role, Natalie explained that she likes the matrix style interactions and figuring out how to bring

in the right and key people. Further, she even likes getting to interact with people in meetings,

even though she realizes many people don’t. However, “having to go through the process of

figuring out who is not worth your time because they’re never going to work for you, that I

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didn’t like, but it’s coming more naturally, and it’s because I’ve set up a set of interactions that

work for me so I don’t have to think about this.”

Some who had stayed on the scientific track due to their strong interest in the direct

practice of science later experienced a particular lack of fit with the new interpersonal culture. In

her previous role, scientist Julia was managing a team of about 12 people, which included “a lot

of drama” and “a lot of primadonnas.” I probed whether it was over scientific issues. “No, about

their own recognition and looking over their shoulder at who’s doing what, and I’m working

harder than so and so, why did they get promoted? It’ just typical organizational stuff. And you

know personalities get involved. So and so doesn’t play nicely with so and so. And you have to

step in. And it’s a lot of parenting skills frankly. And I had teenagers, you know, it’s not pretty.

So you do it. I think I’m a decent manager. I think the people who reported to me over the

years—some will tell you that they loved working with me and others won’t. And that’s the way

it works.”

Outside of managing others, the particular way some scientists engage socially—

interacting with the scientists, but not the business side—was largely because he felt a lack of

interpersonal cultural fit with the latter. This social divide further suggests the cultural—rather

than a functional work requirement—nature of the valued qualities in each profession. Each has

their own “group style,” which serves to further heighten group boundaries and maintain

professional group solidarity in everyday interactions (Eliasoph and Lichterman 2003). For

example, both groups are believed to be different even in their recreational activities. Ralph is

not sure exactly what those differences would be but he has a “sense” that they’d be different.

The R&D people are more down to earth in his opinion because they’ve come from being a

“poor scientist” in grad school. The higher echelon business people are more formal whereas,

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with the scientists, you can go to a dive bar and grab a couple of beers. When he attended a

dinner together with the business side once, it was an upscale restaurant where they brought out

sophisticated dishes like leek soup, he explained while impersonating ordering these dishes in an

elitist tone. He finds the “upper echelons” of business to be more “status conscious.”

Navigating people is an art with less clear-cut boundaries showing where and how much

to step in. Where boundaries are clearer, people are more likely to distinctly fit or not fit. While

Julia says she is comfortable on both the science and management sides of her senior science

role, she “enjoys” the science more as she finds managing people to be harder than doing

science. Specifically, she described throughout the interview that she likes the start-up culture of

rolling up your sleeves and getting things done, whereas in management positions, one needs to

deal with people “drama” and being worried about things like career recognition and other

personal issues. Here, we see how the less clear expectations for how to succeed create struggles

without actively forcing one out of the profession. By contrast, early science track roles come

with clear expectations that led to more drastic career decisions.

Gender and Interpersonal Relationships in Later Stage Science As we saw in the section on interpersonal relationships in early stage science, scientists

like Lindsey, Amanda, and Rachel found their managers to have ill-suited interpersonal skills,

having spent their early careers focused exclusively on the science. As scientists move through

the ranks and value the internal networking and teamwork skills that enable their knowledge

advancement and scientific project growth, women again experienced particularly pronounced

challenges. While no longer constrained by a narrow anti-social image of scientific success,

women found challenges in teamwork—especially in managing others—rooted in a combination

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of managerial and scientific qualities in relation to gender. Overall, professionals struggled to

figure out how to manage others, given a lack of training in this regard. But the impact of gender

beliefs in this context further exacerbated these effects for women, leaving them particularly

unfilled along this dimension of their work.

I first met Julia, a scientist in her early 50s who was the head of biology at a successful

start-up when I interviewed her, during a celebratory event for women in science. We began

chatting during the cocktail hour about her core career work and her recent involvement in

women in science initiatives. We later connected for an interview directly after a week where she

had “slept in 4 times zones and [flown] 14,000 miles.” Unassuming and engaging, Julia exudes

an intensity about her work but an ease in demeanor. She certainly does not come across as an

isolated scientist with underdeveloped social interaction skills.

Others have generally recognized her talents, as well: across virtually all traditional

metrics of career performance, Julia has been exceptionally successful. Indeed, the strengths

enabling her broader scientific success have been in the interpersonal realm, but with an

objective scientific advancement orientation, in the way characterized throughout this chapter.

Further, she has received high praise for the scientific value of her substantive work.

Yet Julia’s less skilled, or at least less favored, managerial practices have prevented her

from achieving completely positive performance evaluations. She has taken various approaches

at different points in the managerial phases of her career, but has tended to fall somewhat short

and experience frustration with this aspect of her role. Part of this tension has been caused by her

previously trying to still be the “absolute expert” on the science while advancing, even though

she acknowledges that scientific career advancement means taking on big picture and managerial

roles. But it’s not merely that she needed to shift gears from specific to big picture science; it’s

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that she feels much better at and enjoys the former. While she described herself as being

comfortable with both the science and leadership, she admitted, “I probably enjoy the science

more. Managing people is hard. Science is hard. But managing people is harder.”

The reasons Julia has experienced challenges in these bigger picture and managerial roles

are inextricably linked to gender, rather than merely to population-level variation in managerial

skills. She has received feedback, based on evaluations from her direct reports, that she was

trying too hard to be nice, with one performance review even characterizing her as a socialist,

intended in her assessment as a negative comment. Yet at other times she was critiqued as having

“stepped on their toes on projects or didn’t step in enough.” Julia wants to focus just on the

science and not all of the “drama” and dealing with “primadonnas,” but she nonetheless takes

this feedback to heart, acknowledging that probably all of these assessments are true:

The problem is for each individual figuring out how much to step in or lay back. And that’s an art. Because each person wants to be managed differently and each person needs to be managed differently…And I’m sure I haven’t always read that right.

While the overall struggle of needing to have a richer set of strategies was common among men

and women, Julia has experienced additional consequences because, as a woman, she felt that it

was best to try to be liked. Yet, as we just saw, she was also critiqued on those grounds.

Overall, then, as women ascend along the science trajectory, we see a level of ambiguity,

generally more prevalent on the business side, begin to influence their career outcomes. Julia’s

experience shows how concerns about being both competent and likeable influence her strategies

as well as the feedback she receives from others. While issues with navigating these two

characteristics have been frequently discussed in social psychology since Fiske and colleagues’

(2002) study, this division we see in science represents only one part of the story. In Part III, we

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will see how the divide is not between competence and likeability, as in science, but rather

includes a credibility and likeability divide.

Trust from the Head Summary This chapter has shown how interpersonal relationships to garner cognition-oriented trust,

or “trust from the head,” reflect the science’s culture of expertise. The valued work-oriented

strategies associated with this end—namely, developing strong internal relationships and

teamwork skills—are relatively unambiguous. The narrow, yet clearly defined interpersonal ideal

in science causes many to feel a distinct fit or lack thereof with the profession. Further, the

importance of and particular types of interpersonal styles valued changes over the scientific

career track, which contributes to some misguided career decisions. The distinct career decisions

resulting from this narrow, unambiguous interpersonal culture affect both men and women, but

the effects are more pronounced for women because the particular ideal is more masculine (e.g.,

topics of conversation and variation in gender norms about the desirability of sociability).

Early on, social skills are perceived as largely unnecessary, with scientists rarely having

opportunities to engage in them. Though the expectations to simply do good science are clear at

this point, they cause more distinct career shifts. Those seeking more interpersonal opportunities

often exit to more business-oriented roles. Those who stay on the science track confront a

quickly shifting interpersonal culture, in which internal networks and teamwork are important for

fundamental work outcomes. Despite the greater emphasis on social skills, these roles still have

relatively clear expectations about valued qualities. I argue that this can largely be attributed to

the directly work-related purpose of the valued social interactions, stemming from science’s

culture of expertise. In the most senior roles within science, somewhat more ambiguous

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interpersonal skills required on the business side begin to mix with the science. No longer are

relationships perceived only as being to obtaining or conveying knowledge. They must instead

be managed and nurtured in a more personable way, showing others that one is a good person to

be trusted in general.

For women, the interpersonal culture in science at both the early and later stages has

particularly pronounced effects. Early on, women experience the ideal isolated scientific expert

as a highly masculine interpersonal norm. This ideal is at odds with the more social nature

valued in women at large. Many feel constrained by this image and lack fit, leading to career

exits. Those who do fit and stay on the track experience other issues along the later stages of the

scientific track. Specifically, they struggle to manage competing demands for competence and

likeability, as the more advanced roles demand these qualities in managerial roles. Across both

the early and later stages, the conflict between broader beliefs about gender, on the one hand, and

science culture beliefs about the ideal worker (here, with respect to interpersonal relationships),

on the other hand, create these exaggerated effects for women.

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// 4 // Communicating Competence: Image of Pragmatic Focus and Diligence

The Centrality of Presentation Style

A bitterly cold Boston winter night is warmed by the excitement with which the CEOs of

several biotechnology start-ups pitch their businesses to a group of venture capital and angel

investors, at a large global law firm with a strong life sciences industry practice. All men, they

are dressed nearly uniformly in crisp blue, open-collar dress shirts, black or dark charcoal sport

coats, and jeans. Some dress more formally in full suit and tie, but most balance the casual

blazer-jeans uniform with an overall clean-cut, professional look. One has a shaved head,

sometimes strategically done, as angel investor and business development professional Alan later

told me, to maintain a more youthful appearance in an industry where forty is considered old.27

Their vibrant PowerPoint slides are similarly mixed with their casual, friendly demeanor. They

succinctly run through their key points in the allotted ten minute pitch time, in perfectly prepared

timing with their slides while maintaining active eye contact and engagement with the handful of

investors and audience. Most presentations include some variation of the need for the product

and the brilliance and status of the team. The images highlight the team’s elite university

pedigrees, the already-received press coverage, financial model, exit strategy, and summary. A

couple entrepreneurs are particularly skilled at appealing to the emotional, people-side of the

science, giving examples of specific people suffering with conditions that their product will treat.

27 The relevance of age in the life sciences industry is complex. Whereas the Silicon Valley high tech culture currently favors twenty-something CEOs wearing hoodies and jeans, signaling youth and innovation (a shared understanding, also described in my interview with business development and investor professional Alan referenced in-text here), life sciences on the East Coast is more conservative not only with respect to dress but also with perceptions of age. The nuanced ways in which professionals manage perceptions of being either too old or too young will be addressed later in this chapter.

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After solidly delivering their prepared remarks, they generally confidently respond to the

investors’ questioning: What are the go-to-market strategies? What are the barriers to entry?

What type of regulatory approval is required? They present and respond in lock-step fashion.

Boom, boom, boom…sold! The investors, by indication with their red and green paddles, seem

quite interested in a couple of them.

Amidst these seemingly smooth, natural presentations—even if actually highly nuanced

and calculated—one stands out. Earlier this day, Joel, the CEO of a medical diagnostics

company, confronted an emergency personal issue. With Joel unable to pitch his business, Barry,

the company’s R&D head, steps in. Barry knows the science—he has decades of experience with

it—but not so much the business, neither in substance nor style. He wears a muted, earth-toned

button-down shirt and grey blazer, more academic than corporate in appearance. His grey,

somewhat unkempt, hair reveals his age and perhaps a lack of attention to or interest in having a

polished appearance like the others. His overall demeanor, too, is considerably less vibrant than

the others, almost appearing lost in the details of the company, looking at the slides, never at the

investors or audience. After using only half of the allotted ten minutes, Barry inconclusively

mutters, ‘That’s about it.’ No summary, no proactive acknowledgement that he would cover the

points as well as possible in lieu of Joel’s absence, but rather an unframed, lackluster pitch.

Stopping short of his ten minutes means an even longer period of questioning with Barry

responding to many of the questions by simply saying that he doesn’t know how to answer them.

One investor questions, ‘How is this technology different from others in the industry? ‘I don’t

know what the others have, so I can’t tell you how ours is different.’ What is the go-to-market

strategy? ‘I don’t think I can answer that.’ The audience is not particularly forgiving. They’re

smirking, but it’s not with Barry—because he’s not trying to make light of the situation. He’s

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maintaining a serious, nearly somber appearance—so it’s more so at him. The room is feeling

tense, so one of the investors even tries to ease the obviously uncharacteristic role in which Barry

has been placed. ‘When you spoke with Joel earlier today, is there anything about which he said:

if you say one thing, make sure it’s this?’ Barry hesitates. ‘Oh yeah,’ he says quietly as he slowly

reaches for a piece of paper that seems to have handwritten notes on it. ‘Joel did tell me I should

say a few things. Let me get my notes.’ Another investor, seemingly part seriously, part jokingly,

perhaps in an attempt to minimize the tension, replies in an exasperated voice, ‘Well if Joel said

to make sure you say it, why haven’t you already said it then?!’ Barry doesn’t seem upset by the

remark, but he also doesn’t acknowledge it or use it as what might have been an opportunity to

admit to the challenging situation. He instead stoically trudges on with some of the points from

his conversation-with-Joel notes. The investors unanimously raise their red paddles, with one

adding ‘It’s not that we don’t like your company; we just can’t tell.’

To be sure, part of Barry’s challenge was due to the last minute call on him to present—

yet this is not the entire story. Rather, as the previous chapter showed with interpersonal

dynamics and relationship management, the science’s cultural ideal of expertise, or good work,

shapes the desired styles of presentation of one’s self (e.g., through physical appearance and

mannerisms). As introduced in the vignette above and expanded on in Chapter 6, business’

cultural ideal of morality, or good character, leads to more nuanced styles of self- and work

presentation. Science’s culture of expertise encourages scientists to present themselves in a way

that signals their competence, while business’ culture of morality values business professionals’

displays of credibility. The particular way valued presentation styles vary by profession—

namely, in their level of ambiguity, which is low for science and high for business—to achieve

the competence and credibility ends influences their lived work experiences.

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The desired interpersonal and presentation styles in each profession are perceived not

only as valued skills, but as fundamental differences between the types of people who are

scientists and business professions (even though we have seen in the previous chapters that

people frequently shift tracks over the course of their careers). For this reason, life sciences

industry career consultants focus their practices on helping one type become the other (typically

scientists transitioning into more business-oriented positions) or at least ‘speak a similar

language’ (informant, scientist-turned-entrepreneur Janet). HR professional Mary immediately

responded with a Myers-Briggs personality type when I asked her to describe a successful

scientist at her company. “INTJ,” she confidently asserted, which refers to someone who is

introverted, intuitive (also, prone to thinking about abstract theories), favors logic over emotion,

and establishes preset plans rather than being more free-spirited in their approach. Business

professionals are not confined to a particular type, even if generally considered more extroverted.

These consultants, as well as professionals more generally in the industry, believe that, without

learning to speak a similar language, each type of professional can miss out on the necessary and

complementary opportunities to work together.

The consultants themselves remain in business, in part, because such presentation

styles—of both the self and of one’s work or company—are central to career success. Indeed, as

social science research on cultural fit (e.g., Rivera (2012) on elite professional services firms,

Khurana (2004) on CEO charisma) has recently suggested, substantive knowledge or technical

ability in a field is not sufficient for career success—how one does their job can be equally

important. Even more, the importance of social skills—required not only for interpersonal

relationships as we previously saw, but also for presentation and communication more

generally—for job success is on the rise, including among some STEM jobs (Deming 2017).

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How one believes they need to do their job to be successful, which at its core effectively is about

who they need to be (i.e., what identity they need to enact), can affect their career experiences

and outcomes, such as whether they decide to even stay in the profession.

This is the first of two chapters showing how each profession has unique valued

presentation styles, which vary in ambiguity, leading to variation in the types of work

experiences and career outcomes. To guide the reader through this first chapter on presentation

styles, I will here give a brief overview of the argument developed between both the present

chapter and the comparable Chapter 6 on presentation styles in business.

Though good presentation is highly valued among both scientists and business

professionals, the styles that constitute “good” presentation are not universal across the

professions. The chapters on the profession’s presentation styles extend the dissertation’s broader

argument by showing how an expertise-morality cultural divide influences presentation styles

and, further, has punctuated effects on women’s careers in each of these professions.

Specifically, I argue that scientists seek to convey expertise—namely technical, work-related

competence through the ways they discuss and present both their work and themselves (i.e.,

through verbal and non-verbal mannerisms, style of dress, and grooming), while business

professionals believe they need to show a sense of credibility, a quality reflective of their moral

character. While the difference between competence and credibility may seem subtle or merely a

matter of semantics, each of these perceived end goals holds unique and profound implications

for how people need to present themselves in work settings, and the related thought given to such

practices. Specifically, the need to convey competence promotes a streamlined presentation style

in which scientists show single-minded focus on the science through a narrow, clearly defined

presentations style of self and of work. By contrast, demonstrating credibility demands a tailored

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presentation style in which business professionals adapt to different audiences, personalities,

and—most challenging—simultaneously display competing character qualities. Doing the latter,

in particular, requires a highly nuanced approach that is particularly challenging for women

given cultural beliefs about both gender and business. We’ll now focus on the streamlined

approach that scientists engage to communicate competence.

Presentation of Competence in Science Chapter 3 showed the ostensibly, directly work-related purpose of scientists’

interpersonal relationships. Scientists develop strong internal networks and teamwork skills in

order to gain and display substantive knowledge that informs their work. The at least overtly

straightforward, work-related purpose of their interpersonal dynamics enables similarly direct

and relatively clear strategies for engaging in the valued interpersonal styles themselves. This

chapter expands empirically on scientists’ work culture and theoretically on the roles of cultural

fit and ambiguity in professionals’ work experiences. Here I show how, with a similarly work-

oriented purpose for engaging self- and work presentation skills—namely, demonstrating

competence—scientists again perceive relatively clear expectations for presenting themselves in

culturally valued ways. In this way, the presentation dimension to their culture has a low level of

ambiguity, leaving scientists with a more distinct sense of whether they feel their identity fits

with the work culture. Yet because the valued presentation styles are highly specific and

somewhat masculine, some—especially women—experience a lack of fit, leading to their

seeking more culturally-fitting career opportunities in the industry.

In seeking to demonstrate their technical competence, scientists value presenting

themselves and their work in a streamlined manner that shows scientific rigor and commitment

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and, relatedly, in a way that demonstrates their hard work on the science and broader mission

(e.g., scientific advancement, patient health) of their work. In practice, this means that strong

work presentation skills are valued in both everyday meetings and especially in formal

presentations. In science, good presentation skills involve presenting scientific findings in a

balanced way by being honest about both a project’s strengths and shortcomings, as the emphasis

needs to be on the rigor and merits of the work (not, explicitly, on qualities of the scientist).

Importantly, this style of communication required for conveying competence generally

lacks nuance. That is, even when scientists spoke of balance, it was merely about showing all

aspects of the science. There is an underlying belief that scientists’ purpose is to do solid,

rigorous science. Therefore, scientists’ good presentation skills mean being able to effectively

communicate that science, rather than communicate something fundamental about themselves, as

we will see is the case with business professionals. With respect to personal self-presentation

style, a similar work-focused manner is valued. The physical self—projected through dress and

mannerisms—should downplay any interests outside of the scientific work. Presenting oneself in

a way that looks more polished, signaling time or thought devoted to appearance, indicates that

one is not purely focused on the scientific work itself.

As scientists advance, they realize that making sure to communicate the strengths of their

work—not merely doing good work—is important for their careers. However, unlike

interpersonal dynamics that changed quite drastically over the course of scientific careers, self-

presentation remained largely consistent throughout, with only somewhat greater importance

placed on physical self-presentation later in their careers. Indeed, despite the valued self-

presentation qualities, particularly those surrounding delivering high quality formal work

presentations, self-presentation overall is of relatively low importance to scientists’ overall career

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success. Though, as we saw in Chapter 3, greater interpersonal relationship skills are required

later in their careers, more sophisticated or polished presentation styles tend not to increase with

career advancement. Rather, presentation skills only even remain important over scientists’

careers because so many eventually shift into at least somewhat more business-oriented roles

within science, if not entirely over the business track. And for those who make that professional

shift, it is an abrupt jolt in culture, as the subsequent section on business shows.

Low ambiguity in science’s valued presentation style results from the narrowly defined

ways for showing success, which are focused on the work and not on the individual’s character.

A focus on the more objective aspects of work mean that scientists do not need to present

themselves or their work in ways that simultaneously convey fundamental character qualities,

which requires more complex presentation strategies. For scientists, the positive of this

presentation dimension of culture is that it is relatively easy to know what one should be doing to

be perceived as successful. The negative is that it is so highly particular that, unless they

naturally enjoy engaging in work in that particular way, scientists experience a sense of

constraint. In short, there is low ambiguity because the purpose is work-oriented rather than

character-oriented, but greater variation (relative to business) in feelings of fit because

definitions of success are so narrow.

The unambiguous, but narrowly defined presentation culture of science raises particular

issues for women. Previous research (Wynn and Correll 2017) has argued that narrow definitions

of the ideal worker in high tech are particularly masculine, causing women to have lower

feelings of fit and increase their likelihood of exiting the profession. I extend this work

empirically and theoretically by leveraging the professional comparison of science and business.

It is not simply that women are more inclined to lack fit with science. I find that, relative to those

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in business professions, both men and women in science are more likely to experience distinct fit

or lack thereof because the expectations are so clear and singular. I contend that such low

ambiguity in the scientific ideal results from the emphasis on competence—a more objective,

work-oriented concept than the more subjective character-oriented concept of credibility required

of business professionals. The clear, valued qualities in science are particularly at odds with

broader cultural beliefs about femininity. However, for those women who fit within the track,

there are fewer expectations for them to combine conventionally masculine and feminine

displays of appearance, as is the case in business.

In the sections ahead, I first show how competence is signaled through an ostensible lack

of attention to physical appearance. With the attention away from appearance, all focus and time

are devoted to mastering and further developing the science. Scientists convey these qualities

through rather unsophisticated strategies. Indeed, the science culture of expertise dictates that the

forms of presentation ideally should not even be strategies—the scientists are just committed to

their work and others see them working intensely and always presenting new ideas. I then

discuss how, still with a similar eye toward conveying competence, scientists later need to appeal

somewhat more the business needs. When they cross into more science-business hybrid roles,

more nuanced presentation styles begin to be favored. Section III then addresses those more

ambiguous business styles in-depth.

Stripping Away Everything But Science Conventional stereotypes have it that scientists do not care about image. Neither the

polish of their work nor their physical appearance is important. Indeed, scientists themselves

explicitly say they hold these views. Image concerns are frilly distractions from the serious work

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of scientists. The empirical findings from my interviews with scientists suggest otherwise: self-

presentation is valued among scientists; it is merely that the particular images are intended to

convey a lack of care. A somewhat rough, disheveled appearance, or at least a neutral, casual

one, is used to convey that scientists are too focused and concerned with the substance of their

work to care about appearance. In this way, a rougher, more casual appearance helps to signal

their competence as scientists. At the very least, not abiding by this convention would call into

question one’s competence.

The active desire to dissociate from image concerns led many scientists to try to shut

down the conversation when I explicitly brought up physical appearance. And usually, when I

interviewed scientists, I needed to specifically probe about the relevance of appearance in the

first place. Business professionals, by contrast, more frequently brought it up when discussing

successful others, even before my further probing. When I asked large pharmaceutical scientist

Josh how his manager (whom Josh finds to be a successful scientist) presents himself physically,

he bluntly replied, “Like a scientist.” After my probing, he opened up to characterizing the

“distribution of scientific dress and physical appearance,” which he admits is itself “on one side

of the bell curve for the general population.” Within the scientific realm, Josh’s manager

“dresses kind of like, ya know, something like this [referring to his own clothing that day—a

sweater and jeans].” He again quickly brushed off its significance, adding that his manager is

neither particularly style conscious nor unkempt, and the casual, non-descript nature of his

appearance is what industry scientists generally look like. In fact, Josh then emphasized that his

appearance was so unimportant as to be virtually uncorrelated to his success, specifically noting,

“People with…this same appearance might be more or less successful than him.”

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The relevance of appearance more clearly emerged when scientists spoke of the stigma—

a “deeply discrediting” attribute (Goffman 1963)—associated with deviating from the seemingly

unimportant, casual appearance. At best, people would have a confused reaction to scientists

who ignored the cultural appearance norms, wondering why someone had dressed up more, as

large pharmaceutical scientist Bruce told me while explaining that the casual but professional

way he dresses is just how he’s been “brought up” as a scientist and that he believes no one uses

these criteria to judge others. Yet scientist Josh described what would be the case for people who

appeared differently than his boss. While his boss is the average for the industry, it’s best to be

the average and to not stand out, as how one can present oneself and still be successful has a

“bound.” This boundary leaves a particularly narrow, but clear way that scientists should present

themselves in order to be a good cultural fit. In essence, it is the point at which someone appears

to have a sense of polish, that they gave any thought to what may be considered fashionable, as

Josh explained that “scientists for the most part are like decidedly anti fashion.”

The cultural meaning associated with a more polished appearance reveals how

presentation of self in science should signal competence and reflect science culture’s emphasis

on expertise. Scientists in general found the two pursuits—having a polished appearance and

being competent—at odds with each other. Josh, in particular, contended that “if you spend too

much time thinking about what you’re going to wear, you’re devoting mental resources that you

could be spending elsewhere, I guess.” While he admitted that this is a “broad generalization,” he

maintained, “that’s more on the true side. People are like, decent, but we’re a pragmatic folk so

I’d say it’s less—it occupies less space of the average scientist’s mind.” He went on to critique a

man who wore cologne to the lab and further explained that he himself doesn’t wear particularly

nice clothes to the lab because they may get messed up: “‘Like, dude, what are you wearing

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cologne in the lab for? Like who? This is like, like there’s bleach everywhere. This is not a place

for doing that.” Interestingly, Josh applies this logic even though he spends a considerable

amount of time in meetings, as he may need to go back and forth between the two. He ultimately

admitted that there’s a “cultural sense” of why this is out of place.

Part of science’s “cultural sense” referenced by Josh is about scientists distinguishing

their work intentions—the production of good work itself—from the less sacred commercial

ones associated with their business counterparts. As biotech senior scientist Rachel explained,

scientists seek to distinguish themselves from business people in suits “who are trying to sell you

something.” For this reason, a plaid uniform rules her predominantly-male company. The

appearance that makes a successful scientist is: “I think it helps to be male, middle aged, and

wear a lot of plaid. It’s actually, so he’s [Rachel’s boss, whom she finds to be a successful

scientist] tall, thin, middle aged, balding, guy, wears a lot of plaid. And it’s actually interesting to

see the junior male scientists wear plaid. Sometimes they kinda look like little junior ones.”

Whereas social science research has often shown various advantages reaped by those

with a conventionally attractive appearance (e.g., Hamermesh 2011), the valued casual, even

slightly disheveled, appearance in science does not serve as a particular asset. Rather, I find that

having a particularly polished appearance in science may be socially penalized. As Goffman

(1963) theorized, stigmatizing attributes do not universally stigmatize individuals, but rather vary

by context. The reported reactions to scientists with polished appearances suggest that the

advantages of a conventionally attractive appearance are culturally dependent.

The overtly lower focus on appearance, by dressing in a rather casual or subdued manner,

extend largely across the ranks on the science track. While, among scientists holding doctorates

(i.e., the majority of scientists in my sample), Josh described above was relatively early in his

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career, large pharmaceutical R&D head Greg similarly believes that a more relaxed physical

appearance is preferable so as not to appear over the top and rather intending to be an effective

scientist, a role in which he believes he, and scientists in general, should convey a sense of

humility. Only as scientists begin to cross into more business-oriented roles or communicate

heavily with professionals on the business side do they start to give thought to their appearance

in the more nuanced way that will be discussed in detail in the business section of this chapter

below. For example, Ralph found himself making compromises on his desired self-presentation

style (which was the more casual one favored within science culture) in order to cater to business

needs as he escalated through the ranks in large pharmaceutical companies: “I’m not just a

raggedy research [sic, cutting off “researcher”]—but I’m not a four-piece suit type of guy that

has to take vest, jacket, pants, and a matching briefcase.” Importantly, Ralph tried to present

himself as though he was thinking about the needs of the business side when meeting with them.

But even when nearing the business line in roles, scientists make sure not to cross it in

their presentation style. Greg contrasted the “highly polished” presentation manner of some

people on the commercial side of his organization with the way that R&D professionals present

at conferences. In fact, Greg believes that a commercial presence “doesn’t necessarily go over so

well at an advisory committee, so you want to have somebody that is genuine, that is in

command of the information, that comes across as knowledgeable and objective without any

hype.” Greg’s explanation shows how scientists’ appearance can serve to mitigate concerns

about tainting the sacred nature of science with perceived deceptive “hype” on the business side.

The case of “professional” tracks, career options for PhD-educated scientists in some

large pharmaceutical companies that are neither exclusively scientific nor commercial, helps to

highlight the difference I identified between self-presentation in science and business. In Chapter

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3, we saw how scientists’ interpersonal relationships often shift as they advance in their careers,

becoming more business-like as they transition into higher leadership roles. Although we just

saw that a somewhat similar phenomenon occurs with respect to self-presentation when scientists

advance, another occurs when scientists do not simply advance but take on these science-

business hybrid roles. As scientists select into these professional leadership roles, the

expectations become more nuanced because scientists need to show a level of credibility that the

subsequent sections show predominates in business.

In these professional roles, both physical appearance and presentation styles of work

become more stylized and nuanced. With respect to physical appearance, large pharmaceutical

scientist Jasmin used to wear jeans, but never does anymore because she saw a successful male

colleague dressing very sharply. She told me that she’s been working on this by trying to dress

“just better in general.” Though Jasmin had never received any feedback on her appearance,

observing both a female superior and male peer dress in a more sophisticated way made her think

that perhaps this is a “recipe for success” in this type of role Jasmin is on a prestigious

professional track, but still early in her post-PhD career. So relative to mid-career professionals

with comparable education in the industry, she does not yet make a “huge salary,” limiting the

extent to which she can spend on an elaborate wardrobe. She therefore uses a clothing rental

service for designer clothes, which she explained includes brands like French Connection that are

not extremely high-end but which would still be out of her price range if she were to stock a full

wardrobe of them. Similarly, as Veronica, who works in a business-oriented role that still draws

extensively on her scientific knowledge as a PhD-trained chemist, emphasized the way that she

needs to present an enthusiastic and friendly demeanor, in combination with the technical

components, in order to gain credibility in her more business-oriented role.

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Save for those whose scientific roles involved taking on some level of business

dimension, perhaps most telling of all is the seeming lack of rich responses about appearance

from scientists. Business professionals were often eager to discuss all the nuances and challenges

associated with presenting themselves. Scientists did not think this had any relevance to our

discussion. And this the same way it works for them on a daily basis—obvious or conventional

appearance concerns have no place where one should be single-mindedly focused on the science.

So if lacking in attendance appearance is used to demonstrate commitments elsewhere—namely,

to work—what else is done to show competence in that regard?

Technical Rigor and Communicating Merits

Where scientists were reticent on issues of physical appearance, they made up for it in

emphasizing the importance of conveying their highly focused, all out commitment to science

through other means of presentation. Successful scientists—whether strategically or out of a

more natural work style—are perceived as those who demonstrate true passion and commitment

through their willingness to work on anything, showing that they are constantly learning, and that

they have mastered a substantive area. The commonality among all of these demands is the

singular focus on scientific or technical competence. Even when scientists spoke of the

importance of being adaptable or able to see the big picture, it was nearly always related

competence rather than to adapting presentation style itself, the latter which we will see is the

case in business.

The scientific rigor and status standards are virtually infinite so nothing is ever excessive

or exceptional. In this way, scientists generally did not think about balance or nuance, but about

doing more to demonstrate competence. Overhyping data is taboo and considered more of a

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business approach, but otherwise there are few limits on how intense one’s focus on science

should be. Recent postdoctoral chemist Jake described the frustrations of his recent job search.

Though even ten years ago, he believes that his PhD from a well-regarded university would have

allowed him to have virtually any job he wanted, he was recently told that his is “unremarkable”

despite having five peer-reviewed publications, on three of which he is the first author.

Specifically, he was told that he is not that impressive because his PhD is not from Harvard or

MIT and he did not have a Science cover article. These evaluation criteria are so taken for

granted and acceptable that Jake was explicitly told those reasons when he asked for feedback on

why he was not advancing in a job hiring process.

Direct styles of presenting data or work completed help scientists show the merits of and

their commitment to the science. Even being somewhat crude is acceptable and, at times,

favorable. By Bruce’s account, his good friend and highly respected colleague is “just an

extraordinarily gifted man” who Bruce wishes he were “half as smart as.” He’s a bit gruff, with

his disheveled hair and “looks like the old professor who might be holed up in a lab or an office

somewhere with his tweed jacket.” Like the plaid uniform of Rachel’s office, this man’s gruff

appearance leaves his commitment to the science at the forefront of people’s minds. His direct

style of speaking and presentation, in which he will call people out if he thinks someone is “full

of it” on anything, shows that he has “no agenda” and is always putting the patient first: “He’s a

very old school researcher. Very hard-nosed. Never pulls punches and all he cares about is

getting drugs approved to treat the patient, and obviously safe and effective.”

Scientists like Bruce’s friend and colleague were nearly invariably characterized as the

ideal. Related to direct presentation styles, they are thorough and rigorous in their presentation of

the data. They are not developing highly nuanced framings of it to sell it to others, but rather

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demonstrating their technical competence. Large pharmaceutical scientist Neil told me about his

favorite flannel-clad colleague Dwight, a tall and skinny husband and father who is “the

consummate scientist” and would “look just as comfortable at Harvard with a tweed jacket on

with the patches on the elbow as with a pipet sitting in his office because really all he cares about

is the science and this is just the place where he can apply the science.” Neil goes for coffee with

Dwight every day and most days they have lunch together. On occasion, they get drunk together

after work, so they know each other quite well and are often chatting about work. In Neil’s view,

Dwight is “just an incredible mind” who has “encyclopedic knowledge of science” and makes

good hard scientific decisions. Neil has a good sense of Dwight’s technical rigor because they

discuss their projects so frequently and in detail. He holds Dwight’s approach to science in the

highest regard, comparing it to having to read War and Peace—or its accompanying

CliffsNotes—in high school: “Those are the three types of [scientific] project team leaders you

get: the guy who read it, the guy who skimmed it, and the guy who’s just going to B.S. his way

through it.” Dwight is the guy who read it and, further, tells people when he doesn’t know

something and therefore people can trust his data because “he does what he says he’s going to do

and you don’t find him bullshitting.” I probed Neil on how he knows that Dwight is truthful but

it is obvious that others are not. He explained:

Well, a lot of times you’ll ask someone a question about a particular aspect—the target or the disease they’re going after—and you’ll get an answer that just doesn’t make any sense. But it will sort of be delivered in a very authoritative manner. That is like B.S. with a capital B, capital S. Most of the people are high performance. They’ve all been taught that sounding like you know what you’re talking about is almost as important as knowing what you’re talking about.

Scientists emphasized the importance of showing technical rigor not only in their own

work and successful peers’ work, but also in what makes those whom they manage effective.

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Bruce manages one scientist who has a “wealth of knowledge” who is distinctly his favorite: “He

just gets the job done. He’s just incredibly, incredibly productive. He’s just driven, like my

friend [one described earlier], he wants to make sure that he’s doing the right studies and that at

the end of the day, it will make a difference in the patient. And not afraid to do a study that might

kill a project.” Bruce is able to trust the quality of his employee’s work because “he’s always

willing to tell me when something didn’t work out […] He’s always willing to share everything

with me. The good, the bad, the ugly. So when I know that, if he says this worked, I really know

it worked because he’s his own toughest critic.”

Relatively early on in their careers (for some, even while still completing their PhDs),

scientists begin to realize that it is important to verbally communicate their ideas well, lest it not

matter how inherently good those qualities are. That is, in the very earliest stages, some

downplay its important, given academia’s emphasis on publications. Yet often, even before

entering industry, as in the case of few postdocs’ experience, scientists realized that if they are

unable to communicate their ideas well, those ideas are “effectively worthless” (Jake). Many

strive for and value in others confident, but technically-focused displays of presentation, both in

formal presentations and more informal or one-on-one communication.

Though insufficient for being perceived as successful, solid presentation of the work is

necessary. Good presentation skills and appearing confident cannot make up for a lack of true

technically accomplished work, but they are needed to advance the work one has done. For this

reason, despite their primary focus being on producing rigorous and innovative work, even early

career scientists give effort to improving their work presentation style. Jake realized even during

this PhD that he needed to work on his communication skills in a way that allowed him to better

explain his scientific process and data without appearing so anxious about it. He believes his lack

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of confidence came through in presenting to his superiors and hindered their perceptions of his

scientific ability. Postdoctoral scientist Lindsey experienced similar presentation anxiety as Jake.

She emphasized that a huge portion of her time trying to succeed as a postdoc (despite her

intention to transition to industry, which she ultimately did since her interview) is spent in the

grind: in the lab, completing experiments, thinking about her projects, and figuring out how she

can develop them into publications. Yet it’s not just the actual doing of that work, but the

showing of such work moving forward. Part of this is through confidently presenting her work in

formal presentations. Lindsey used to get so nervous before presenting that she would stop

breathing: “So I think, I mean that was big for me being able to get over that. So, so one of the

really important things to me is trying to present a very confident, um, air about me when I’m

giving a presenting and trying not to look nervous.” Previously, she would forget what she was

going to say, so she ended up putting a lot of information on her slides, a strategy on which she

received negative feedback, but had at least come across confidently: “I try to fool people I

guess. Fool people and not show that nervousness and show more of a confident individual that

knows what she’s talking about.”

Though the examples of Jake and Lindsey above are from academic settings, the same

general rules in this regard apply in industry. Specifically, scientists frequently cited effective

presentation skills as important for success, but what constitutes good presentation is a rather

direct, technically thorough approach in which they clearly explain the science without jargon.

For example, describing a successful scientist a mid-size biopharmaceutical company, Tina said

of this person and successful scientists there more generally:

I think it’s important, definitely, when you’re presenting your work, you want to be, like present it in a compelling way but a way that is also clear and concise and if you outline the steps that you want to take to reach that ultimate goal. So I think that’s important.

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And even in such well-crafted presentations, scientists rarely focus on framing or tailoring for

audiences. Rather, successful presentations are those that are scientifically thorough, with a

physical appearance that raises not even a thought that the presenter may have any non-scientific

interests. Describing a particularly successful scientist, Travis explained that what makes him so

effective in giving talks—which is frequently invited to do—is his ability to thoroughly present

his data and address both general and specific questions from the audience. In doing so, he also

demonstrates his ability to generate new ideas—an enviable quality. Further, his appearance is

largely non-descript, as is Travis’ hesitation to even discuss it. Hesitating, he finally told me of

his successful colleague that he is well-dress and well-groomed. When I ask what that means,

Ken seemed confused. He paused, then said, “I guess he dresses like me, button down shirt,

khaki pants most of the time, nothing too formal […] good posture, well spoken, no accent,

usually has a smile, very friendly to interact with.”

Importantly, focusing just on the technical aspects of work should come through as

authentic. Rather than trying to engage differently across audiences, as we will see is desirable in

business, scientists value not even trying to do that. The focus is exclusively on the work, not on

actively attempting to figure out the cultural rules of the game—that itself is the science culture.

In this way, scientists give effort to not only display valued qualities but to actively signal

authenticity. Such dual efforts reflect an understanding that seemingly selfless behaviors (e.g.,

organizational citizenship behaviors) can be done by “good actors” seeking to preserve their

image rather than by “good soldiers” genuinely committed to the cause (Bolino 1999). Large

pharmaceutical informatics chemist Seth said of how he tries to present himself authentically in

work interactions:

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I just try to present myself the way I am. I don’t try to fake anything. It’s not worth faking anything. Like presenting yourself as more of a, you know, in terms of understanding the business a lot more. You know not necessarily the science business but you know all the IT business terms or something […] I guess what I’m trying to say is you just, you know, you gain the reputation of when you work with someone as you know someone who likes to work with you. You’re able to get things done, you’re able to analyze, you’re able to progress the project. It doesn’t matter, there’s a couple people I’ve interacted with where the communication is horrible, they talk all in acronyms and I have no idea what they’re sayin’! And this is a project manager from, probably got her certification in project management. And it’s like, oh my word.

Seth’s description of the way that he presents himself naturally highlights the need to

demonstrate a strong focus on the work but to also communicate it clearly.

Authentic displays of technical competence are often demonstrated outside of formal

presentations, as well. Describing one of his favorite reports, large pharmaceutical chemist Sam

immediately said that what this person does best is their analysis. Sam finds him extremely

intelligent because he can give him any data and his report will so quickly bring back analyses.

He will know exactly what Sam has in mind and then “[do] more than that, come up with a better

way of doing it.” Indeed, the seemingly natural tendency to be hyper-focused on the technical

aspects of work often were infused into interviews with scientists. Giving general overviews of

their career trajectories frequently veered into technical territory, as these are the details which

they personally found highly connected to their job decisions. One respondent (Travis), in

discussing how he came to his current role informed me that “71% of the time we can predict

ninety four percent of the human toxicities using the animal studies” because it was connected to

the way that he became so deeply fascinated with the field. He therefore further values similar

technical rigor in others, describing having been impressed by one of the female scientists who

interviewed him for his current company because of her knowledge that spanned even beyond

her specific scientific area of specialty.

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The ability to show technical rigor even when things go wrong requires showing personal

command of the science. Some scientists, like early career biologist Amanda, believes that

showing shortcomings is not valued, even though this is the personal approach that she takes.

Describing the nature of her company’s culture, Amanda succinctly summarized: “If you’re not

successful at something, you don’t tell anybody.” Amanda disagrees with this approach and

voices when she personally messes up so people can learn and improve. However, this relates to

her making errors that may have otherwise been avoided rather than simply not achieving the

expected results on an experiment and using them to reformulate the overall scientific plan.

Thus, it is important to demonstrate competence and so even though Amanda can be trusted

given her honesty about her work, she has struggled with not always receiving positive

evaluations.

Where scientists are able to effectively connect to the business needs even while on the

science side, they believe they are most successful in an organizational setting. Yet even in

seeking to demonstrate broader commercial appeal, scientists’ strategies remain narrowly

focused on their work’s merits. Large pharmaceutical chemist Sam spoke about how he changed

his strategy for communicating his work with management. Though he had previously thought

about the ways his work was good for the company, not just his own scientific pursuits, he

realized that he needed to continually push these points. This requires being able to show

improved technical outcomes, additional areas of the company it may serve, and additional high-

status professionals within the organization who support it. For about a year and a half, he met

with the CEO in his office about four or five times, with each meeting lasting one to four

hours—“It’s that hard,” Sam emphasized, because, “It’s my experience that if you walk into

CEO’s office with the greatest idea in the world and what I mean by greatest is, it’s from your

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experience and know how and something solid, you will not be able to convince CEO. I

understand that my experience is one company but CEO isn’t going to just jump out of chair and

‘Yeah, why didn’t I do that before?!’ You’re not going to get that response.” However, Sam

finds that “it may trigger something out of your discussion, may trigger some interest” which he

uses to then continually follow-up. And with each follow-up he adds how his contribution will

improve more or across greater areas, further bringing in others to support his points. Elaborating

on the tedious process, he explained:

And what you do is you go in again, but this time you go in with what you tried in a smaller group and it has worked. And then you tell them what happens if you will spread this across the company […] And you go in with production manager who believes in your approach and is willing to try this thing. Now if you can show your method work in producing thirty, forty percent higher result or faster and better result, that’s kind of hard to refuse. So you do this and then you’re not done. At that point, you’ve got their interest but they’re not going to be able to hatch a method to what do you call this, defending this concept throughout the company, right. It’s something you made, but not everyone does, so you have to go in again with a better plan. So now at this point, you make a connection with several key people who might be able to support it and then bring them into the meeting, invite directors, COO, CEO in the meeting.

Here we see that, as scientists advance, they often develop a greater awareness of the particular

ways to promote their ideas. As consultant Elaine highlighted, a common pitfall in scientists

when they enter industry is that they do not understand that their role is to sell their ideas:

They think they’re just going to present the data and everybody’s going to understand. And they don’t understand that they need to persuade people to get things done, that the facts don’t just speak for themselves ‘cause other people are busy.

Commercial executive Cheryl described a successful innovation-side colleague as someone who

is recognized for taking on high-level scientific work but is also able to show how it is related to

the business:

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He’s very aggressive, but his mannerisms and his social engagement, it seems like they’re [colleagues] at the pub with him all the time, so it softens a lot of what…He might be saying, ‘Your project’s shit. I can’t even believe you’re doing this.’ But he says it in a way that you’re just like, ‘Yeah, of course it’s shit. I can’t believe I ever wanted to talk about that.’ I don’t know. It’s just this smooth and easy kind of [trails off].

Hard Work and Going the Extra Mile The broader life sciences industry’s shared vision about innovation, patient health, and

scientific advancement strongly shapes the way that scientists’ view work commitment.

Successful scientists are those perceived to be fully and passionately committed to a mission.

They are not merely doing a job, but rather actively attempting to contribute to a broader goal

that even transcends contributing to the organization’s business. Gloria explained to me that such

a broader commitment is essential for even remaining needed by the organization. She said:

You have to prove that you’re capable of contributing in any situation to remain valuable to the organization. And that’s how I operate. My intention is not to take a salary and check in and check out. That’s not at all why I work. I want to be learning on a daily basis. If the science doesn’t interest me, if the work doesn’t interest me, I’m out of here.

Gloria’s articulation of her motivation disconnects work from its associations with the

organization itself and to financial gains. The organization is merely where she is able to carry

out her broader mission. Similarly, one way scientists are perceived as disasters is if they appear

to not be as interested in the science but really just more interested in “getting a paycheck” and

doing the minimum to get by (quoted explained by scientist Tina).

Scientist Sharon represents the idealized commitment to science valued among scientists.

Throughout my discussion with Sharon, she continually emphasized her deep passion for the

science and her seemingly selfless desire to help the small (though not early stage) company for

which she works, even though the business heads did not demonstrate much respect for her.

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When she gave effort to connect with potential funders at industry events (despite not being

technically responsible for these business endeavors), her efforts were unnoticed or

underappreciated. She nonetheless has continued to do so, acting in a committed way as an

owner, but not in an attempt to advance her own personal career agenda. Indeed, the latter has

fallen to the wayside because, aside from attempting to salvage the company, Sharon has focused

on the substance of the work itself, admitting that she never tends to plan or even look ahead in

terms of her broader career, in which she is already well-advanced. This approach means that of

her work at various smaller companies, “I’m always there to the bitter end, even post-

acq[uisition], you know in every one of my companies.” Despite her disproportionate emphasis

on the substantive science itself rather than on strategic career navigation, she claims, “I’m not

being as successful as I should be” and thinks that she needs to give more effort to even more

scientific learning relevant to the company.

Bruce similarly described his job as somewhat “thankless” because he does various jobs

that no one knows he does, but which he believes need to be done for the best work to be

performed. While Bruce initially told me that he doesn’t mind that others do not know, he does

feel a little down about it. He works on some of the additional roles between 6 p.m. and 9 p.m.

rather than during the regular work hours. And only after more than four years did his boss know

that he even took care of some of them. When I probed whether he thinks it’s important for his

professional success that others do know, Bruce redirected his response—he just thinks it’s

important to get the work done and he wants to do it.

The ideal situation for scientists is when others realize that someone has done the

“thankless” work but the person is not perceived to have tried to let others know. This would

reveal an underlying motivation that was then not entirely focused on a genuine commitment to

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the science. Instead, the relentless pursuit of science must emerge naturally through displays

suggesting that the science is synonymous with their identity—it’s just who they are. Generally,

this impression is formed of people who are not only available at any time but also proactively

developing ideas around the clock. Speaking of technical contractors who works for him,

IT/chemist Seth particularly favors one who is always the first to compile reports bringing

together information at a global level: “You ask him a question and he responds all the time. You

ask him, you give him tasks, he’s able to do it.”

Commitment to the science—and in turn, competence—is further signaled through

displays of intense interest in or passion for the science itself or therapeutic outcomes. A

seemingly emotional quality like work passion and competence may seem orthogonal. Yet the

intense single-minded enthusiasm for the science is perceived as a quality of those most capable.

This passion, when combined with perceived hard work and technical rigor, comprise the overall

scientific ideal, as it makes others feel comfortable buying in to one’s ideas. Tina described a

successful male scientist who she believes had an internal passion for the science that people

latched onto. Explaining how he would go about conveying that passion, Tina said:

So basically like in a presentation, just the way he would present something, I mean you could tell that he was very interested and passionate about what he was doing. Just the way he would speak about it, and just, he would get excited and that type of thing in his presentation. Yeah, it’s just something you can kind of feel, his passion. Whereas someone else who kind of would just give the presentation but you wouldn’t see as much passion, there’s definitely a difference there…It’s just the way and the I guess the investment that he has in all of his projects that kind of would make other people interested in what he was doing.

Tina’s description shows the way that the outward display of passion, as well as the perception

of his being highly involved in his projects makes this scientist successful.

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Others recognize the need to self-promote in order to achieve success. Often, they try to

frame it as being not about their own professional advancement but about what is required in

order to gain traction on their work, again being able to demonstrate that their true allegiances lie

with the science. Indeed, not engaging in some sort of self-promotion can be so detrimental as to

even be the defining characteristic of a professional disaster. Speaking of disasters, Nathan

reflected on his observation that a lot of scientists tend to be introverts, quiet, and independent.

Over the last few years at the large pharmaceutical company where he works, Nathan has seen

several people get overlooked even when they’re doing good work because they have not made

others aware. He believes “they missed one step to advertise their success,” and therefore end up

undervalued.

Gender and Competence in Science

The valued presentation styles centered on communicating competence are similarly

masculine for men and women alike. Women perceived as most successful in science are those

who portray an image—through both physical appearance and broader mannerisms—that they

are hyper-focused on and committed to the substance of the science. The comparable

expectations for men and women in this respect complicate extant research, often in the business

and leadership realm, suggesting professional penalties for women who undermine prescribed

feminine gender scripts by present themselves in a masculine way. This does not mean that

women experience fewer career consequences in science than in business, but rather that the

particular ways in which career experiences and outcomes are affected vary. The presentation

dimension of the science culture disproportionately constrains women’s ability to fit within

science because the ideal is not only narrowly conceptualized, but done so in a masculine way.

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Particularly in distinctly science roles, the less cared for and masculine appearance

valued for men is similarly valued for women. In this regard, women experience tensions, either

because there are few female examples or because they actively feel uncomfortable presenting

themselves in a masculine way. After discussing her boss’ plaid mini-mes, Rachel continued of

her own presentation style, “So that’s interesting and I will say I found it difficult because there

are three senior scientists, senior female scientists so there’s not a lot of guidance.” Others

described a distinctly more constraining culture for women, particularly with respect to their

physical appearance. Though she is now on the business side of the industry, as a doctoral

student in an elite biology department, Elaine “felt that every woman was judged very harshly—

what she wore—you know, the guys, nobody judged them by what they wore, but women were

judged by what they wore.” In Elaine’s experience, men and women alike would make

comments on women being either too sexy or too ugly. Overall, Elaine believed the way to

present herself in the best way as a female scientist was to appear masculine, even though this

was not true to her personal style. Explaining the strategy she took at that time as a scientist,

Elaine said:

I tried to dress like the guys. I tried to dress down…I’m older now, but I was always cute, you know. I could never pull it off. I never looked like one of the guys, but I tried to […] I just tried to hide [any femininity] and it never worked. Because I was still cute. You know what I mean? I couldn’t look ugly. Like if you look at how women who succeed dress, there’s a style where they basically look like men. They’re completely asexual and unattractive. You’ve probably seen this type, right?

Though the masculine self-presentation style that Elaine believes was valued within science did

not fit with her personal identity, the expectations were clear. Such clarity stands in contrast to

the highly ambiguous expectations on the business side, which we will see in Chapter 6 include a

more nuanced balance between femininity and strength (often associated with masculinity).

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The narrow focus on technical mastery and hard work promotes a streamlined, masculine

form of communication in presentation style more generally. Successful women, like men, are

described as being very direct, and some even as “sharks.” Describing two successful scientists,

Lindsey believes that they are rather different in personality, but both are very focused and direct

about the science. One, who Lindsey finds has a very friendly personality, “is an extremely

strong woman who speaks her mind and has ideas and is willing to share them and present

them.” The other scientist—a stereotypical lab rat in t-shirt and jeans with her hair tied back—

now works in academia as a professor at an elite research university. “She was kind of a shark

maybe. I, whatever description you would use for somebody that kind of uses others.” For

example, this scientist would ask her boyfriend to bring her dinner so that she could continue

working, even though he was also a scientist. If she wanted something from someone she was

very friendly, but she would otherwise ignore someone if they couldn’t help. Lindsey described

her as “conniving.”

The examples above show the unique way—relative to both extant research on the

double-bind and this study’s findings within the business profession—that the ideal image in

science interacts with gender beliefs to shape perceptions of female scientists. Specifically,

women accepted as successful overall in science often had a narrowly focused, somewhat

masculine, approach to the science. Their lack of conformity to idealized forms of femininity did

not categorically constrain their success, even as they were critiqued on these grounds, as in

Lindsey’s characterization of a former colleague.

Gender issues further complicate self-presentation decisions in science-business hybrid

positions. Whereas in distinctly science roles, we saw that women believe that masculine styles

are preferred, hybrid roles blur the expectations. Jasmin explained that she’s not sure if it’s

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helpful for women to dress in the designer way she has been selecting in this type of role. She

believes that it is for men and it may be beneficial for women, so it’s “better to hedge your bets,”

she concluded. On the one hand, Jasmin thinks it’s important to concentrate on her personal

appearance because she’s not entirely on the technical side. “So I’m just trying to stack the deck

in my favor and do everything I can to make sure I’m as successful as I can, so I’m trying to

dress better.” However, the more clearly defined rules of science presentation are still in her

mind: “I think in science for women, I think there are a lot of stereotypes that pretty women can’t

be good at science and I think that’s hard to overcome,” Jasmin explained, citing a friend who is

brilliant, has PhD and is about to get an MD but has blonde hair and blue eyes and “dresses to

the nines all the time” and therefore is often spoken down to (e.g., called by first name instead of

Dr. last name). Jasmin added, “There’s this stereotype that girls who are good at science have

like bad hair, don’t care about their appearance, and you can only be good at science if you’re

only thinking about science and not your personal appearance.” Veronica, who also believes a

more attractive appearance elicits more favorable responses in business-oriented roles, said that

is one of the reasons she would like to lose ten pounds. Alluding to the nuance that shows up in

full force within business, Veronica added:

On the other hand though, if you’re too attractive, that could be a problem. Because for example, there was a woman who was really beautiful and she was blonde and she said that sometimes she felt that people didn’t take her seriously because of the way she looked, because she was attractive…So it’s kind of this balance.

Part of the balance of which Veronica spoke is conveyed through the style that Jasmin

has selected and deems “feminine professional.” Given this hybrid role, the nuances of business

seep in, where a strictly masculine appearance is not favored: “I think it has to be, I’ve been

trying to do a slightly feminine style. Before last year, I would wear a lot of pantsuits to

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interviews. That was kind of my go to outfit. My best friend from grad school made some

comment about my pantsuit. She said something like, ‘Are you going to wear another pant suit to

your next interview?’ I was like, uggh. I think that was probably the main motivator that I need

to introduce a little more femininity to my wardrobe.” Though Jasmin had previously felt more

comfortable wearing pants, particularly with Boston weather, she “think[s] there’s a lot of power

in femininity” in a business context. She equivocates: “I’m not exactly sure if there’s a lot of

power in science in femininity,” leaving someone in a hybrid role—which includes the vast

majority of leadership roles in science—struggling to manage the competing expectations.

Ultimately, Jasmin has found herself maintaining the “feminine professional” appearance she

described. Recounting a recent experience that suggests the benefit of a more feminine

appearance, Jasmin said:

I think you can get a lot of attention and when, for example, I noticed, I had a meeting with the commercial side of the business about exploratory analyses that we’re doing from data we collected from one of our clinical trials. So they were these commercial guys who were based [at our headquarters]. And I noticed that they were just really interested in talking to me. And I don’t know if it was because I looked really good that day and wore a dress, but the meeting went really well, I got LinkedIn invites from them. And we just have a really great relationship. I don’t know if I consider it, not like flirting with these guys, but you know, any little bit that helps, I’m gonna take it. Jasmin’s experience succinctly captures the cultural forces at work on both sides of the

industry. Throughout these sections on culturally valued styles of presentation in science, I

showed how cultural schemas emphasizing a single-minded focus and commitment to scientific

expertise define successful scientists. The valued presentation styles—similarly narrowly

focused and with exclusionary boundaries for presentation styles that appear to veer at all away

from it—reflect this culture. And indeed, it is the very narrowly defined presentation of self and

work qualities that lead many to look for more variegated opportunities, despite their interest or

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even passion for the science. The seemingly greater flexibility of presenting various big picture

work ideas and not having the single identity of scientist appeals to well-educated men and

women alike seeking more variegated and dynamic opportunities, while still being involved in

the life sciences. But the seemingly more open, broader range of presentation styles that come

with the more business-oriented roles into which they move are not without their challenges and

consequences. Instead of feeling categorically constrained, they now have a range of nuances to

manage on a daily basis as they shift from needing to show that they do good work to

communicating that they themselves have a fundamentally good character.

Communicating Competence Summary Chapter 3 explored how scientists may present themselves in interactions with others, but

focused empirically on the nature of their interpersonal work relationships. This chapter then

delved into the range of presentation styles enacted, identifying the images people try to

engender—and perceive successful others projecting. Importantly, I showed how and why they

go about doing so, and the particular ways this shapes scientists’ career decisions. By drawing on

conceptual tools from cultural sociology, these two chapters on the science profession have

shown how the profession’s cultural ideal of expertise, along with its desire to maintain

boundaries between the negative stereotypes associated with business, shape the valued

interpersonal and presentation styles.

In this chapter, in particular, I showed how the valued presentation styles in science are

relatively unambiguous. As with the interpersonal relationship skills in science, professionals

may feel a sense of constraint and as though they do not fit with the desired qualities, but they

nonetheless know what they are. The purpose of engaging in particular presentation styles is

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primarily for more technically or directly work-related ends, and therefore more tacit in nature

than it is for business professionals. To communicate competence, rather than credibility as in

business, scientists emphasize the need to present a balance of the strengths, shortcomings, and

errors in their work. But this balance is to show that they have done good science—good work—

not out of concern for showing that they have a morally good character. The valued styles of

physical self-presentation style lack nuance, with a relatively casual presence preferred to signal

commitment to the science, to the work itself.

This chapter then presented findings about women’s experiences that hold implications

for our understanding of gender inequality. The relatively less ambiguous standards for

presentation in science are also narrowly conceptualized in a masculine way. This complicates

scholarship that has focused on the “double-bind” phenomenon, whereby cultural definitions of

successful professionals in male-dominated occupations are at odds with cultural definitions of

being a successful woman. This chapter has shown how a particular masculine image is

generally considered the ideal even for women. In this way, the ongoing struggle to manage the

competing expectations associated with the double-bind are reduced, but women experience

more pronounced feelings of fit or lack of fit depending on how their own identity aligns with

the narrow interpersonal and presentation image. Further, as women move into science’s

professional track roles, which have a business element to them, the expectations shift to the

more complicated, ambiguous ones that we will discover in the next two chapters on business

culture. This suggests the important interaction between gender and professional culture in

shaping women’s career experiences, in particular.

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// 5 // Trust from the Heart: External Networks and Rapport in Business

Interpersonal Dynamics and Relationship-Building in Business

Chapter 3 showed how science’s expertise culture shapes scientists’ valued interpersonal

relationship qualities, ability to fit in and succeed at various points along the track, and career

track decisions. We saw how scientists utilize social skills and relationships primarily to directly

achieve work outcomes. They need to find ways to work with others in teams and, particularly

when working in large organizations, navigate internal networks to obtain information for their

projects. As part of doing so, scientists often try to convince others they can trust the accuracy

and quality of the scientists’ work. As these scientists move into increasingly senior roles, the

interpersonal expectations shift, becoming less clear, with the roles themselves becoming more

business-like in nature.

This chapter continues to explore the role of interpersonal dynamics and relationships,

shifting focus to the interpersonal culture among business professionals. The particular cultural

boundaries between science and business make this not only a substantive shift in professional

focus, but also a meaningful conceptual shift. Rather than seeking cognition-based trust in one’s

work, I argue that business’ morality culture requires professionals to utilize interpersonal skills

to garner affect-based trust in their character. They must not merely provide tangible evidence

that their work is good (as one must do to elicit cognition-based trust), but rather they must strike

an emotional chord or “gut” reaction (the basis of affect-based trust), convincing others that they

themselves are fundamentally good. This chapter explains the interpersonal processes business

professionals implement to convey this sense of worth in an attempt to achieve their work goals.

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I argue that the ambiguity in the strategies for achieving the valued interpersonal qualities

associated with business’ morality culture leads to unexpected work challenges for business

professionals. I further illustrate how this interpersonal ambiguity is particularly pronounced for

women, as the friendly, social nature of business is filtered through a gender “frame” (Ridgeway

2011). .

Upper-middle class Americans consider trustworthiness and honesty to be among the

most socially desirable traits. In her cross-national study of how professionals define worth and

engage culturally valued styles, Lamont (1992) f that professionals conveyed trustworthiness

through various means, particularly friendliness and strong teamwork. They further held

competence in the highest regard—indeed, at times, showing competence was sufficient in itself

for demonstrating trustworthiness. Other scholarly research across a range of social science

disciplines—including psychology, political science, and economics—has examined the

conditions under which trust is elicited. Structural factors such as power, for instance, affect how

trusting one is, with more powerful actors less likely to trust others (Schilke, Reimann, and Cook

2015).

Despite vast social science work on the concept of trust, extant research does not fully

explain why and how variation in trust strategies across professional contexts occurs. Further,

less is known about how differences in types of trust may shape interpersonal dynamics. During

my interview process, the professional value in conveying trustworthiness quickly emerged and

continued as a dominant culturally valued quality among business professionals. Thus, in

addition to developing the broader argument that the business culture of morality values

ambiguous interpersonal styles—specifically, developing rapport to signal trustworthiness—this

chapter further addresses these open questions related to trust itself. I show how business

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professionals seeking to convey trustworthiness go about doing so and how the particular type of

trust required shapes what people need to do to gain trust. Importantly, I argue that the business

culture, embedded in the life sciences culture of patient- and work centricity, influences the

valued type of trust (i.e., affect-based), which is related to one’s character, which leads to high

ambiguity in ideal interpersonal styles.

To develop the overarching argument, I first show that, in contrast to scientists’ internal

team-oriented relationships, business professionals need to establish more individually oriented

connections, often external to their organization. Here I use the term individually to refer to these

professionals’ meeting and developing relationships with single, or sometimes multiple,

professionals, but in a more one-on-one manner. Importantly, these particular individually

oriented connections are distinct from the teamwork common for scientists in that business

professionals believe they need to build some level of meaningful rapport with others or engage

in particularly personable ways during their interactions. Engaging in a highly personable way is

valued across a range of business occupations, even though, as Chapter 2 showed, there exists a

greater variety of roles on the business track than on the science track. Despite the variation in

particular roles, developing rapport interpersonal relationships and engaging in them in the

particular ways that these professionals believe are valued is considered fundamental to their

roles within this cultural context concerned with preserving the sacred aims of the industry.

The interpersonal relationships formed within each profession vary in the extent to which

clashes in professional cultural ideals emerge. With the teamwork commonly required for

scientists, there is an explicit sense of shared purpose. Though people may have somewhat

different personal motivations, when the work is internal, everyone is at least theoretically

seeking to achieve the same successful outcome, which, importantly, is aligned with the broader

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cultural ideal of helping patients or advancing science. In many business roles, however,

business professionals find that they need to demonstrate to others that the parties involved—

whether scientists internally or professionals at other organizations—do, in fact, share common

goal.

In light of these cultural differences, scientists try to demonstrate trust in technical

accuracy through their interactions, whereas business professionals try to convey a morally

trustworthy character. Further, whereas scientists use interpersonal skills to more directly impact

their work, business professionals utilize relationships to inform their broader work strategy,

again often for garnering trust. Overall then, the scientists and business professionals with whom

I spoke differed in their intentions (in order to achieve their profession’s ideal) for engaging

particular interpersonal skills, with scientists seeking to achieve a desired work outcome directly,

even when engaging strategies for obtaining cognition-based trust, and business professionals

trying to convey a fundamental personal characteristic and obtain affect-based trust.

The variation in the type of trust that each professional group needs to obtain, in turn

explains variation in the ambiguity associated with the strategies required to achieve each

profession’s valued interpersonal styles. The high ambiguity associated with business’ valued

interpersonal dynamics is caused by the need to convey a morally good character, further

exacerbated by the diverse range of audiences to which business professionals need to appeal.

Indeed, having to cater to diverse audiences reduces clarity in the business interpersonal ideal

largely because of the increase in cultural clashes that business professionals need to overcome.

The high ambiguity in balancing personal and professional styles in interpersonal

relationships is particularly pronounced for women. With the business culture demanding greater

personal rapport, women experience significantly greater challenges than men in navigating

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personal and professional boundaries. As we saw in Chapter 3, many women experience social

constraints within science, particularly early on, leading them to feel a lack of fit. Here we will

see how women do not generally actively feel a lack of fit, as many enjoy the overall social

nature of business. Yet many experience persistent tensions in attempting to fulfill the cultural

ideal, with its desired personable rapport.

External Networking: Establishing Relationships Across the Industry

While the business positions examined here are diverse, virtually all of them placed high

importance on networking broadly across the industry at large, rather than merely internally, as is

the case for many scientists. Depending on the particular business role, such external networking

is required for raising money, securing sales, and creating and maintaining business partnerships.

Despite the varied nature in the substantive purpose of networking, nearly all share a common

goal of developing some level of rapport, at minimum, and often establishing more meaningful,

richer professional relationships.

Below I show how business professionals’ culturally valued need to broadly network and

develop meaningful relationships extended across a vast range of contexts. With this

understanding, we’ll then delve into the particular interpersonal styles business professionals

engage (and recognize in successful others) throughout their networking. Throughout, I illustrate

the ways that business professionals draw on these strategies to overcome concerns of

immorality associated with the business profession, while the industry overall voices its cultural

logic of contributing to the greater good.

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Raising Money: Entrepreneurial Connections with Investors

Among all types of business professionals whom I interviewed, start-up entrepreneurs

often found themselves in the most unusual of circumstances. They simultaneously have the

most need for raising money, at least in the direct sense, as the survival of their companies is

dependent on the entrepreneurs alone (and possibly a few other employees) and they have often

come (quite recently) from scientific roles with considerably less social interaction. In this way,

they simultaneously experienced a shift not only in desired level of sociability, but also in what

they needed to convince others is true of themselves. Being an expert is no longer sufficient; they

also need to be a trustworthy partner of the investors.

Chad, a scientist by training (and at heart) in his early 40s, currently runs a startup and

spends any extra time (virtually non-existent during the period when I interviewed him) on

freelance consulting work in the industry. Chad highlighted the hub structure of the industry as

the orienting structure for creating and maintaining relationships, yet finds the process

challenging all the same. For one, his company is a very small start-up that had not been

developed within a VC firm. This structural position has demanded that Chad create particularly

strong network connections:

So many companies now are being spun out of VCs [in the Boston area], are created internally, that’s primarily where all of their money is going […] and at the same time, there are enough big fish start-ups now that you just get lost in the pile. You have to sort of acquaint yourself and make yourself available out of the Boston area.

For this reason, Chad has given efforts to not only expanding his network within Boston, but in

other industry hubs, such as San Francisco and Seattle, and across Europe in London,

Cambridge, Paris, and Zurich. But even those entrepreneurs focused primarily on fundraising

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within the greater Boston area expend great effort to develop and expand their broader industry

network in order to raise funds for their start-up companies. The vast number of venture

competitions and incubator opportunities within the hub means that entrepreneurs in the active

fundraising stage, like Walter, Cynthia, Dan, and Eric, spend considerable time seeking out

connections for financing.

Likewise, VC partners who serve as acting CEOs for start-ups develop within their VC—

those with whom Chad found it particularly challenging to compete—nonetheless emphasized

the great importance of developing an external network. To be sure, they recognize the

advantage of being associated with a VC firm. Indeed, one such investor-entrepreneur Jeremy

views his VC connection as a “means to end” and admitted that he had no desire (at least at this

point in his career) to be a full-time traditional VC investor, reviewing opportunities and making

investment decisions. Rather, he described his connection with the VC firm as a “symbiotic

tightly knit relationship” that enabled him to “us[e] these guys as a platform to start and run

companies.” For Jeremy, reaching out to investors and finding opportunities to present his

company was taking around 40 percent of his time around the period of our interview (particular

time allocations vary with company life cycles). The day after our interview, he was going to

New Jersey to meet with a pharmaceutical company, the week prior he was in New York, the

week after off to California, followed by a return to the East Coast in Washington D.C. shortly

after. While he spends a considerable amount of time and effort networking and working on

these relationships, he acknowledges the advantage of being connected with the VC:

So having kind of done this now for a little while, still being early-ish in my career, I mean, I have my own network, I know people in venture…So that’s again where [his VC firm] comes in handy. So I honestly feel like between [the VC firm], myself, [his start-up company’s] board, and we have [two large pharmaceutical companies] as investors, as well, the collective network here, I can’t imagine there being a company or somebody

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that we would want to meet with where we couldn’t get the meeting, right, because somebody’s going to be able to make the call and get on that calendar. If it’s not me, it’s somebody else. So that’s a pretty powerful utilization of the network and I think it’s critical for a small company like us to take advantage of that.

Through their networking for fundraising, business professionals need to align with the

broader industry culture that values hard work and self-sufficiency (introduced in Chapter 2),

with one doing however much work it takes to succeed. For this reason, Jeremy had been

cautious to avoid depending exclusively on the VC for network connections. Indeed, because

developing a broader external network is such an engrained part of the industry culture, Jeremy

believes entrepreneurs could be professionally penalized if they were not developing their own

networks. In fact, disaster VC investors, in Jeremy’s opinion, view VC as “cushy” like large

pharmaceutical companies rather than as “sink or swim” and don’t take initiative to proactively

build their own network. Emphasizing the centrality of networking specifically, he added, “If

you’re at a big company, and you’ve got a phone on your desk and you’ve got departments up

the wazoo and 40,000 people you can call, you’re used to picking up the phone and saying, ‘I’m

just going to call so and so right here.’” By contrast, at Jeremy’s VC firm, “if you come in here

and say, ‘Okay, this is interesting but I need help with this and I need help with that,’ people are

gonna be like, ‘Ah, you know, you kinda should just figure that out on your own or you should

have your own network to figure it out.’”

This cultural requirement for self-reliance on one’s own network is shared among people

at the industry level, however, rather than exclusive to VC or other particular organizations. For

example, recognizing the importance of expanding his network, entrepreneur Chad tries to

“indirectly” speak to as many people as he can, by which he means that he asks people if they

know someone who does what he needs. Yet in doing this, he highlights to others that he already

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has his own network, as well. Chad developed this strategy “very painfully” through experience,

as his scientific training never included any such interpersonal or business advice. Even though

he “naturally” belongs to “the sort of people who you put them in a corner, give them their

pipettes, and they’re happy to do what they want to do,” Chad realize that he was “certainly not

going to get anywhere in the business world if I hold myself off, so it all comes down to figuring

out how to meet people.”

The external networking strategy is not only utilized among first time entrepreneurs who

still identify as scientists and are trying to quickly secure funds. It was what many of the

entrepreneurs with whom I spoke believed had made the most successful CEOs and

entrepreneurs able to achieve and continue their success. The need to create external,

interpersonal connections in the industry, then, is both pervasive and a shared, taken-for-granted

quality for running a company. For example, Chad characterized a successful biologist turned

CEO as having exceptionally strong social skills, particularly networking, which are a “huge,

huge part of what he does” and that play a “tremendous” role in his success. Elaborating on the

primary reason such networking enables this CEO’s success, Chad highlighted the need for funds

in an inherently risky business:

I think it’s huge as far as maintaining relationships and when it comes to networks and financial interactions or business interactions, or whatever means of, having that, being able to maintain that sort of relationship between so many different people at the same time I think is a huge value…You’re not really offering a lot at this point [referring to the early stage of a start-up company]. All you’re offering is: we’re going to spend a lot of your money and maybe ten years down the road, we’ll cure a disease. So yeah, I think especially from the start-up perspective, being able to have relationships like that and have that interaction with people is huge.

Those in exclusively investor roles, who are not also trying to start companies as Jeremy

is, are somewhat ironically among the few business professionals not focused on external

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networks for financial purposes (whether for company funding, sales, or via business

development partnerships). Angel investor Howard blatantly admitted that investors can do

whatever they want because they’re the ones with the money—and everyone wants money. The

standard saying, he explained, is that when you’re an investor “your jokes are always funny and

you’re never late for a meeting.” Yet even he highlighted the role of a broader external network

when discussing the role of social skills for the success of another angel investor, again showing

the importance of his embeddedness in the Boston hub, in particular:

I think that they’re pretty important. He really has a big network of people. You know, there are people who grow up in an area and there are people who move to an area. And Boston is funny and I don’t know other towns and other areas…When you grow up in an area like Boston, we have friends who are natives here and we have friends who are not, and the natives, I don’t know if it’s them or the fact that they grew up here, but many of them seem to have very, very dense social networks in the Boston area that even an outsider who’s been for here 30, 40 years doesn’t seem to have. Because your friends, your high school friends, your elementary school friends, most of them live around here or many of them live around here, so your network is them and their friends plus all the accretions …But you know [this successful investor] has a very dense network of people, and his wife was a consultant so he knows even more people from that. He’s a very well connected guy and he’s willing to use it to introduce people to other people and I think people really get a lot of value from that and really like him. So I think that that’s helpful.

Finance professional Lori agreed that the same is true of successful investors in large

pharmaceutical companies [with investment arms]. Characterizing one, Lori said, “What I really

envy about him is how well connected he is.”

Securing Sales: Account Managers Seeking Client Bases Like those raising funds for their own company’s survival, industry sales professionals

similarly require strong external networks and individually-oriented relationships to both secure

sales and maintain ongoing clients. And developing these relationships often begins well in

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advance of the interactions themselves. They require an understanding of the broader industry,

upcoming trends in disease areas of focus or technologies, and which companies are in the

pipeline for funding, in order to know which companies to target and on which issues. So even

though the goal for many in sales, like CRO business development account executive Trevor, is

“just to get in front of people” because “that’s kinda where things start to happen,” a typical

week often finds Trevor working to figure out who is doing what in the Cambridge/Boston area

(his primary territory). He then draws on this information to begin making individual

connections:

So then I’ll say, okay, so here’s this new company that just popped up in Cambridge. They just got a Series A round [of venture funding] for $25 million. They’re working on compounds and Alzheimer’s. And then I’ll start to just kinda reach out to those people. You know, I may send an email, I may put a phone call in. Knowing—and ideally, belonging to—the broader “village” network is often necessary to

begin this work in the first place. Contract business development director Brent works for a

company based in the Midwest. One reason Brent believes he secured his role that manages the

Northeast territory is because he’s from the area. Even before getting to details of specific fit, he

mentioned that he believes that his company found it essential to hire someone local, which

Brent finds “smart” because “it’s a network. Everything is sort of, you need to get your foot in

the door and people are, they don’t trust anybody but they certainly don’t trust outsiders and the

more and more and more of an outsider you are, the less and less likely you’ll be accepted.”

Thus, being an “insider” enabled Brent to secure his role because he needs to demonstrate he’s

an insider while networking to obtain sales.

Then, gaining the knowledge to know whom to target itself involved social engagements

and networking. Business account managers frequently attend industry conferences and events,

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not only to directly meet new clients, but to gain a sense of current trends and business

happenings, as well as the type of marketing approaches that may work for potential clients in

the territory. Indeed, this is how I initially met Trevor, while we both attended a large industry

conference where he was trying to expand his knowledge of the Cambridge arrangements.

Account manager Shannon, whom I met at the same conference, similarly uses networking

events to both develop potential client relationships and to better understand industry processes

to inform her sales pitches.

Some perceive the importance of attending a rather overwhelming amount of industry

events in the hub to be even more central to their role than the rest of the workday. Business

project manager Emma finishes most of her formal work by around 6 p.m. on an average day.

Yet when she began in this role—having come from European companies—she realized that

“actually the work starts after that” when she attends networking events in the evening, which is

when she finds that “you actually speak about business.” Similarly, business account manager

Jay found the combination of understanding the industry and making connections in the tightly-

knit hub essential for business success, with the key requirements being “understanding the

industry, but also developing relationships and establishing contacts, and broadening your

contact base.” He further attributed his admired colleague’s success to the relationship building

aspect, in particular, describing her as “a real people person, she was all about going out there,

building relationships, and you know going to different social events that are industry related, not

just conferences, but like, cause right now she’s involved with this women in science program

and there’s different sponsored programs that are, you know, networking programs basically to

allow you to branch out in the industry itself, meet individuals.” Jay further attributed this to the

interconnected nature of the industry:

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The interesting thing about the pharmaceutical/biotech industry itself is that it’s actually not that big. […] What I’ve found is that, you know, a lot of people know other people and once you get out there and meet people, you’ll find that it’s very interconnected and intertwined and I think that’s really important, especially on the business side of things, where you’re looking to do business development. When you’re in sales [the key questions are]: what am I going for, who do I know there, or who do I know who knows someone there, and develop those relationships and leverage your contacts. And that’s been a key to success for a lot of people on the business end that have been mentors for me and have really exceled in their careers. The connections sought from such networking are not for fleeting one-off sales in which

the salesperson may benefit from using saccharine flattery or exaggerating product merits.

Rather, they require a more sophisticated practice of relationship development and management.

This is partly due to the purpose of the products and services and partly due to the nature of the

industry itself. Regarding the former, the extended drug development life cycle means that a

client may not need a product or service at the present time and may not for an indefinite period.

Additionally, even if a client currently needs a contract or supplier organization’s products or

services, a clinical trial failure could instantaneously upend their needs. Regarding the role of

industry for stronger relationships rather than quick sales, the tightly-clustered nature means that

a solid reputation is imperative. As CSO Keith put it: “We all know each other in the Cambridge

area. I mean, if you ever want to screw something up, do somebody bad and that news, that

reputation will travel very, very quickly.”

Establishing Partnerships: Expanding Business Opportunities Beyond directly seeking funding or securing sales, a number of business professionals are

primarily focused on goals or deals involving complex, strategic partnerships. These roles

include alliance management, business development related to licensing, external R&D business

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strategy, health economics, combined corporate and scientific affairs, quality control, and

regulatory affairs. Admittedly, even this diverse group of professionals has many distinct

ultimate business purposes. Despite their specific differences, they all commonly share external

business goals that necessitate strong relationship development and negotiation skills—highly

interactive processes. So even though these professionals generally engage more internally

relative to the more sales oriented business professionals, they still need to develop strong (and

often external networks) and individually oriented relationships (both internally and externally).

Despite having more internal interactions than some business people, they are still particularly

distinct from most scientists: the business professionals generally lack direct reports and need to

communicate to various people internally about what they are negotiating externally. As large

pharmaceutical external R&D strategist Mitch explained:

You’re most effective based on your network, so you have to spend a lot of time making sure your internal and external networks are as quote unquote healthy as they can be, which means spending time on the phone, email, and in person and that can be done interestingly from almost anywhere now, so being here is an important part of being part of this team, but being out there is an important part of getting, making sure I know what’s going on and we have the best, I guess, menu to select from of the things that are strategically interesting and out there and available.

Business executive Carl, who helps connect smaller start-up entrepreneurs with larger companies

incorporating an external R&D model, maintains a “continuous” and “very collegial”

relationship with companies across the industry. To establish those relationships, Carl explained

that, “Part of it is just having continual dialogue within the industry with all the companies and

all the stakeholders.” Like many others, Carl also attributed his ability to develop such external

relationships to the fact that “we’re here in this very rich cluster and it’s a very fertile area, so we

don’t have to go very far.” Though the industry cluster provides a perhaps necessary condition

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for having “a rich set of contacts…[to] call on”, it nonetheless requires persistent interactions,

which Carl has worked on for over twenty years:

It’s a case of that continual networking. I never viewed it as networking as much as having a personal interest in the industry and what people are doing, and establishing a personal relationship and then keeping it current.

These business professionals’ interactions and relationships developed across the industry

are individually oriented, as they are for the entrepreneurs and sales professionals. However, the

particular end goal is not always as clear as it is for entrepreneurs requesting investors’ funding

or sales professionals seeking new client accounts. Instead, these business development and

partnership roles often require the parties working together to develop or negotiate a solution.

While these professionals often have more internal team responsibilities than do entrepreneurs or

business development professionals focused primarily on sales, their primary responsibilities still

demand more individual relationships rather than holistic teamwork. Large pharmaceutical

alliance management director Shane explained of even the teams he worked with internally: “So

it’s the famous influencing without authority…sometimes you get it right and a lot of times you

screw it up.” That is, even when working internally, he needs to guide groups that are not his

core work team. Another large pharmaceutical business development director Jill similarly draws

on her social skills given that she’s “not the boss of any of them, you’re not the official manager

of any of them, but you need to influence them to get the deal done and that’s really the

transaction lead, that’s our role: influence people without having authority over them. And that’s

a huge thing that people need to be able to do to be successful in this role.”

While my interviews with HR professionals were partially for their broader perspective

on others’ jobs, their careers themselves are similarly situated as some other business

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professionals who needed to create relationships without direct authority. HR executive James

described the need to develop meaningful relationships in order to garner support for

organizational solutions (e.g., managing large layoffs after restructurings). While James admitted

that he had a “certain level of authority” in his previous role, if he wanted to assert it, he believed

that “using authority blindly is a silly thing,” and so it was just as important to still have various

organizational units, from finance to scientific teams, on board with his plans.

Career Development

Networking and relationships are not merely the stated party line of what business

professionals felt they should do to succeed. Detailed stories abound about the ways they had

integrated these practices into their careers and everyday work lives. CEO Darren had recently

hosted a dinner, to which he invited a few other successful biotech and pharmaceutical CEOs.

The explicit purpose of the meeting lacked an agenda—it was simply to generate conversation

among a few people together whom Darren believes are interesting, fun, and respected. Out of

that meeting, an idea to start a company emerged. They left the dinner with each having

strategized about the next set of connections that needed made in order to advance various

aspects of the proposed idea.

Business director Melissa manages strategic alliances for a large global pharmaceutical

company. Not only does this role itself require extensive external relationships, but Melissa has

also mentored many people, particularly women, throughout her career in large pharma (which

has included both scientific and business roles). She described how networking, rather than just

“work[ing] harder,” had led to job opportunities, reinforcing the relevance of such skills for

personal career development:

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A lot of times people say, just put your head [down] and work harder and things will come to you. But I think a lot of the world is about, people want to work with people they like and they trust, and if you never interact with people, they don’t know that about you, right. And I think I’ve also gotten a lot of good opportunities just because maybe my name pops into their head. You know, it wasn’t a lot of formal stuff. It wasn’t like, oh, this job was posted and I put my application in. It was more through informal conversations and people were thinking about roles. And a couple of my jobs, people asked me to write the job profile and then submit it. So funny enough, I fit the job profile [laughs]. So I think it’s a combination of things. I mean, I’ve worked really hard, but I would say the relationships and a lot of the people that I work with now, it’s a combination of, I consider them my friends and colleagues. You know, so we do some social things but not every weekend, right. I mean, people are very friendly and they chat and go out to lunch, or sometimes we’ll have a drink together or something like that. But I think it’s a combination. I think the group in general, everybody likes each other. I think it’s a little bit different coming onto the business side versus the science side in general.

Establishing Trust for the Long Haul: Engaging Personably and Developing Rapport

To create the deeper professional relationships culturally valued in these business roles,

business professionals emphasized the importance of developing rapport, being personable, and

interacting in a way that was neither strictly professional nor strictly social, but a balanced

combination of the two. The most striking dimension to these interpersonal skills described by

business professionals is their high level of ambiguity, characterized by both their high level of

nuance and the multitude of interpersonal styles perceived in successful others. Below, we first

turn to the main interpersonal qualities that business professionals emphasized, and then

elaborate on how these qualities lack clarity, which in turn shapes professionals’ feelings of

professional fit.

The ultimate goal in business is to achieve buy-in. Rather than seeking buy-in of ideas

like the scientists, business professionals seek buy-in often directly related to finances. In the

case of entrepreneurs, they seek buy-in on the company success, but in order to be given funding.

For sales, they seek buy-in directly of the products or services being promoted. In a range of

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these other business development and partnership roles, they seek buy-in of a particular deal

(generally requiring some sort of financial commitment from the other party).

The need for such buy-in within a small, tightly clustered industry, where reputation

remains sacred and relationship are ongoing means that business professionals expend great

effort to establish rapport with each other and garner their trust. Indeed, the need for some sort of

buy-in was often connected at some level to the interpersonal style used in developing

relationships. As Veronica explained [note in her case this was for internal buy-in, but not on her

team, rather across functions]:

You’re basically meeting with people and chatting with people with the idea of telling them about something so that you can get their buy in for it. And basically, the first thing you need to do is you need to establish relationships with people. Because the first time you meet with someone, you can’t be asking them for anything big. So you need to establish relationships with people, establish a rapport, establish credibility with people ‘cause they don’t know who you are, they don’t know why you’re here.

The particular need to convey such trustworthiness through interpersonal communication

style is heightened by the “chasm” between science and business discussed in Chapter 2.

Business professionals need to demonstrate their moral character because their profession is

perceived as culturally at odds with the sacred nature of science and patient health.

To ultimately achieve buy-in of one’s character and thus the business, professionals

engage sophisticated social skills to manage the ongoing nature of relationships common in the

industry as discussed above, to inform their overall work strategy, and to fit in among colleagues

(i.e., not only appeal to clients). In seeking to accomplish each of these goals, the dominant focus

is on conveying a trustworthy character. Whereas scientists develop strategies to garner trust in

the technical merits of their work, business professionals try to convince others that their

intentions, essentially their fundamental characters, are trustworthy. In this way, there is a moral

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underpinning to the valued cultural quality of trust in business. For this reason, there is less onus

on business professionals to display their knowledge, as there is in science. To be sure,

interviewees mentioned it and find it important, but it was not the gold standard. It certainly is

not a sufficient condition for conveying trust, particularly in an innovation industry, where smart

people are not hard to come by given a proliferation of Harvard and MIT PhDs. “But smart

people that have good social skills and you want to work with may be harder to come by,”

Melissa (and others) sensed.

Managing Ongoing Relationships

While the purpose of many of business interactions may be described as buy-in, the

nature of the industry requires ongoing and meaningful relationships, not merely short-term

negotiations for a direct sale. Such understanding leads to external networking and relationship

building being integrated into the fabric of professionals’ everyday work. This is the case for

executive Wendy, who runs a life sciences industry service providing company. Industry-wide

networking has been a fundamental activity in her career. Indeed, it is engrained way of

professional life for her at this point, a topic she brought up frequently throughout her interview,

going so far as to say, “It’s like my whole job now.” For about 25 years throughout her career,

she has had a personal rule that she must have lunch with someone else at least twice per week.

Wendy found this lunchtime strategy for building and maintaining relationships sustainable even

during the years when her children were young. She has since expanded her former twice-weekly

lunches to about ten weekly networking meetings over coffee.

But what Wendy emphasizes most about her external networking are her styles of

interaction and the particular types of relationships she builds. She prioritizes growing a network

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“naturally” and establishing meaningful rapport, not “exchang[ing] [business] cards and now

we’re LinkedIn connections,” which “doesn’t mean anything.” Rather, Wendy establishes

rapport with others by both learning something non-work related about them and providing

something useful to the other person, a “pay it forward” strategy that she finds “comes back a

thousand fold.” On her broader strategy for maintaining relationships using these skills, Wendy

elaborated:

One of the things I get asked the most is, ‘If you’re meeting, how do you stay in touch with all of the people you’ve ever met in the whole world?’ And you don’t. Now we’ve had a meaningful conversation [referring to my interview with her], if I called you in a year and said, ‘Christy, I need a favor,’ you’d probably do it, or you’d consider it at least if you could. So it’s having these meaningful face-to-face conversations.

Further, Wendy values the “art of conversation” for developing rapport with others. By this, she

means that you need to have a story that you’re willing to share with others. This is not the

prepared elevator pitch story succinctly highlighting your company’s assets. This is an ever-

changing story about what is happening more generally for you at the time. Wendy described

how she how she would go about engaging in this personable way, contrasting it with a common

pitfall she finds when instructing others:

I’ll say, ‘Hi, what’s your name?’ She’ll say, ‘Mary.’ ‘Mary, hi, I’m Wendy, how’s it going?’ Mary’ll say, ‘Fine.’ I’ll say, ‘How’s your day today?’ She’ll say, ‘Good.’ And then I’ll be like, ‘Okay, we’re done here.’ I said, ‘So now, ask me.’ And she’ll say, ‘How’s your day today?’ And I’ll say, ‘Today was pretty good. You know, my son’s getting married in May and so we’ve been really busy because the wedding’s coming and what was your wedding like? Are you married?’ You know, you don’t have to get personal, but in this country, you’ve got to be willing to give a little to have a conversation.

Beyond a general incorporation of external networking and developing rapport into

people’s regular practice, many professionals directly connected their relationship management

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style to their specific job functions. The extensive life cycle of drug development, along with the

tightly clustered industry network, requires the business development professionals focused

primarily on sales to establish longer-term relationships with potential clients. Sales

professionals generally give particular attention to avoiding sales stereotypes associated with

selling used cars. Explaining her relationship with clients, CRO Account Manager Shannon first

emphasized that, because her sales are generally not just one off transactions, she needs to give

effort to maintain her client relationships going forward. And, indeed, the ongoing nature of

relationships is due to the inherently uncertain nature of drug discovery and development.

Shannon finds that companies frequently change projects, leading to potentially new outsourced

needs. Account manager Trevor similarly attributed the nature of the relationships he tried to

establish to the particular structure of the industry, in which long-term relationships are needed.

He explained:

In my business, a lot of it is relationship management because clinical trials are very finite. You have a start point, you have a first patient in, you have first patient out. So I could call you and you could say, yeah Trevor, you know, it sounds awesome but we just started yesterday. Sorry. So it’s me calling up Christy and just explaining what, who we are, maybe going out for coffee, managing relationships, showing how we can be beneficial so that when something does come to the table and you do finally get approval from, you know, from your investors to go […] you say, you know what, there’s this guy Trevor at [his CRO]. I think we should try to talk to them.

Contract account manager Brian similarly described developing long-term relationships for sales.

He wants to “get to know the person,” so he’ll often take them for lunch, where they “don’t talk

about business” but rather, “talk about their family, talk about sports, talk about the news, talk

about the company a little bit.” While those are topics he’ll discuss with potential clients early

on, he gets to know people on a fairly personal level, to the extent that they came to him for

advice and he knows about clients’ specific personal interests. One was a history buff, so Brian

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would incorporate that into conversations. Knowing them on this level is specifically helpful to

extending the length of the relationship “because they know I’m not just a sales person. They

know I’m a real human being. I think those are the best relationships, where people don’t see me

as a rep or a sales person event though that’s technically what I am.” As when business

professionals explicitly used the term trust, here, too, Brian’s approach is about conveying a

fundamental self, “a real human being.”

The need for cultivating long-term relationships extends to the broader business track,

beyond those in distinctly sales roles. Large pharmaceutical strategy director Roger described the

set of conditions and intricate process for developing rapport and trust with potential partners.

While some may be focused on hard metrics and only do things that they think will directly

affect them (e.g., number of partnerships secured in a year), Roger believes, “You never know

when something’s going to be successful or not.” Therefore, he spends extra time calling and

meeting with various people and companies so that he “has a lot of hooks in the water.” He

focuses not only on “where we already have a bite,” but rather keeps various options open: “I’m

constantly on the lookout for new things.”

Roger goes about developing those varied relationships by getting to know people on a

personal level, which he believes is “so useful, no question about it.” As he works with many

people in Europe, he gives particular effort to meet in person when the opportunity arises. He

noted:

Any time any of them, even if they’re not in the same reporting structure as I am, if I hear that they’re over here, I suggest we go to dinner. And that’s really because there’s a couple hours of a dinner. You get to know people. They get to understand, maybe trust you, what have you, so when they see and hear something, they feed it to you.

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Likewise, when Roger travels to Europe, he is sure to “fill the calendar” with personal meetings

to build both internal and external relationships, adding: “And of course Boston is a fantastic

place for this because if companies are not in Boston, they will come to you, so you can meet

them face-to-face. Especially for the first interaction, that is so important.” Elaborating on why

such face-to-face interactions are important, Roger emphasized that it helps build trust, and by

establishing such trust, he finds that it will increase the other party’s likelihood of wanting to do

business going forward. Explaining the way it really works, Roger continued:

At the end of the day, it shouldn’t really matter that much, right, but it does because […] I think it’s a relationship and I think it’s mostly trust. And I’m trying to be reasonably open. If there’s something that doesn’t really fit with what we’re doing and what not, I mean, I ‘m not trying to drag them along thinking that there could be something at the end of the day, that this isn’t really something we’re interested in today, but we’d be happy to learn more and stay in contact and see if something develops in the future. So I think it’s the trust level really.

And even in VC, relations and specifically long-term relationships are perceived as

essential “for anyone who survives in venture,” investor Brad claimed. He continued by

explaining this is due to the multifaceted nature of his role:

It’s a relationship business. First, middle, and last. It’s about relationships. It’s about relationships with your companies. It’s about relationships with your entrepreneurs. It’s about relationships with your fellow venture capitalists. It’s about relationships among this close knit team you’re on. It’s about long term relationships, not just about having a great relationship…Everything we do is about relationships.

Informing Work Strategy

Scientists cultivate internal relationships often in order to gain substantive knowledge to

complete their work. Particularly early on, the social relationships that do form are often purely

out of enjoyment. Even the political organizational knowledge—such as whether projects are

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employees’ personal priorities or the organization’s formal ones—are relatively tacit in nature.

By contrast, business professionals often draw on the relationships they create in order to inform

their broader work strategy. They seek an understanding of how to work with someone in order

to achieve a particular end goal, whether that be a direct sale or a more complex agreement.

Indeed, part of figuring out how to work with others means figuring out the strategies that make

others trust them and therefore work well with them.

In part because of the business structure that didn’t explicitly demand teamwork in the

traditional sense, business professionals like Shane give directed effort to developing somewhat

more personal, individual relationships in order to make business processes run more smoothly.

In fact, Shane draws on his ability to develop richer relationships, often used externally, to also

create at least somewhat of a connection when internal circumstances necessitate them. For

example, because he works at a large pharmaceutical company, Shane sometimes enters due

diligence meetings with a potential third party partner organization and doesn’t know who in the

room is from his company and who is from the third party. Therefore, Shane pushes for a call

ahead of the meeting to create a connection. Describing how he quickly creates that connection,

he asks individuals:

‘What do you do? What group are you from? And give me something from there.’ I’ve been in groups and go, ‘You’ve gotta tell me one thing about yourself and it’s not work,’ just to kind of break the ice. Not to get caught up in doing it, but just to say, ‘Give me one thing.’ And I don’t care if it’s ‘I have two kids, I have no kids, I really don’t like kids, I like dogs, I have a dog.’ Something that brings a personal aspect in there, and it kind of builds on a relationship.

Regulatory affairs director Dale similarly sought to develop more personal rapport in order to

improve the working dynamics, not directly for knowledge to complete the work as in the case of

many scientists. Like Shane, he does not have direct line authority over anyone. Therefore, he

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uses opportunities afforded by the social events organized by the company or coordinated

informally (e.g., staying after work a couple times a month to go for drinks and social

conversation). Dale explains the reason this is helpful for his work life:

It gives you a context to work with someone so you’re not just focused on an issue where there may be a conflict or there may be people with different interests. So it provides you a way to know people and to let them get to know you and to understand where you’re coming from and for you to understand where they’re coming from, which is bigger and broader and hopefully a little bit more important than, ‘I need you to do x.’ ‘Well, I don’t have time to do x.’ You know, or ‘I did y—isn’t that good enough?’ So we have those conversations and if you have a good relationship with a person, it’s just an easier conversation to have.

Others also pointed to the work leeway that they believe developing rapport and engaging

socially affords. Lori, a science PhD turned finance professional, personally values having a

close-knit culture, even baking cakes for colleagues’ birthdays. But she also finds it strategically

advantageous to develop this type of camaraderie: “It’s also so that when we have issues or

contentions or whatever, that we know each other better.” She added that such advantage is

gained by “having shared experiences and appreciation and understanding of who we are as

individuals beyond like just the work piece.” Investor Patricia agrees, specifically using humor:

I find that humor is the best because people can get to trust you faster. It makes the times when you do have an argument easier because they know that you aren’t doing it or saying it because you just like to be contrarian and you like to pick a fight, you’re doing it because it actually is a big issue. I don’t just always like to say know, I’m saying no because of this, that, and the other thing. And it gives people more of a trust that this is important and that’s why I’m serious now.

Early career finance associate Kendra similarly attends company events, even though

they’re not formally required, because such interactions with colleagues enable her to “to get to

know each other on a personal level outside of work so that when you go to work with them on a

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team and you know how they communicate, soften them, or not even, but just like get to know

them and hang out and talk for a bit and then talk about the real serious stuff which is like a deal

or when something goes bad you know that you can trust them and they can trust you.”

For the Sake of Fitting In

VC roles are particularly externally oriented and so it isn’tt about working with a team

internally to produce work. Whereas the scientists need to develop internal relationships for

building knowledge itself, business development and financial professionals need relationships

sometimes because it is the cultural milieu of an organization where people work very long hours

(even if not together) and have the financial means to engage in upper middle class dining or

travel experiences (e.g., see also Rivera 2015, Turco 2010). Indeed, Maria, who has achieved

high levels of success not only in both science and business, but even within business across both

the a range of particular functions (e.g., VC, startup CEO) emphasized that there are “huge

differences” in the types of interactions she has had across her various position, characterizing

the highly team-oriented nature of the scientific roles (where she held very senior positions).

Because Maria had veered in and out of the scientific and financial worlds, she had a new

perspective when she returned to a scientific role after a stint in VC. Having found the intense,

goal-oriented nature of VC to fit better with her personal preferences, she then found herself

“almost restless and impatient with people” back in a mid size biopharmaceutical company

where her thoughts were “Okay, okay, we’ve agreed already. How much longer can we talk

about it? We’re wasting time at this point.”

Indeed, beyond the team oriented nature of personal interaction being a personal

annoyance, it is an area she had to give active effort to develop in order to continue to be

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successful in science, particularly in senior roles where she was managing others. “So people

who need a lot of team interaction and that’s why they thrive on and their energy comes from

that water cooler talk on Monday morning about how was your weekend, you’re not gonna be

happy there. I was one of those people that, I had to learn, managing groups that I need to take

the time to ask how was your weekend even though, I couldn’t even remember my own

weekend, by Monday morning I’m so plugged in. I’m just one of those focused people and I

would never feel the need to be asked […] So I actually had to learn that, so for me the culture

was very comfortable on the VC side. Minimal, just communicate when you need to. The

conversations go on but they’re very to the point. They’re friendly but it’s very to the point. It’s

not a lot of fluff, it’s not a lot of any of that stuff.” And while there isn’t “a lot of fluff,” having

rapport with others is still the valued quality, as evidenced by the highly personable nature of

successful business professionals whom Maria described—it is simply not about interpersonal

team dynamics as in science.

A PhD scientist by training, Patricia has successfully navigated the world of VC within

the life sciences industry, after having enjoyed and developed the required business strategy in

business development in the interim. The substance and overall social interpersonal style in

venture capital fits well with Patricia’s naturally humorous personality—which came through

even in our interview over a long lunch Catalyst. Patricia’s relationship with her colleagues goes

beyond the friendly niceties typically associated with coffee break room chatter. They can give

each other a hard time and not take it personally. Indeed, this is part of what has developed (and

signals) their closeness. She believes it’s important to have a combination of both serious,

business conversations and more social interactions. Patricia explained:

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You spend way too much time with them. You don’t have to be best friends, you don’t have to do stuff on weekends together, but we like to be around each other. We really do enjoy each other’s company in a social aspect. It makes it more, there’s more camaraderie and then there’s less sense of, well if I say this truthfully, I’m gonna hurt your feelings, cause we’ve all had drinks together, right, so we’ve all kinda gotten over that and we can be a little bit, feel like we can be honest and nobody’s feelings are really going to be hurt.

Senior investment banker Anna similarly described a need to be sociable because “we work three

shifts, we just never change the crew.” Given the extensive work hours, where the “junior guys

have two hours to sleep, unless they have something to do between 3 a.m. and 5 a.m.,” Anna

finds humor essential. In this masculine environment, that means jokes that “might not be totally

appropriate from the whole, you know, HR policy.” Detailing one way they connect, Anna

explained that they had been working with two companies on an IPO (initial public offering)

process. Because there were some overlaps between the two, they needed to delegate tasks and

figure out which bankers went to which sessions. One of the male junior bankers found the

female CEO of one of these companies very attractive, “so we’re making fun of him that, of

course, which session do you think you’re going to want to go to. That one, because you want to

be making google eyes at the CEO, so that kind of fun little interaction.”

There is an important dimension to this category of “fitting in,” and it is not only about

engaging socially due to finance cultural expectations, as described above. Importantly, because

establishing trusting relationships and developing rapport are considered essential business

qualities, there is high emphasis placed on helping others, particularly for the most successful

senior professionals in the industry. Describing a serial CEO of biotech startups who is also an

active investor in the industry, Eric explains that while he perceives this CEO as “incredibly

bright,” he believes that a key component of what has made him successful is that he additionally

“is incredibly generous with his time. He’s incredibly personable, incredibly friendly, he will tell

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you what he means, but he will—diplomatic probably isn’t necessarily the right word because it

sounds like it’s contrived—but, you know, even if he has something to say that might lead you to

reconsider something, it’s always offered in a constructive way. I’ve never heard him bash

anybody. He’s outstandingly nice, but he’s not a doormat. I mean, this guy knows how to get

things done.” Emphasizing that this person’s success is about his interpersonal skills rather than

directly self-presentation style, Eric continues, “He’s the sort of person that’s magnetic and it’s

not because of his personal charisma. He has that, I mean he is definitely affable, he speaks well,

but that’s not the most outstanding thing about him. I really do think he is—he feels—incredibly

generous to the people whom he comes in contact with. And it’s genuine, it’s not contrived. It’s

not an act. Like, I just think that’s who he is. But at the same point in time, he has a picture of the

world in his head and he is an execution guy, he knows how to get things done.”

Conveying Trustworthiness of Character

Whether developing the long-term relationships, informing their work strategy, fitting in

socially, or advancing their careers, business professionals feel immense pressure to convey a

trustworthy character. The sections above began to show how demonstrating a worthy character

is woven into their strategies for developing rapport. They recognize the broader perception (and

reality) that their ultimate goal is to make money. And as we saw in Chapter 2, this purpose

seems to many as being at odds with the social-mission focus of scientists and the industry at

large—to help patients. Here, we home in directly on the need to convey trustworthiness.

Investor Adam ranked “trustworthiness” as the number one valued quality that he tries to

convey. Given that developing rapport is a strategy we’ve seen is used for conveying trust, it’s

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unsurprising that Adam also ranked ability to work with others as the second most valued

quality. He explained:

In the world of building businesses, you have to convey that people should believe you’re going to look out for them. People are going to believe that you’re in it to do what’s right for them and you, not just you, and you know if there’s one thing that’s frustrating about the investment world, there’s kind of a broad spectrum of motivation. Some people are ruthless about making money. They don’t care who they step on or how they make the money, as long as they make the money. And other people are nice to a fault even if they don’t make money. They just want to be respected and quote unquote liked. Our business is not to be liked; our business is to make money and that’s the problem.

Adam’s understanding of these motives means that he focuses on ways to overcome such

perceptions and convey trustworthiness. While the particular strategy he takes depends on the

party involved, he is particularly sensitive to dealing with first time entrepreneurs:

So if you’re dealing with a new inventor at a university and you’re trying to license their technology, their baby, something they’ve worked on for twenty years, demonstrating interest and responsibility and, you know, consideration and sensitivity when you’re talking to them about their technology is huge. Demonstrating that you’re interested in all the possible avenues for this baby to basically grow up and be the next great thing involves, you know, taking the time to learn about it before you show up to the meeting, understanding you know what makes this guy tick before asking your next question, being inquisitive, having, you know, a level of deference and respect for what this person’s accomplished, even if you don’t end up investing in it.

Without my probing, many other business professionals explained that building rapport

by engaging in a relatively personal or social manner and showing humility or deference are

necessary for building trust. Regarding the latter, business professionals in both large

pharmaceutical (e.g., business development roles) and biotechnology start-ups (e.g.,

entrepreneurs) alike try to further increase trust and perceptions of good intentions (given the

moral dimension to trust which is important for business professionals) in their relationships by

showing deference. For example, when Shane is negotiating an agreement with a third party, he

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may check with his internal legal team even on items about which he knows they will not be

concerned. If he were to accept the proposed changes himself, it may raise a red flag that he did

not check with legal on other items. Therefore, he uses this opportunity to further advance a

trusting relationship with them.

Entrepreneurs similarly find it important to demonstrate deference to investors, given that

these investors will be taking large bets on uncertain opportunities. Entrepreneurs work to

establish rapport with investors and, when applicable, their board of directors. They try to

convey a genuine and trustworthy impression to receive buy-in by both creating a personal

connection and demonstrating some level of deference, to signal their trainability. Start-up CEO

Dan explained that he tries to accomplish this by listening and validating investors concerns:

So if somebody says something to you, often we’ll somewhat disingenuously say, ‘Oh, great idea. Yeah, we hadn’t thought of that.’ And, you know, especially at a first time meeting, you don’t want to shoot somebody’s idea down right away. They’ll get the wrong impression of you…You want to spend as much time with people as you can. And just say, ‘Wow, you seem really interested in this, you know, can I come meet you for lunch and we’ll talk through your thoughts and ideas? We’d love to have your help.’ I mean, people get quite flattered when you say, ‘Oh, you seem like an expert; I’d love to learn from you. Can I just have fifteen minutes of your time?’ Rarely do people say ‘no’ when they, when you reach out to them and say, ‘Oh, you’re great at this and I’d love to just be in your presence for a little bit of time.’

Business development director Jill frequently works with both internal and external

business professionals and scientists. She highlighted the need to demonstrate a shared purpose

among those with whom she is working. This requires establishing trust. But it is not only trust

of, say, a specific experiment, as in the case of scientists. It is garnering trust that she, as the

business professional, is doing something that is not only in the business interest, but also

aligned with the core scientific values and interests. In essence, she needs to demonstrate that she

possesses the characteristic of trustworthiness. Jill contends:

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Communication skills are needed to gain the trust of people, be able to work through these problems, search and evaluation side, you need to work with the scientists to convince them why this opportunity should be seriously considered. You have to be the peer on the science side. You have to be to communicate to them data and if this works the potential what this could mean for the pathway or whatever it may be depending on the technology, where the innovation is, and be able to convince all the stakeholders that this makes sense from a scientific perspective. So you need to be able to communicate and have the social skills needed.

Trustworthiness is not something at once established. It is a quality continually valued

and sought out throughout one’s career, even among those in the most successful and senior of

positions. Highly regarded operating executive Carol believes that good leaders are able to

“interact with the janitor as well as [they] interact with the board. You want to show people

respect. Can I tell you that every successful person is that way? No. But the people that I respect

are. To connect, people talk about leadership as all these qualities, but the bottom line is, leaders

have followers. you won’t follow somebody that’s going to treat you disrespectfully, right.”

Many like Carl who are in somewhat of a hybrid role on business side of the industry

(i.e., distinctly not on the science track, but not in a core business development or sales role)

incorporate the same interpersonal logics as those in distinctly business roles. HR executive Carl

emphasized that in HR it is best to not depend on “the power of bureaucracy” as this is not truly

power. Rather, he found that employees had trusted him in times of crisis because of the trust he

had developed in earlier interactions. He attributed the surprisingly minimal additional turnover

following a large employee cut to such trust.

Indeed, conveying a seemingly genuine, trustworthy character is so pervasive that it is

quickly apparent when, on the very rare occasion, business people’s words or behaviors

contradicted these expectations. They may inherently be no more or less trustworthy than those

who engage sophisticated strategies to appear as such. Nevertheless, they expressed much more

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direct methods of achieving their ultimate business goal. Lawyer entrepreneur Gordon, for

example, takes a very straightforward, calculated approach to networking. Rather than further

developing relationships with people who may indirectly gain business for him (e.g., by

spreading word about his business), he quickly makes one-off assessments when attending

networking events. In the first place, he privileges a high number of events over developing

deeper connections. Over breakfast at a Boston diner a few blocks from his office, Gordon

explained that he tries to find industry events to attend each week. Describing how he evaluates

which ones he’ll attend, Gordon said he will ask himself, “Is this meeting going to attract, first, is

it going to attract a decent crowd, and I regard a decent crowd as sixty, seventy, eighty people. I

much prefer that to a meeting of ten or fifteen. And then will it attract people who might fit a

client profile for me?” In fact, that I was interviewing Gordon in the first place was frankly

surprising, given that he had used a similarly direct approach when I initially met —immediately

asking what I and others I had been speaking with in a small group did for work and pitching his

services.

In another case, contract sales professional Sheila refused to discuss several issues during

her interview, not because she was unwilling to take the time to participate, but because she

“fel[t] uncomfortable talking to [me] about how [she] gain[s] clients.” Whereas most business

professionals, especially those in sales, discussed a highly nuanced, definitively non-tacit,

process, Sheila believes she has a unique technique that she was unwilling to share and that

competitor companies could use if I were to publish it. At the same time, the characterizations

she did provide emphasized “luck, skill, will, and tenacity,” and frequent contact with potential

clients rather than relationship building: “you have to keep calling people, you have to be

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lucky…you can’t give up, you have to have a positive attitude, you have to keep making phone

calls.”

These examples immediately struck me, even in the very moments of the interviews,

because I had become so accustomed to the pervasive personable, confident yet casual,

demeanor from industry events and interviews. They seem peculiar not because they are

inherently odd human behavior, but rather because the complex, trust-building relationship style

is so engrained and normalized. Indeed, absent the broader open and engaging context, we might

even expect that someone would not want to freely share their success strategies. Yet while the

industry’s innovative technologies may be held as trade secret, this is not overall a context in

which rather closed and secretive approaches are held in high esteem—it is an industry and

profession of relationships.

High Ambiguity: Competing Expectations and Nuanced Styles It is not simply the case that social skills are more valued in business than in science.

Indeed, as detailed in Chapter 2, that is the lay stereotype that pervades even the industry itself

and, alone, is not particularly surprising. Yet as we saw in Chapter 3, scientists frequently

interact with colleagues and seek to develop internal organizational networks to advance their

goals. To be sure, the importance of interpersonal skills was markedly greater among business

professionals than among scientists and the valued interpersonal styles perceived as effective for

each professional track substantively differed in the ways discussed above. However, it is

primarily the difference in ambiguity of valued interpersonal styles between the professions that

explains the range of professional experiences and outcomes explored here.

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The particular valued interpersonal qualities in business were described in ways that are

both inherently high nuanced and that suggest less certainty about the particular ways that are

most valued. That is, some individual qualities, such as developing rapport with industry

contacts, requires a combination of professional formality blended with more personal

discussions (e.g., about family). The valued relationship-building quality itself demands qualities

shown by social psychologists to be at times perceived as competing with each other—such as

warmth and competency. Thus, business professionals feel challenged or even taxed by the need

to strike a balance between demonstrating competence, credibility, and likeability. These

expectations lead to particularly challenging circumstances for women, who further are

concerned about how they convey likeability itself so as not to have it be confused with

inappropriate flirtation. Yet this concern often results in missed social opportunities that are

otherwise described as fundamentally important to business success. Additionally, there is an

overall lack of certainty about which particular qualities are, in fact, most valued in business.

When asked to describe successful others in comparable roles, business professionals frequently

characterized similarly successful people as having different interpersonal styles, further

emphasizing the need to balance a range of characteristics. Some people have gregarious

personalities and are perceived as exceptionally generous and genuine; others are intense and are

perceived as having figured out a way to succeed, ignoring the need to work well with others.

Multiple Expectations from a Diverse-Range of Audiences

One reason for the lack of clarity regarding interpersonal skills on the business side is

that those on the business track are often aware that different people require different styles of

interaction in order to build relationships. Some fit particularly well with this ever-changing

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approach and even enjoy doing so, but nonetheless find that it requires a considerably adaptive

ability in interpersonal style and an ability to tailor their relationship style to fit various

individuals. Even among just the external network relationships, there is often a diverse range of

actors. Below I show how various types of business professionals find themselves needing to

frequently alter their approach to interactions and relationships.

For entrepreneurs, having a diverse audience requires being able to communicate in a

way that is understood by and convincing to academic scientists, venture capitalists, and senior

scientific and business professionals (particularly those on the company’s board of directors)

alike. As the present and previous chapters have shown, however, professionals across these

fields vary in their own personalities and in their perceptions of the other professional track.

Thus, a highly tailored approach to relationship building and management is required.

The sales process similarly requires a highly tailored approach, given the diverse range of

people within a potential client company with whom a business development/sales professional

may need to interact or convince. Indeed, that highly client-specific interpersonal approaches are

required influences which sales people are assigned to which territories.

Diana, who feels a high level of interpersonal fit with her sales job at a CRO, believes it’s

necessary to develop rapport with clients to help establish trust, which in turn increases the

likelihood of considering her company’s services. Diana had first shown the way that she draws

on her strong social skills to develop a working relationship with potential clients:

Part of it is really trying to find an internal champion…within an organization and develop a relationship there, conduct some training, conduct multiple interactions, having conversations both professionally and kind of like, getting to know the person personally I think. People really respond to that well. I know I do, you know, if somebody happens to remember, oh so how was your trip? You know, something to talk about on a personal basis versus just business. You know, but keep it professional, you know it’s kind of the

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perception and what you’re reading off of people, what is their comfort level, what is targeting.

Yet despite her relationship-building abilities, her particular challenge in tailoring relates to

having a diverse clientele population, including the business and science “chasm” described

earlier.

One of the challenges can be for me is sometimes talking to folks on the R&D side. It’s the stereotype. People with their PhDs, you know you’re working on that, but often scientists with their PhDs quite frankly don’t necessarily have the social skills and comfort level that you’re presenting to me at this very moment and trying to find, where is that common thread? How can I relate to you? What’s gonna make you feel comfortable as an individual that I show to you that I understand what your role is, what you might be seeking or I’m asking you those questions.

Emphasizing the pervasive nature of dealing with this range of personalities, split along

occupational lines, Diana added, “I’m sure you’re experiencing this as you’re interviewing.”

Beyond the frequently mentioned science-business cultural divide, business

professionals’ roles often require interacting with a more diverse range people in general,

inevitably leading to a range of personalities to manage and for which many tailored their own

approach in order to succeed at achieving their work objectives. Strategy consultant Gary

emphasized that he gives considerable thought to “understanding what drives the people on the

other side of the conversation.” While he uses this understanding to tailor his framing of

information (an issue discussed in further detail in Chapter 6 on presentation style in business),

Gary believes that developing rapport with others often matters more than what he comes up

with during his analytical process when “you sit by yourself or talk with other people, and

[think], ‘They should like this, this is something they should be willing to get behind.’” Instead,

“it varies because there are some people who you’re gonna be dealing with who you can

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establish a personal enough relationship with so that you really can do ‘what ifs.’” And Gary

finds that there is a high level of variation simply in personalities with which he deals that

influence with whom he can develop such rapport to then gain interest in his recommendations.

When I probed on who these people are, Gary explained: “We’re talking about personalities

more than anything else. And one of the things that you discover is that bureaucracies and

congressional offices and administrative offices are filled with every kind, every kind of person

who’s driven and motivated by every kind of incentive.” Such variation means that Gary gives

marked effort to tailor his interpersonal style, approaching some with “subservience” and with

others, who listen and entertain contrarian opinions, being “aggressive.”

Nuanced Qualities to Convey Trust

Developing rapport across audiences generally involves a combination of conveying both

likeability and credibility. A large body of research in social psychology addresses stereotypes

associated with being perceived as having various combinations of warm and competence (e.g.,

Fiske et al. 2002). Women, in particular, often confront the “double-bind” of being perceived as

high on one dimension and necessarily low on the other. For business professionals, I find that

they are seeking to balance likeability and credibility rather than competence, specifically. While

the next chapter on presentation styles explores the meaningful differences between these

qualities, here is important to note simply that those in business roles are seeking to demonstrate

a range of oftentimes competing qualities.

Sarah is an early career business development professional. Still in her mid-20s, she came

across as highly serious about her work when I first met her at a venture pitch and networking

event, where she was seeking potential clients. While she agreed to speak with me further during

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our initial meeting, she asked me to wait to contact her for a couple weeks, as she would be

preparing for and attending the annual J.P. Morgan Healthcare Conference, a highly regarded

industry event that brings together investors, early stage companies, and established industry

leaders alike. My initial impression of her as both friendly yet focused was precisely what she

told me she hopes to convey to potential clients:

For being likeable, make it a little bit lighter. Part of it is just mirroring. If they’re pretty intense, sometimes the environment does seem a little more intense and I let it be that way. I’ll throw in a little bit here and there and see if they’re receptive to it. Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t, and just kind of go with it that way.

By “throw in a little bit,” Sarah means that she will make a joke or add a short non-work related

comment about the weather. She then navigates the conversation based on their response:

Sometimes somebody will take it and like do a little follow-up and you can kind of tell from there what kind of person they are and what would be more comfortable for them moving forward. And I think just kind of sensing that and guiding it in that direction, making sure the other person is comfortable. In terms of likability, that’s really what it’s about.

In Sarah’s particular role, knowing the science isn’t imperative. While Sarah has a technical

undergraduate degree, some professionals in her role have only a finance background. Yet she

interacts with people internally to learn more so that she can then show potential clients in her

external interactions that she has that knowledge because “you’re trying to size everybody up.”

Therefore, “just building credibility if you understand what they’re talking about and you show

that you know where they’re coming from and you understand what they’re doing, it definitely

puts a lot more credibility in your hands and the approaches that you’re taking.”

Elaborating on the credibility aspect, alliance manager Shane explained that, despite all

of his emphasis on the personal connection, the other party ultimately often accepts his position

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because they know he has credibility. While Shane and others incorporate several strategies—

some of which are discussed in Chapter 6 on presentation style in business—interpersonal

dynamics are among the most important. To garner trust, Shane believes that he needs others to

know that he listens to their feedback and genuinely considers it, and has not just “gone rogue

and done something.” Therefore, early on in a professional relationship, Shane errs on the side of

over communicating, explaining what he is doing, the reason behind it, and asking if the other

party prefers it to be done differently. “That overcommunication will build the trust and

credibility. And I think also going in humble, saying this is your area and you know the answer,

but you still need the blessing from whether it be legal or finance but you don’t want to feel like

you’re treading on their turf. So people feel like they’re still being valued.”

When I asked Maria about successful others, she gave considerable thought to the

question because she thinks there are a lot of different qualities in different people (a theme

further discussed below). She finally settled on describing one person that especially came to

mind because this woman has been “relevant” at all stages of her career (i.e., across occupations

and organizations). The elaborate set of interpersonal qualities that Maria believes made this

business professional successful are many and nuanced. Maria admires this professional’s

“wisdom, insight, the passion, the drive,” finding her to be someone with a “high level of

competence” and also a “very friendly and warm personality, personable but at the same time not

chitty-chatty, but personable, but staying on topic, understanding technically the business but

also clearly seeing the business side of things and you could tell from her comments, it was sort

of the versatility of her ability to think.” When I asked Maria what she meant by ‘personable but

not chatty,’ she added even more layers of nuance to this woman’s interpersonal style, gender-

related and otherwise: “Well, she was personable but not cutesy personable, not bubbly

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personable or having to go on these girly tangents or whatever. She was clearly very comfortable

being a senior woman…She did it in a way that was professional, warm, but at the same time

very firm.” And together, all of these qualities demonstrated an “extrem[e] authentic[ity], which

Maria believes is “very important” and similar to the trustworthiness described by other

respondents. Conveying that she had a fundamentally good character enabled the successful

professional to “deliver bad news or things you may not want to hear, but they’re important for

you to know as part of what you’re asking her to evaluate.” Indeed, Maria recognized the

overwhelming list of competing qualities, summarizing, “So the way that whole thing got

packaged—I was in awe of her.”

In addition to trying to convey the competing qualities of likeability and credibility,

business professionals also try to manage the boundaries of personal and professional

conversation. They need to engage both sides and each neither too much nor too little. In fact,

this ability to combine the personal and professional in just the right proportions was often

exactly what professionals defined the “personable” quality. Business development professional

Ron explained that this balance of personal and professional means that successful others, such

as the particular business person he was referencing, would engage in conversations such as the

following:

When you meet somebody, you’re not only talking about business but you’re asking them a little bit about their personal life. So, are they married, do they have any kids? And you’re not doing that just to, just ‘cause you don’t care, you’re doing it ‘cause you do care. So, do you have a wife? Are you married? Do you have any kids? How old are they? So I think there’s always some element, and I try to put that into the equation to some extent, too, that you want to try to get to know somebody personally and socially. Not fully socially, but a little bit because, you know, to develop a relationship, it’s not only a professional relationship, but it kind of goes into a little bit of a personal side too.

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Ron’s description of combining the personal and professional shows the delicate balance it

requires—engaging in particular ways “not fully” but “a little bit.” These are not just

hypothetically difficult boundaries to manage. As we will see below in discussing challenges for

women, some people cross the acceptable boundaries unintentionally.

Others suggested it is important to be simultaneously extroverted and introverted.

Business development professional and investor Alan explained this most explicitly.

Professionals in business development roles, he noted, come from a variety of backgrounds—as

also evidenced by the BD professionals interviewed—including sales, marketing, finance, R&D,

and legal. Despite these various backgrounds, successful BD professionals need to “straddle

those worlds” of business and science, which Alan characterized as being fundamentally distinct:

“So sales people are all extroverts, they lack attention to detail, they’re not as analytical, but

they’re really good, high energy, high stature kind of people. Research scientists are very

analytical, with attention to detail, but a lot of types they get stuck in the paralysis of analysis.

They’re not biased to action types, they’re introverts.” In light of these opposite qualities that

Alan perceives for each professional group, he concludes, “So what you need is both the

extroversion and the introversion.”

And still others draw on a balanced mixture of a multitude of characteristics. For

example, business professional Cheryl has found that many people in the industry in general and

those with whom she works more directly trust her. Some of these people are ones whom Cheryl

admits that she herself does not trust, but they nonetheless feel they can confide their secrets in

her. She believes what enables this is just being her true self, which she characterizes as a highly

nuanced combination of interpersonal qualities: “non judgmental, probing but not nosey, curious

and interested and engaged but not to the point of [excess].”

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Conflicting Models of Success Finally, beyond needing to cater to multiple audiences and engage a combination of

nuanced styles, business professionals find conflicting interpersonal models of success. Business

interviewees frequently described successful examples that highlighted conflicting qualities for

the best way to engage interpersonally. Some of the examples juxtaposed the qualities that

certain demographic groups should or should not convey (e.g., more junior versus senior

professionals, men versus women), yet others were attributed simply to individual variation,

further complicating respondents’ understanding of which qualities were required for successful

outcomes.

As a young start-up entrepreneur, Ethan has experienced challenges in looking to other

models of professional success, as he is uncertain whether those interpersonal qualities would

work the same for him. Earlier, for example, we saw how entrepreneur Dan employed a

deference strategy to build trust with potential investors. Ethan characterized one of his industry

role models in a similar way, but added that he believes “that’s probably something, again, that

he can do because of his status. Like if I did that, it wouldn’t work so well because people would

just be like, ‘Alright, this person doesn’t know what they’re talking about. But with him it’s like

clearly he knows what he’s talking about, he’s just phrasing it that way so the rest of us don’t

feel stupid. I think those are the things that add to the charm.” However, note that these divides

are not so clear-cut such that senior professionals hold an advantage in this regard, as senior

professionals similarly feel pressures of competing expectations (e.g., need to convey

youthfulness in an innovation industry). Thus, the common denominator relates not to age, but

rather to a diverse-range of interpersonal quality expectations.

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Others find the conflicting models of success are similarly situated people who take

different interpersonal approaches. While the section above showed that, overall, the emphasis is

on striking a balance in interpersonal style, there are cases where people perceive others as being

in one category or the other. This further adds to the range, but lack of clarity, in valued

interpersonal characteristics. Investor Patricia, for example, contrasted two highly successful

investors, characterizing one as “incredibly reserved, very quiet, almost introverted, definitely

shy…not a gregarious person,” and the other as “the complete and utter opposite…louder,

gregarious, you know what’s going on in [his] life every moment of the day. He gets bored in the

office and he’ll come out and be like, ‘Yeah, I’m procrastinating, what do you got goin’ on over

there?…He gets on the phone—he’s not a person who can sit on the phone, he’s got the

Bluetooth—and he wonders around the office or he’ll go into the conference room and you’ll see

him just circling the table.”

That such competing models of success add to the lack of clarity—rather than merely

provided a range of potential models—is evidenced by respondents’ reflections on these models.

For example, Patricia finds that the differences she described suggest that “it doesn’t matter how

you get there, but at some point you do have to be willing to let people in a little bit. You have

to, I think, to be successful, you have to be a personality that people want to be around. There

aren’t too many roles where you can just sit in your office by yourself, at least in this field

[referring to venture capital and business development].” That is, though it “doesn’t matter how

you get there,” there is also a lack of clarity about how to successfully accomplish it. And that

most people described professional “disasters” as people who are technically skilled but who

have flawed social skills means that, indeed, you can mess it up. In short, multiple ways to “get

there,” does not mean any way.

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But Nonetheless, Strong Fit: Interpersonal Belonging in Business

Relative to the science track, there are less extreme feelings of interpersonal fit among

business professionals. That is, whereas scientists experience distinct fit or lack of fit, business

professionals are more likely to feel reasonable fit across the board. For the most part,

professionals experience rather high levels of interpersonal fit, as many have moved into such

roles, despite having science backgrounds, for this reason. The seemingly greater range of

acceptable or valued interpersonal qualities among business professionals prevents them from

feeling that they categorically do not fit, even though many face challenges in navigating the

interpersonal dynamics described in the ways described above.

When I met with Ron, the engineer turned business development VP introduced in

Chapter 2, at his medical device company, he spent over an hour before our interview providing

a thorough and welcoming tour around their facilities. Seemingly a natural salesman, Ron

offered me coffee as we walked through the small showcase rooms with patented devices and

medical packaging, wet and dry labs, office and cubical sections, and large equipment stations

with 3D printers. His personable, yet neither pushy nor exaggerated, nature allowed for open

dialogue, as I asked him about the company’s structure and products. He seamlessly incorporated

tidbits of the company’s merits (e.g., IP rights provided to clients) into both casual conversation

and technical descriptions. Despite knowing my purpose in speaking with him, and that there

was no possibility of my being a client, the tour was similar to one he would give when

introducing prospective clients, as he made explicit references to what he would highlight for

clients (e.g., services unique to the company).

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Ron’s nuanced blend of technical authority (itself calibrated to just the right level, given

my outsider perspective) with casual, charismatic charm was not typical of the other engineers

whom he had worked beside before pursuing a business role. By his own admission, he lacked

the interpersonal cultural fit in his R&D engineering roles, explaining, “So I tend to be a little bit

different than most engineers, where most of them tend to be introverts, I tend to be more social

and more personal.” Yet he had stayed on the technical track for over 25 years due to his strong

technical fit. The opportunity for Ron to pursue a better social fit came after reflecting on his

various job shifts. With restructurings common in the life sciences industry, Ron had faced both

lay offs and active resignations in response to them. After each of these events when Ron

temporarily did not have a job, he “went back out and networked to find a job and used my

personal skills to go out and talk to people, meet people, say ‘hello’ to people like you and I did

[at a networking session following a venture pitch event I attended], right, and say ‘I’m Ron

Murphy, this is what I do.’” Beyond helping him secure a job, he began questioning why he

wasn’t drawing on these networking skills at which he excelled in his job itself, elaborating:

So it’s kind of funny that my networking skills that I’ve developed in finding a job kind of said to me when I was in my last job, ‘Hey, you know, maybe it’s time to try something new.’ And I said, you know, I see a lot of people who would call on me as sales people selling different services and different parts and things that we do. I said, ‘I can do that role.’ So when I started looking for my last job, I said, you know, let me go off and kinda see and see maybe I can transition into a business development role and try something different.

The interpersonal skill that fits well for Ron is not only his ability to network broadly within the

industry. Ron further gravitates toward the balanced interactional style that he enacted during

this networking, a style commonly championed by business professionals. His own interpersonal

approach is one that he says he likes when he sees it in others: “A guy that I like would show me

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what he did, and you know, he would be kind of not too aggressive but not too laid back. He’d

show me what their firm would do. We’d explain it and we’d kind of connect on a personal side

or on a social side or kind of maybe more of a professional side I should say.” An example of

that kind of connection for Ron is “Someone who you like from a personality point of view.

They’re a nice person. They talk well, they’re respectful to you, they’re not too cocky, you know

what I mean, they seem like a good person.”

Further evidence that interpersonal nuance came from some who found the particular

type of nuance in business to fit better than the nuance they perceived in science. While overall I

found overwhelming evidence of greater interpersonal nuance in business, I also spoke with

some participants who find the more bureaucratic or political requirements for scientists in large

companies (relative to business in the same companies) less fitting with their personal

relationship management style. Large pharmaceutical alliance manager Melissa had moved

through large pharma by way of R&D roles. Explaining some of the complexities in science, she

said:

We always love to say everything’s based on the science and I felt like getting into a leadership position, that was not really the case. We like to say that, but there’s so many politics that go, and people talk to people. And kind of ideas that get said about a project that may or may not be true that kind of stick with people that make decisions about your project. It’s pretty amazing. So for me, I was kind of like, being on that side and seeing that happen over and over again, I was like, I just want to do something that brings value to the company and not be caught in all these kinds of politics and tangled decision making. Cause you can work on a project for years, come up with a decision committee where misinformation is said and a decision is made that’s it. And you can certainly complain or advocate, but once a decision gets made in public, there’s no turning back, right. So I guess I felt like I really worked hard on a lot of things and saw that happen and was just like, if I transition to the business side, deals come in and they’re short term, they either happen or they don’t happen and it gives me personal growth and different exposure. So at the end of the day, you know, maybe this helps round me out as a person and I can maybe move onto another role in the future that I’m a bigger fish in a smaller pond, and that’s what I’m kind of hoping for.

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Thus, there is an organizational culture dimension to her feeling more connected and finding

more meaning and fit on the business track than on the science side. Interestingly, she finds more

politics exist on the science side than in her business role, which further highlights the way in

which more integrated teams rather than individual relations are more prevalent in science. In

this way, Melissa made a trade-off in the particular type of fit—she felt that she didn’t fit in the

broader work style of navigating the bureaucracy to move a project forward. And while the

business side has more interpersonal nuances, she finds a sufficient fit given her extroverted

personality.

Jay similarly experiences a strong fit on the business side even though he came from a

science background. Yet he believes that most scientists can’t do that because it takes a particular

personality to succeed in business. Yet this itself is a common occurrence—nearly half of the

professionals whom I interviewed who were in business roles at the time of our interview held a

master’s or doctorate degree in science, engineering, or medicine, and even more had such

training in their undergraduate degree programs. Still nearly all felt, at minimum, a reasonable

level of fit with the personable interactions and networking required in business. Often the

opportunity to have greater social interaction is what contributed to their interest to shift to

business. Large company marketing manager Andrew, a former scientist who had recently

completed his MBA, was driven to business because he found his scientific career too isolating.

Despite currently having a virtual team, he still feels more fulfilling social experiences with the

people in the office with whom he does have at least some opportunity to interact. For example,

he enjoys going out to lunch with people from other functions, in part to learn from them but

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largely so that he isn’t alone in his cube and feeling similar to when he was working on a

scientific project.

Others similarly find that the nuanced art of social skills and conversation does not

categorically prevent them from fitting in. Indeed, they do not merely enjoy the social

interactions required in business roles—they strongly identify this as a core component of the job

itself, and feel a strong collective fit. Shane’s interpersonal fit with his business role is blatantly

obvious—even his kids recognize it, he partially jokes, but to make a broader point. On “bring

your kids to work” day, they asked Shane why they had to go. They wondered, was it so they

could watch him drink coffee and talk? But it’s not only his kids who hold this perception of

Shane’s job, a colleague had made a similar comment. Shane told me:

And then there’s this good friend of ours who, uh, he works here in the science lab, and literally every time he sees me, I’m carrying a cup of coffee. He’s like, ‘That’s all you do.’ I go, ‘That’s cause you scientists are socially maladjusted.’ So I said, ‘Because you guys don’t know how to talk and interact with people, you need someone with social skills to help you.’ And he just like laughed through that, and there is an element of truth to that without being so sarcastic. I think there are some brilliant scientists here but they work in isolation in their silos and it’s like, how do you help bring out their skill and expertise into something that we can use more.

In partly making a joke, Shane highlighted the divide between business and science personalities

and the ways that business people need to use their own social skills to navigate relationships

with the scientists. Even of the cafeteria space in which we were sitting for his interview, Shane

explained that eventually everyone comes through for coffee, which means you could just sit

there all day and, as people come by, ask what they’re doing and figure out information you may

need for a project or to work with them later on.

As we’ve seen so far, even business professionals who experience relatively strong fit

with the interpersonal skills required in their position nonetheless find the social dynamics

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somewhat nuanced. Although rare, some business interviewees seem perplexed by the discussion

of fit in the same way—but for opposite reasons—as scientists. Early career scientists sometimes

hesitated to respond because they find the social aspect so irrelevant. Some business

professionals, such as Vicky, find developing a strong network and effective relationships so

natural that it was difficult for her to even explain the approach she uses. Of developing an

internal network at a large pharmaceutical company, she explained:

I mean, there’s an onboarding process which was pretty informal. I guess, I just, I don’t, it’s quite natural for me, so I don’t, I just, kinda leverage the people I was co-located with. I established, very quickly established working relationships with the senior heads of departments and heads of site. And then also any of the operating partners like regulatory or communications. And then colleagues in Europe who were doing a similar role to understand their experiences and best practice. And then another part of our strategy was to bring the outside in, so leaning on my external network and where possible trying to use them to help ground the discussions internally.

Thus, despite the complex web of relationships that Vicky needed to navigate, she finds it “quite

natural.”

That business relationship expectations are often unclear doesn’t mean that everyone fits.

A few counterexamples existed, but each is an entrepreneur—actually a scientist but running a

company whose mission they are strongly committed to and for which they have developed the

technology. Importantly, the few who feel somewhat lower levels of interpersonal fit simply do

not enjoy having to go out and networking externally so much because they identify strongly as

being introverts. Thus, it is not the nuanced interpersonal dynamics they reject; they

categorically prefer less social interaction. For example, scientist-entrepreneur Cynthia attributed

the success of another industry entrepreneur to his strong network and perceived ease of talking

with others, contrasting this with how she feels most comfortable. Though she acknolwedged the

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nuance in what he did—not even sure “what that talent is”—she primarily lacks fit because she

wants to work independently on the science rather than fraternize:

He gets people believing what he’s selling…I don’t know what that talent is, whether it’s enthusiasm, whether it’s passion about it. Like I’m very passionate about this [her company and product] when I talk about it, but he’s, he’ll only talk about the business […] and he’s probably an extrovert and I would say I’m an introvert. So he’s out there all the time talking to everybody he knows, making one connection or another connection over another connection.

By contrast, Cynthia finds this not only more challenging, but also not something she prefers to

do: “I’m getting better because I know I have to do it. But I’d rather be at the microscope doing

the research aspect of it.”

Overall, however, low clarity in business professionals’ valued interpersonal styles does

not reduce feelings of fit. Indeed, the ambiguous expectations for managing relationships may

serve not to increase fit, but to minimize distinct feelings of lack of fit. If people aren’t always

sure of the best or most culturally valued approach, they do not strongly feel a lack of fit with it.

Gender and Relationships in Business As we have seen, the strategies for conveying a fundamentally worthy character and

garnering “trust from the heart” are challenging for everyone. These struggles to navigate the

business cultural milieu, where trust must be elicited through developing strong rapport, are

further exacerbated by cultural gender beliefs for women. Women’s social behavior can be read

as too flirtatious, thereby losing the professional credibility she is seeking. Thus, in addition to

managing the general concerns of signaling credibility, women further need to manage their style

of developing rapport. Given multiple audiences and multiple specific work purposes, managing

this added layer of complexity makes the interpersonal ideal in business particularly ambiguous

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for women. In turn, this leads women to make decisions to avoid certain professional social

situations, which can otherwise be professional advantageous for developing relationships and

sharing information, or experience negative consequences from friendly business relationships

gone wrong when they choose to attend. The particular best strategy, whether related to choosing

to attend or not attend a social event or to deciding on a specific style of interaction in a given

business context, is never clear cut. Combined gender and business credibility issues creating

concerns about multiple approaches.

The lack of clarity associated with business professionals’ interpersonal style is

particularly pronounced for women. On the one hand, they need to build personal connections

and rapport with clients and colleagues, as we saw above that this is central to the business roles

themselves—it’s the core part of constructing oneself as a trustworthy person. On the other hand,

they find their social interactions could be received and responded to in a flirtatious or even

sexually-explicit manner. Women’s knowledge of this divide constrains their ability in many

cases to develop the same type of relationships that men—and indeed, most women

themselves—emphasized were essential for business success.

Contract sales representative Brooke places great importance on the relationship-building

aspect of her work. She perceives it as essential to doing her job, not merely an added touch. Her

approach to developing and maintaining clients extends beyond a tacit list of sales scripts.

Rather, she prides herself on being able to get to know people in order to build trust so that

clients do not feel the need to quickly switch vendors when an issue arises and to better

understand the clients’ needs in order to customize solutions for them. She explained:

What I’ve learned that works for me is I’m very personable. I don’t go into a business meeting thinking ‘I’m here to do business. I’m going to get this contract.’ That’s not my personality at all. I go, I, you know, tell them the information I have to present. I like to

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chat with them, learn more about them, and just be very personable, like a human being. And that has worked really well for me, because clients, if they have a problem with the product, instead of just, because in biotech, there’s a lot of competitors, it is very easy to just go to someone else. But instead, I establish good relationships to where, if they have a problem, they would call me before just going to someone else. And not many sales reps get that. So I would say the personality clicking with people, actually listening, actually caring about their research.

Brooke’s strategy for developing rapport is neither straightforward nor simply acting as herself.

Rather, she tries to tailor her interactional style to fit well with a given client’s personality, a

common strategy for tailoring to a diverse audiences discussed earlier in this section. Elaborating

with an example, she said:

So if I’m meeting with somebody who is, because I meet with researchers, they’re usually timid and a little quiet. So I don’t try to be like very bubbly. I relate. I’m quite, calm, casual conversation sort of thing. I’ll meet with people who are very, very bubbly and energetic so I try and reflect that because that’s what people are typically comfortable with is someone who is like them.

In sum then, Brooke first tries to figure out the client’s personality type and if they’re willing to

talk. She additionally conducts background work on them, so that she can bring up something

related to that topic, such as knowing someone who went to school where the client did. If she is

having a Friday meeting, she often chats about the weekend because people are generally

looking forward to it. Finally, she tries to make sure that they do not feel uncomfortable in

needing to give her a decision on whether they will buy her company’s product.

Indeed, this relationship-building strategy does not involve particularly tacit sales

practices, but rather requires personal customization. Yet Brooke’s application of such a highly

tailored approach is further complicated by inconsistent expectations between gender-appropriate

behavior and business success strategies. Discussing the particular boundaries she draws between

personal and professional conversation topics and interactional behavior, Brooke notes:

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So even though I’m personable in a conversation, like I said, I still try and keep it professional, I don’t ask about family unless they volunteer something. I don’t make inappropriate jokes. I don’t swear. I don’t do anything like that. Whereas I’ve been to meetings with men and they will swear in a meeting and no one looks uncomfortable. They might talk more casual like, ‘Har har,’ you know, they like laugh and, you know, hit each other and all that stuff. Like you’ll see that and then, if you think, if you saw women do exactly what you just did, it would be weird and it wouldn’t be acceptable.

Brooke believes that such casual interactions among men could be helpful for their achieving

sales. The comparable “casual” approach for women, in Brooke’s opinion, is being flirtatious.

The exact approach she largely finds essential for success also presents limitations due to

perceptions of flirtation.

Because I am casual, I’m also southern, and so, you know, I laugh and I like to be friendly…So you know, I am nice to people. If someone says a joke, I will laugh at the joke [not inappropriate ones], I think that’s just courtesy…and I think sometimes it’s misconstrued that I’m being flirty.

Recounting a specific experience, Brooke continued: “So I was at a meeting and it turns out

we’re going to be going to the same event …and so it had somehow come up in conversation that

I was going and he said, ‘Oh, no way, I’m going to be there.’ And I said, ‘Oh, that’s great, we’ll

have to catch-up at the event.’” Here, Brooke interjected her story to emphasize that making sure

to follow-up at events when you find out a contact will attend is integral to her job—“again, just

building a relationship.” She then continued to explain the trajectory of their conversation:

And the conversation kind of continued and then he was like, ‘Oh, it’s a shame that the event’s going to run so late. And I said, ‘Oh yeah, it’s always rough on those late events…I said, ‘I’ll either take the day off or just totally work from home.’ He was like, ‘Yeah, well, I was thinking of getting a hotel.’ I said, ‘Oh, ok,’ didn’t think anything of it. And then he was like, ‘If you want to split the hotel, just let me know.’ I said, ‘No, that’s okay, I’m just going to drive home.’ And he’s like, ‘Well maybe after a few drinks you’ll change your mind.

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The highly social nature of business means that women need to manage when others step

out of bounds. These situations run the spectrum from overtly sexual advances to gender

stereotypical comments to seemingly gender biased requests related to work. A considerable

body of research on gender inequality in the workplace has uncovered similar, persisting

dynamics at work. Thus, that female respondents had experienced such practices replicated

previous findings, while I further delved in to understand the particular conditions and

professionals contexts in which they emerge. Indeed, while gender bias occurs across

occupations, particularly in cases where gender is salient (which is the case across the industry),

the particular nature of biases varies by occupation. Specifically, female business professionals

were in roles where the qualities collectively agreed to be required for the job itself produced

situations in which these practices were more likely to occur. Investor Patricia recalled an

evening where her entire team was out to dinner together where she needed to manage such

comments by others:

We were all having a good time and then [one of her male colleagues] said, ‘Hey, you know what, I never heard what your husband does. What does your husband do?’ And I was saying, ‘Well he just left one job, he’s looking for another job.’ And he goes, ‘Oh, tell him he needs to hurry up and find a job so that you can stay home and have babies.’ It’s just—no. I mean, not only is it inappropriate to say in general, but you don’t know what my situation is, right, like I could have just burst out crying in front of you like with the reminder of the fact that I can’t have babies. And that was an emotionally difficult time for me and thank God it’s been [several years] or else I probably would have just burst out crying in front of him at the dinner table in front of my boss and [the] other members of my team. While many, in addition and similar to Brooke and Patricia, chose to engage in a

professional yet still social manner, attempting to manage the issues that arose along the way like

the one above, others have used this understanding to reduce their social interactions. This, of

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course, minimizes one problem—experiencing discriminatory remarks or behaviors—but

perpetuates another—lack of access to the grounds most fertile for relationship-building and

ultimate “buy in.” For example, late 40s business professional Cheryl has achieved many formal

metrics of success. In fact, I initially met her at a conference where she had been selected to

speak on a panel about her particular area of expertise. Cheryl, too, assesses her own

performance positively, if slightly critically in order to continue improving. And while she

“feel[s] comfortable that [she’s] valued” at her company, she is unsure “whether that value

translates at the same level of value as [more senior males in the company]. She believes this is

partly due to the fact that she doesn’t feel that she can participate in the groups social events

because they’ll stay out drinking until 2 a.m.—both because it isn’t something that fits with who

she is and because she thinks it would send a bad message. Of these issues, Cheryl said:

There are all these kind of social circlish things. I think I’m very valued on a professional level but to be one of the group truly, I think, it feels to me and my observations are that there are certain phenotypes that work at that better.

Similarly, despite business development professional Emma finding networking to be one

of the most important parts of her job—going to far as to say that it is at these events when her

work truly beings—she nonetheless describes her interactional style at networking events as

“cold,” meaning that she asks others, particularly men, strictly business questions, such as how

they did something work related. Emma engages in this way to prevent the negative experiences

that she has previously encountered:

Sometimes at networking events you have men just asking you if you like ice creams or stuff like that. It’s like, what? So, yeah. And you feel it. Sometimes when you’re young, people will not talk to you at the beginning because they have professional interests, so you have to be careful […] They don’t take you professionally at all.

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Emma said that she has heard from her female colleagues that they have had similar issues.

However, she described it as a “silent problem” and attributed her uncertainty about how to

respond to these situations to her non-native status: “Especially when you’re a foreigner, you

don’t know how to defend yourself. Your management tells you to shut up.” Therefore, Emma

said that she generally does not respond to these situations, despite thinking that it is overall a

bad situation.

On the business side, this lack of clarity can be particularly detrimental if not navigated

well, as these relationships are at the crux of achieving success in this profession. In many cases,

respondents particularly highlighted the small industry and the fact that it is a village to

demonstrate how establishing and maintaining ongoing relationships fundamentally shapes their

success as business and sales professionals. Beyond the direct need to maintain good

relationships in a business context that depends on relationships, the close knit nature of the

industry itself, in which reputation is of utmost importance, further means that one does not want

to burn bridges in how they manage a situation. Indeed, the great strengths of this dense village,

allowing people, including Patricia, to simply walk down the street and meet with people for

drinks, is the same one that adds a layer of pressure to managing gender issues in a diplomatic

manner.

Trust from the Heart Summary

Chapter 3 and the present chapter examined how the life sciences industry’s professional

cultural divide between expertise and morality shape interpersonal dynamics and relationship-

building in scientists’ and business professionals’ careers, respectively. Scientists develop

relationships in order to develop or convey their knowledge, while business professionals need to

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establish individual rapport with others in the industry in order to obtain their trust. Where

scientists need to communicate trust, it is trust of their ideas; business people seek trust in their

intentions. Across a diverse range of contexts, audiences, and specific roles, business

professionals face a similar pressure—to overcome cultural perceptions of the business

profession that are at odds with the industry’s sacred patient-driven culture.

The strategies that each group of professionals needs to take to accomplish their

respective goals vary in their level of ambiguity and in professionals’ belief that their identity fits

with those valued qualities, complicating extant research that has focused solely on the role of

cultural fit. In Chapter 3, we saw how the particular valued interpersonal styles are clear for

scientists early on in their careers because they are narrowly defined and perceived as being of

low importance, requiring only basic interactions for the often routinized tasks at hand. Yet even

as they move up, scientists’ interpersonal culture remains relatively unambiguous except at

particularly senior roles that take on a more science-business hybrid nature. By contrast, the

present chapter showed how interpersonal dynamics are considered central to business roles at

all career stages. Despite many feeling a high level of fit—sometimes even having shifted away

from the science track to engage more socially—the valued styles of relationship building and

management are especially ambiguous, requiring more mental effort to manage the rules of the

game.

Each of these chapters further showed how the particular interpersonal styles valued and

their end goals help to explain the variation between these two professional tracks, and result in

particular challenges for women. Scientists need to establish group-oriented connections in order

to obtain knowledge and directly increase their overall work efficiency. For this reason,

successfully building or engaging with a team or rallying others around a mission (for

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professionals in more senior roles) is most valued. Business roles, on the other hand, often

require individually oriented connections in which professionals need to make others feel

respected and gain buy-in for their products and services. Developing strong rapport and

engaging personably, then, become highly important.

This chapter then showed how gendered perceptions of social interactions further

complicate women’s strategies for engaging in an interpersonally fruitful way. The business

culture’s emphasis on rapport causes challenges for women who need to be friendly as part of the

professional culture, yet can be professionally penalized if perceived in an over-sexualized way.

In this way, the interpersonal ideal is particularly ambiguous for women and with everyday

challenges to manage the elusive boundaries between being perceived as professional and

credible. Further with respect to gender, extant research shows the negative consequences of

lacking cultural fit—leaving one’s organization or profession (Wynn and Correll 2017). Wynn

and Correll conclude that expanding the cultural image of the ideal would help female retention

efforts in technology professions. This chapter on interpersonal culture in business begins to

complicate the story. Where expectations are nuanced, professionals may report feeling like a

cultural fit with their profession, while nonetheless experiencing challenging everyday

interactions, ones that are particularly pronounced for women. While business professionals, who

have a broader cultural image of success, are likely to remain on their professional track, a host

of other issues emerge from such a broader and unclear image.

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// 6 // Selling Credibility: Framing and Tailoring of Presentation Styles

Presentation of Credibility in Business

As we saw in Chapter 5, the need to demonstrate a morally trustworthy character, in an

industry fused with tension between perceptions of sacred science and dirty profits, shapes

business professionals’ work experiences and strategies. Beyond guiding the types of interactions

had and relationships formed, wider cultural beliefs that business professionals may be neither

trustworthy nor ethical further inform how they engage or present themselves within such

interactions and relationships, and in the presence of others more generally. Business

professionals at large, and particularly those with a primary focus on business development or

sales give strong, directed efforts to self-presentation style to overcome the perceptions they

realize many have of business professionals—that “half of what this guy’s telling me is probably

horseshit” (Brent) and that “there are people out there who aren’t professional, who are maybe

bullshitters, or they’re not ethical” (Ron).

Through particular presentation styles—of the physical self, in overall conduct and

mannerisms, and of one’s professional work (which, in business, is typically their company)—

business professionals seek to achieve success by communicating their credibility to others.

Whereas we saw in Chapter 4 that scientists need to project an image—often through the

presentation of their work—that they are competent, the focus for business professionals adds an

additional layer of nuance.28 Competence signals an ability to do the necessary (or extra) work

28 Respondents themselves sometimes used the terms “competence” and “credibility” interchangeably. During data analysis, I gave particular attention to their actual meaning in context in which they were used to identify the professional divide I present..

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successfully. It represents a relatively objective measure of having the core job skills. To be sure,

many demographic characteristics (e.g., gender, race) and physical appearance (e.g.,

attractiveness) can lead to biased perceptions of competence. Nonetheless, the concept itself can

often be directly measured. Credibility, by contrast, refers to fulfilling the commitments that one

promises. In this way, some level of competence is built into the concept of credibility—one

must have the ability to do the work they are promising. This is not the most important aspect,

though, as business professionals are often speaking of capabilities that their companies’

scientists, not themselves, have. Instead, it extends beyond mere ability: conveying credibility

requires shaping others’ relatively more subjective view of whether you will fulfill your

commitment. Being able to convey that one will fulfill their commitment in a given situation

often means that others need to perceive them as having an overall ethical, trustworthy character.

Importantly, while competence and credibility are related concepts, their slight differences

fundamentally shape the presentation styles that professionals in each professional track believe

they need to take to achieve success.

Previously, we saw how showing inherent goodness in one’s character involves complex

nuances in interpersonal dynamics and relationships in business. In this chapter, I argue that

communicating a related character quality—that one is credible—similarly requires a highly

nuanced approach, but here it is in the overall presentation of self and work. I show how and

explain why professionals take a multifaceted approach, drawing on multiple presentation styles

in an attempt to strike an effective balance between competing characteristics—particularly,

general skill (in business and often in the science, as well, even if not full technical competence),

likeability, and credibility. In particular, I identify framing and tailoring as the primary

presentation strategies that business professionals use to sell the idea that they themselves are

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credible. These multifaceted, nuanced presentation strategies stand in contrast to the streamlined

image of focus and diligence that we saw in Chapter 4 is favored among scientists.

High ambiguity in business occupations results largely from the delicate balance that

professionals believe they need to strike between being likeable and credible. Whereas an extant

body of social psychology literature focuses on the universal character dimensions of “warmth”

(alternatively, likeability or communalism) and “competence” (alternatively, agency), business

professionals are taxed with conveying some dimension of moral credibility. Extensions of Fiske

and colleagues’ research on universal character perceptions show that individuals may give

particular attention to assessing morality in others—in essence, a particular aspect of “warmth”

(Wojciszke 1994, 2005). Business professionals seek to reconcile the tension between likeability

and credibility through a diverse and highly nuanced set of presentation (or work and self) styles.

I argue that the need to convey credibility, with its moral component, increases the ambiguity of

valued presentation styles, as professionals need to convey something fundamental about their

character. The ambiguous nature of valued presentation style in business is further exacerbated

by business professionals’ need to appeal to a diverse range of audiences. This includes people

on both the science and business sides of the industry, each with their own respective

professional cultures and valued presentation styles.

Strategies for communicating credibility are similarly more ambiguous for women than

for men, as are the strategies in establishing trust through interpersonal relationships. As with the

challenges related to navigating relationships, the emphasis on conveying an aspect of one’s

character (inherent in the concept of credibility) creates a greater range of personal

characteristics to be balanced. That is, rather than managing only the now well-known “double-

bind” between being likeable and being competent, the added dimension of credibility (and

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trustworthiness in the case of establishing relationships) brings highly ambiguous presentation

expectations. On the surface, it appears that women have more options. For this reason, they

rarely feel a lack of fit with the presentation expectations in business. Digging deeper, however,

reveals that the seemingly greater range of options requires highly sophisticated management of

self- and work presentations styles.

Framing the Worth of Work

Scientists’ main purpose in presenting their work is to demonstrate its technical merits.

Business professionals, by contrast, need to develop a unique ways to frame their work or

company. This is the case despite the fact that there are many different types of business

professionals in my broad conceptualization of business professions. Presentation style is highly

valued among all business roles, even if for slightly different ends (e.g., negotiating a contract

with a large pharmaceutical company versus seeking angel investor funds). For entrepreneurs, in

particular, presentation style is perceived as being at least as important for their success, if not at

times more so, than is even developing a strong external network with personable relationships.

Because investor funding is competitive and inherently risky, developing the right story is one of

the most important things entrepreneurs believe they can do to increase the likelihood of their

company’s survival. But whether in direct contract sales, biotech or pharmaceutical business

development, or entrepreneurial roles, the need to essentially sell something means that everyone

needs a framing—effectively a story about what they are doing. For others to buy the product or

idea they are selling, business professionals need to be perceived as credible. And for this reason,

the framing is more highly nuanced than the way that scientists must frame their work in

presentations.

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Though effectively presenting science is a skill that many scientists try to learn, business

professionals’ presentations of the science for commercial purposes requires a fully different

approach. Scientist-entrepreneur Cynthia characterizes science and business presentations as

“totally different.” She attributed this difference to business presentations not only being about

the company and its science but about the presenters themselves. Of the difference, Cynthia

explained:

One, you’re selling yourself and you’re selling your business. So in science, I’m just talking about the data, so it’s totally different. So yes, I’ve had to make a total commitment, how to learn.

The strategies for business presentations are not tacit, straightforward ones to learn. In the past

couple months prior to my interview with her, Cynthia had given considerable effort to learning

how to “sell” herself. This further required learning different pitches for different audiences and

figuring out how to sell both the business and the science. Doing so requires not just objectively

showing the merits of work, as in scientific presentations, but developing savvy framings to

accentuate value. As scientist-entrepreneur Ethan characterized the strategy, he has been learning

that he needs to move from a “cost plus” mentality to a “value added” one. Using an analogy of

how to frame the invention of a flying car, he told me, “I’m not selling you a flying car, I’m

selling you the ability to fly,” which is worth a lot more than just a special car that flies.

Like Cynthia, Ethan has also similarly experienced presentation challenges that are

rooted in a need to convey good character and lead to highly ambiguous expectations for how to

perform successfully. His experience as a scientist with a clear formula for success is largely at

odds with the recommendations he receives for appearing successful in business. Reflecting on

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the advice he has received about self-presentation and leadership styles, Ethan admits: “It’s a

little surprising to me how fuzzy all this stuff is?” “Fuzzy?” I probed. He continued:

Yeah, it’s like [his business mentor/advisor, a well-known business professional] will straight up say that a lot of the leadership stuff is instinctual, not some formulaic thing. And to me as a science person, that’s really odd. But I think I’m starting to respect that notion because [his mentor/advisor] is not the only one that’s made comments like that. We used to have [a board member] and he would make comments like that, too. ‘It’s like, you know, you gotta follow your instincts’ or ‘This is an instinctual thing’ and I’m like, ‘What? There’s gotta be some kind of method or something about this.’ But, no. A lot of it is just being able to react the right way or having the right kind of feel as to what to do about something. So I think that’s a concept I’m coming around to but it is something that has surprised me about some of these high level people, where they, they do view some things through the lens of, like, some people just have this raw talent and you don’t need to refine it, but that’s something that’s either there or it’s not really there and it’s hard to artificially generate it.

Because he has a science background, Ethan’s tendency was previously to connect with people

on the science aspects. He used to believe that “if you have a technology that’s useful, the rest

will fall into place.” Yet he found that “it turns out that’s very far from the truth.” Ethan has

switched to focusing more on the broader message and the business expectations in response to

the feedback he has received. What Ethan has realized is:

Yes you need to establish that relationship with the scientists, but really you want to focus on the broader message and the business expectations you have planted in their minds from the get go, ‘cause that’s really what’s gonna determine how this is gonna work out. Like if the top guy is interested in this and he’s aware that this could end in a deal that’s worth millions, they’re gonna put a very different kind of pressure on their guys. And their guys are gonna feel a very different kind of pressure.

Developing an effective framing of one’s company requires letting go of the strict facts

and data to which scientists are accustomed. This does not mean ill-representing the data, but

rather learning how to present one’s company in a more holistic way. In doing so, business

professionals—particularly those who were trained as or recently scientists—need to learn to

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balance scientific rigor with broader business impact. To illustrate the growing pains associated

with learning the complexities of savvy framing to achieve buy-in, consider the story of Ethan,

an early career PhD-trained scientist who has shifted to an entrepreneurial business role. As he

recently turned into an entrepreneur in order to push forward the science of his work, Ethan had

undergone a fundamental shift in how he presents himself and his company to potential partners.

He reflected on even what had just happened earlier on the day of our interview, when I met with

him at a busy local cafe. It has been a big learning curve for Ethan, with a prominent advisor—

the one from whom he learned the “fuzzy” nature of self-presentation—coaching him. An hour

and half of Ethan’s morning the day we met had been spent reviewing how to “do this shit right

like the grown ups do.” This means changing his overall approach as a scientist, which is what

the “grown ups” who are entrepreneurs, even if trained as scientists, do. The more nuanced

business approach does not come naturally for Ethan—it’s elusive: “Honestly, as a scientist, I

was very built on facts and data as opposed to perception. But it is insane how much perception

matters for the business world.”

Ethan’s understanding that perception matters in business has led him to make pointed

changes in the way he presents himself to potential partners. In order to garner their respect and

communicate that he’s credible, he has given particular attention to the way he frames his

company’s capabilities. In the company’s early stages, when Ethan would speak with potential

partners, “We would be like, ‘Here’s this cool technology and, by the way, we can do therapeutic

stuff with it, we can do discovery stuff with it. What would you, like, be interested in?’” Ethan

characterized this approach “very much like a googly eyed little kid being like, ‘I have this cool

toy, I’ll do whatever you want.’” However, he soon learned that presenting himself and his

company that way was the “worst way to go about this, because then they wouldn’t respect you”

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and will instead “view you as a little tool they can buy.” In turn, those potential partners would

present themselves differently to Ethan, treating him as less worthy even though his company

could create substantial value, in his and others’ assessments. He described his new more

assertive and confident approach to presenting his work:

So now we’ve learned to go and be like, ‘No, we’re an aspiring therapeutics company and we have a program that can do that. By the way, we might be open to partnering on this, that, and the other thing, but, you know, really this is what we do.’ And now they start to treat you in a whole different light. Like now, you’re out of the, ‘I will pay tens of thousands of dollars for your toy’ to ‘I might be ready to do a multi-million dollar development deal with you that could end up being worth hundreds of millions or maybe billions some day’ kind of thing.

In addition to the change in framing, Ethan similarly has applied more assertive language in

expressing himself. The reason for this is to demonstrate that he has devoted time to working on

whatever it is he’s discussing, again reinforcing his credibility as a business professional. For

example, Ethan once called a budget estimate a “guess” even though “really we had spent time

figuring it out.” He continued, “[His mentor/advisor] was like, ‘I’ll kill you if you ever call it a

guess again.’ Like no, this is our estimate, we, like, did our math, this is what we came up with.”

Ethan’s description of his shift in how he presents himself and the company to potential partners

from the way he previously presented only “facts and data” in science shows how even highly

skilled scientists (by his own admission, Ethan was still the most knowledgeable about the

science of the company even though serving in a business role) must develop the nuanced

framing and tailoring skills of business in order to succeed when shifting to business roles.

Though some entrepreneurs emphasized to me that their approach in presenting their

company is really about showing the company’s value, the strategies they described ultimately

revealed that being able to convey that value is highly dependent on crafting presentations in just

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the right way to entice investors. Eric initially explained, “I don’t think I try to convey anything

other than the facts, quite frankly. I mean, I think we’ve done good work and if I can express that

well, people connect with it. So I don’t really feel like I have to convey more than the work that

we’ve done.” But ultimately those like Eric opened up and admitted that there is a high level of

distinctly non-tacit emotional nuance involved in crafting presentations in just the right way to

entice investors. He explained that he believes that what makes a good business presentation is

what makes a good performance of any kind:

It’s striking an emotional chord with your audience…It’s finding something that they react to on an emotional level, which is a strange thing to say about science, but I think it’s completely fundamental.

Specifically, Eric said, “I think we engage with fact and rationality in one way, but even when

we do that, there’s an emotional response to it and people respond powerfully to powerful data,

but that’s still an emotional response even if they’re thinking about it rationally.” Blending

scientific “fact and rationality” with the more elusive emotion is the key to an effective pitch, in

Eric’s experience. The “formula” for presenting his company is one in which “you need to get

[investors and partners] to connect to the problem. And you need to get them to the ‘ah ha’

moment that you’ve had in the solution. And if you can do those two things in a way that makes

them go, ‘Oh, my God, yeah, we really need to do that’ or ‘Somebody really needs to do that’

then I think you can get them the rest of the way.” Eric finds that there are a number of strategies

for getting to that point, but the one that he has often drawn on is telling a story, particularly

those that draw on emotion to connect to the problem and solution—similar to the way that his

own emotional connection to the problem, characterized in Chapter 2, drove his interest.

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Through language, too, business professionals—particularly those who also have

extensive scientific training and experience—try to balance the presentation of their work and

company. The goal is to strike a middle ground between showing their company’s unique

scientific advancement and its business impact. Being too rigorous in scientific lingo can be

perceived as out of touch with the practical implications of running a thriving business. Yet not

properly explaining the science can raise concerns about the operation’s technical merits.

Scientist-entrepreneur Chad tries to create this balance by having meetings over coffee, a

more relaxed environment than an office, and breaking down the company’s financials and

science using easy-to-understand analogies. He believes that “scientists have a tendency to speak

as smart as possible when they can and use as many acronyms as they possibly can, but I try to

never do that. If I say anything more than ‘DNA’ and ‘RNA’ when it comes to acronyms, I think

I’ve made a mistake.” Instead, Chad tries to speak in layman’s terms as much as possible, but at

the same time needs to balance this simplified approach with “digging in deep enough that […]

all the details are covered.” This combined approach, he finds is “sort of key to telling a story or

having an interaction, whether it’s presenting science or having a discussion over licensing

agreements.”

Business strategy director Roger’s experience is similar, yet his explanation shows that

simply downplaying the science and focusing on being personable is not sufficient for success.

Just as being overly detailed with the science can be negative, so too can failing to demonstrate

enough technical understanding. Therefore, when Roger discusses the company’s science with a

potential business partner, the fact that he “can not just understand [the science], but I can

interact with them, discussing things, that makes them hopefully believe that I actually

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understand what they have, and that really to me is the foundation [of developing the relationship

and potential business deal].”

Chad’s and Roger’s approaches show how business professionals try to keep meetings,

presentations, and interactions about their company somewhat informal in order to make it more

comfortable for others, yet at the same time make their technical expertise clear. Further, Chad’s

description, in particular, shows that he recognizes the broader stereotypes about and practices of

scientists, bogged down by gritty scientific detail. Whereas scientists in explicitly scientific roles

can describe the science in detail, Chad’s and Roger’s experiences show how achieving success

on the business side requires a more nuanced presentation approach.

In the examples above, we’ve seen how those in business roles who otherwise had a

strong scientific background (e.g., PhD level scientists now in entrepreneurial roles) give

particular emphasis to the qualitative aspects of business framing and inspiring people’s

emotions. Those in business roles with less technical training similarly find that presentations

require a delicate balance of the two, but give more emphasis to their personally weaker skills in

the technical components. For example, in contrast to scientist-entrepreneur Eric who

emphasized creating an emotional connection between the audience and the relevance of his

company, marketing specialist Rebecca explained that, while she still tends to end presentations

with an emotional argument, she gives considerable attention to making sure she can back up

various claims throughout presentations with data. Even then, she is particular about being able

to provide “really hard numbers” without referring to any notes, rather than speaking only to the

qualitative data.

Many of the examples above have shown the ways that framing matters for

entrepreneurs, in particular. The value of framing is similar—even if for slightly different ends—

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across the spectrum of business roles, including sales, business development, relationship

management, marketing, and so forth. Across these contexts, the fundamental purpose, however,

remains the same: business professionals needed to convey they have a good character, that they

are credible, because so frequently they are otherwise believed not to be. In his business

development role, Ron tries to present himself to clients and potential clients in a way that he

finds makes others seem credible. He described the type of business professionals he seeks to

work with and how he assesses them:

Someone who you like from a personality point of view. They’re a nice person, they talk well, they’re respectful to you, they’re not too cocky. You know what I mean—they seem like a good person.

Ron then showed how his broader experience with business professionals who have ill intentions

is the reason that such character qualities are under scrutiny, immediately continuing without my

probing:

There are people out there who maybe aren’t professional, who are maybe bullshitters, or they’re not ethnical. So I’m looking for people who I think are similar to me on a professional, ethical, work level point of view. So if I met someone like that and then he’s selling me but not being too aggressive, or a guy’s calling me every week and now he becomes a…pain in the ass…I wouldn’t call that [latter] guy back.

Others similarly tried to present their company in a way that seemed more authentic through

email communication. For example, sales professional Shannon personally sends (as opposed to

on behalf of the company) a monthly update to her clients about her company’s new capabilities.

Thought marketing sends a “billion emails,” Shannon believes clients find this annoying and

respond better to the personal touch she adds.

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Further to gain credibility, it is important for business professionals to present in a way

that does not appear to oversell in more formal presentations, as well. Contrasting her various

occupational and organizational experiences, Maria explained that “when you’re in a [life

sciences] company [as opposed to working in VC] you go through the whole rationale and of the

things that gives you credibility in a company is not to present bias. So you’re showing the data

and you’re showing it in a smart way because you want your conclusions to be their conclusions.

You’ve thought about it, but without looking in you’re pushing it.”29

Cynthia highlighted some of the challenges she and other women face, particularly

because nearly all of the industry’s investors are men. Before presenting to one group of angel

investors, whom she knew would be all men, Cynthia revised many of her presentation slides:

“You know, I had little pictures—I don’t know if you remember my presentations [I had

attended one of her pitches]—but you know, so they used to be mostly women, so I changed it

all to white men.” Further, when speaking with venture capital investors, Cynthia makes sure

that two of her male colleagues are present: “And I’ve actually told them ahead of time, ‘You

guys do the talking. I mean, I’ll start it, I’ll do the introductions, but when we start the talk, you

guys do the man speak.’ And I actually let them do that.” When I asked Cynthia what “man

speak” is, her response further showed the highly ambiguous nature surrounding not only

business presentations in general, but specifically business presentations for women: “I don’t

know. If I knew, I could do it. So I just let them. The men relate to the men. That’s all. They hear

men better, so I let them. So that’s fine.” Though as CEO, Cynthia is required to give the main

pitch presentation, she pushes her male colleagues to jump in to respond to any of the VCs’

questions because she finds that they are “absolutely” more responsive to the men, which she has 29 This balanced strategy of presentation is favored across the various business roles I examined, with the exception being VC, where more pointed conclusions are preferred in meetings in order for the team to make timely investment decisions.

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gleaned from their “body language, the engagement, yeah, if I say something, you know, they’ll

actually look, when, if we were talking and I would say something, they would actually look to

[her male colleague] for confirmation or look to [her other male colleague]. Those kind of things.

So I read that. You have to read that. But again, I don’t care. You know, I don’t take it

personally. I want this to be successful, like I said. I’ll do whatever, so that’s okay.”

Tailoring Styles Across Audiences Presentation framing is further complicated by business professionals’ need to appeal to a

diverse range of audiences. That is, they cannot simply master the subtleties of balancing science

and business, as discussed above, because no one single script—no matter how meticulously

constructed—will enable overall success. Therefore, in addition to developing a savvy framing

of their work or business, they further need to tailor various aspects of the way they present their

work or business. This section provides evidence showing the ambiguity that emerges from

needing to tailor one’s presentation style across contexts. As I have noted throughout, though the

particular type of business role shapes the specific audiences and reasons for engagement, the

theoretically important commonality among all of the roles is that they need to gain support from

multiple (and diverse) audiences, and with the expectation that they convey fundamental

qualities about their character.

Marketing specialist Rebecca’s emphasis on mastering the quantitative data described

earlier speaks not only the multifaceted nature of presentations, which requires leveraging both

technical expertise and savvy emotional intelligence. Her approach further illustrates how

business professionals’ communication with a diverse audience requires a tailored approach.

Most commonly, business professionals like Rebecca spoke to their need to convince scientists.

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Despite their being in business roles, they often need to obtain buy-in from those with technical

expertise. Even more, beyond needing to convince specific scientists, Rebecca finds that the

broader industry milieu—the life sciences “world”—is one in which data reigns superior. Given

that she “work[s] with people that the data runs their lives even through their experiment,”

Rebecca summarized how she needs to approach presentations: “I need to make sure I go toe-to-

toe and have that data and feel confident about it.”

In part because business professionals need to learn to effectively communicate with both

scientists and other business professionals, at minimum, they further develop strategies for

tailoring their communication approach across a range of domains. As we saw in Chapter 5 on

interpersonal relationships in business, business professionals develop rapport with others in

order to better inform their strategy for working with those people. They similarly use

knowledge gleaned from those interactions to understand how to better present themselves more

generally across domains.

Entrepreneur Jeremy explained how he tailors his approach in presenting his company, a

strategy that he gives particular attention to, being “very sensitive to making sure that the

narrative’s appropriate to the person.” While the core portion of his pitch is generally the same,

“how” he tells the company’s story is tailored in order to achieve the desired outcome in a given

context (e.g., receiving funds when pitching to an investor). Importantly, the variation is not

merely in substance but in an overall emotion that needs to be conveyed depending on the

desired purpose. For example, given the industry’s highly competitive market for funds, Jeremy

believes that his meetings with investors need to be explicitly and intensely focused on selling

the company’s merits. Explaining what he would want to get across in these types of

presentations, he explained:

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If I get an hour long meeting with a new investor, I’m going to go in there and be probably more, um, it’s more ‘salesy’, to just cut to the chase, right. More on the promise and the excitement, and the enthusiasm, and how great and differentiated what we’re doing is compared to everything else. Because you need a hook. You need an energy. You need something that is going to want them out of the hundred of other things that they’re looking at, say ‘Let’s spend more time on this.’

Jeremy contrasted his more traditional sales pitch when meeting with new investors to diligence

meetings with scientific teams at pharmaceutical companies. In these meetings, the higher

energy, over the top approach characterized above “doesn’t fly well” because these groups (even

though they are similarly deciding whether to partner with or purchase the company) are “going

to be more interested in how holistically you’ve thought about the problem you’re trying to

solve, how honest you are about your data.” Capturing that the essence of the tailoring required

is not about substance, but the more ambiguous “tone,” Jeremy concluded, “So I think the tone,

the presentation is different. It’s a different audience—they’re expecting something different.”

To learn which tone he needs to strike, Jeremy tries to have preparatory meetings (often with

other people at the investment companies) for his investor meetings. Describing one, Jeremy

said:

The guy who I pre-gamed with [from a previous due diligence meeting] was basically like, ‘Our guys are going to be like, nothing turns them off more than you guys coming in here and either overhyping or over-interpreting your data. Come in and tell an honest story.’ Great, that’s good because that’s how we roll. And that’s the way we would do it anyway but, you know, for example, we ran a study recently that had a negative outcome, but we understand it and it informs the program. So I wouldn’t share that info in an intro pitch to a VC, but going into this meeting, it’s great because it says, ‘Look, yeah, we’re not coming in here saying we solved the problem. We’re gonna tell you what the problem is and why we think we’ll solve it and then we’ll be very honest where we think we are on that path to solving it.

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The way Jeremy frames the company and interacts depends on the context, and his

meeting preparations show that he realizes the importance of such tailoring. Further, the

particular type of tailoring that he describes here speaks to a strategy that is common among the

business professionals in this study. Specifically, in some contexts, they give seemingly negative

information to people in order to gain credibility, given the stereotype about business people

trying to sell at all costs. Others explicitly referenced this strategy with respect to gaining

credibility. Here, Jeremy discussed it to show how he tailors pitches, but it is nonetheless an

instance of also seeking to communicate his credibility as a business professional.

Business professionals’ need to tailor the way they present information is not only due to

having to interact with both scientists and other business professionals. That such categorical

variation in audiences occurred only exacerbated the need for tailoring regardless. Given that the

fundamental need for framing and tailoring has to do with conveying credibility, business

professionals give concerted effort to tailoring their approach across the spectrum of people,

even with other business professionals.

Consider, for example, alliance management professional Jill, who gives extensive

thought to how she presents herself in negotiations with other potential business partners. She

described a highly balanced and tailored approach in both substance and style. First, she tries to

identify others’ personalities, which Jill personally finds is a skill that comes naturally to her.

When she begins speaking with someone, she can often tell if they are the type of person who

will try to string her and others along, signaling that they are not particularly credible. She may

give attention to whether they make any internal contradictions, such as their saying they would

never agree to a particular term and later admitting that they have agreed to that term with

another party. For those people, Jill then knows that the goal is simply to get the best deal.

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Because Jill recognizes these characteristics in other business professionals, she gives

concerted effort both to present herself as credible and also manage those whom she finds lack

credibility. To achieve both, she focuses on finding a common ground and being transparent and

blunt, backing up her rationale for why she cannot agree to a particular term. She explained the

particular way she would go about navigating these issues in a negotiation:

I usually try to find the best path for both parties. I’ll try to get consensus, happiness between both parties. But if something is completely unacceptable…the other party knows it. I put my foot down. They take me more seriously when it’s something I need in the negotiation because I’m not always trying to get the best deal pushing every single piece. If it’s a piece that I know is flexible, we’re flexible. Let’s talk about how to make it right for both companies. If there’s a piece that’s not flexible, I’m pretty direct in saying, ‘It’s not going to happen.’…And people I think respect that and take it more seriously.

Jill then contrasted the approach she described above with one where all points are pushed,

which she believes fatigues people. Jill’s purpose in taking this more nuanced, balanced

approach is so that the other party understands there are legitimate reasons for her decisions and

that she is not just being selfish to achieve the best deal. In this way, Jill seeks harmony in

negotiations and believes that such framing and tailoring strategies enable her to be viewed as

credible and to garner respect.

Biotech commercialization professional Cheryl has sought out ways of appearing

balanced in her overall mannerisms and communication style, as well. She gives effort to trying

to find a balance between being a “nice person” and someone who can work through

uncomfortable situations, which she personally is comfortable doing but which she realizes can

leave future communication a “little raw” for some people. Cheryl contrasted how she personally

would like to engage in uncomfortable communications, and how she tries to manage them

instead in a more balanced way in order to maintain a positive image. She explained that if she

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does not receive work from someone, she would like to be able to say, “Gosh, I’ve been waiting

on this for three weeks from you. Is there something going on I don’t know about?” She finds

this type of comment rather “benign” but recognizes that others can find it “off putting.” This

leads to some confusion for Cheryl to try to manage the more nuanced expectations: “So then

I’m always kind of deciding—do I not say anything and just let the clock keep ticking? Do I

elevate that and then it becomes a challenge for the interaction moving on? Do I just do it myself

and then step on someone else’s work? Yeah, I struggle with that.” In turn, Cheryl has found

herself drawing a combination of those strategies about which she questioned.

Tailoring and Nuance Extended to Multiple Dimensions of the Self Craftily framing one’s work or company image and tailoring these images and

information for various audiences extended to professionals’ personal self-presentation. Whereas

scientists frequently tried to push our discussion in a different direction (if self-presentation had

not already come up), business professionals themselves often became even more personable in

the interviews when discussing these topics because of the central and complicated role it played

in their careers. For many, the role of self-presentation is crucial for effectively performing their

jobs. It is not a frilly extra that distracts from the work, as it is perceived by many scientists, but

rather it is a core part of the overall package that signals the credibility that business

professionals need to demonstrate. Appearance is important not merely for aesthetics but because

it is intricately linked to one’s identity—both by the person constructing their own appearance

and by the observer evaluating the identity of another based on their appearance. As Maria

succinctly captured the connection between appearance and identity (here referring to dress style,

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in particular): “It also tells you about the person. It tells you…Who are they really? That’s what

it tells you, who are these people? And what are they gonna be like?”

The Image of Credibility With respect to dressing, in particular, the concept of “dressing for success” is often

associated with greater formality. Many have likely heard the common lay professional advice to

“dress for the position you want to have” or the one above yours. Clothing signals social status,

with high status clothing shaping not only others’ perceptions, but increasing one’s own displays

of power and dominance (e.g., in negotiation) (Kraus and Mendes 2014). The experiences and

practices of my respondents suggest that dressing in a more polished or high status manner over

simplifies—and at times, is distinctly at odds with—the culturally valued self-presentation style

across business roles. Valued styles of dress and overall self-presentation are considerably more

ambiguous, often leading professionals to manage their image in unique ways across contexts.

Above, we saw how entrepreneur Jeremy tailors the way he presents his company to

various audiences. This further translated to how he physically presents himself across various

contexts. In fact, he found that to be one facet of the overall image of “what you are sharing” and

“how you are sharing it.” Again, the casual nature of the industry, combined with the diverse

range of audiences—as well as the competing cultures of science and business that comprise

these audiences—leads to complex assessments even about what to wear. Jeremy explained:

It could be I dress differently. So if I’m going into a—so, it would depend. I mean, so, right, so tomorrow we’re going down to a big pharma, ya know, pry throw on the suit and kind of wear the kind of the CEO role coming in with our scientists for a formal meeting with their team. You know, if it’s here [in Cambridge] right, Cambridge has kind of a dressed down feel. And especially if you’re meeting with just scientists, you know, you just go in more casually. With venture, it’s pry some hybrid where you thrown on a sports

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coat or something like that. But it’s just kind of having enough experience to know that you’re going to the look the part of the role you’re into.

Each of these ways of physically presenting himself is intended to convey a fundamental quality

of his character and identity. He continued:

I think every time you walk into a meeting, there’s expectations [whether you’re] fully aware of them or it’s subconscious, but there are expectations of who you are based on your title and your role. And I think if you can kind of embrace the part in a subtle but confident way, I think that puts you in good stead…And so it’s a little bit of kind of just kinda having, you know, and I could be totally off on this or totally overthinking it, but I do think there is a dynamic that is set up around these initial interactions that having sort of been through enough of them and then you hear, ‘Oh, like, we really like the way you guys did this. We see so many companies that will come in and do something different.’ And you’re like, ‘Okay well that’s good feedback.’ You’re almost playing into your audience.

Entrepreneur Dan believes that it is important to convey to investors that he (and other

entrepreneurs) are credible, and believes that his physical self-presentation is important for

giving this impression. Though he admits that he could do a better job in this regard, “I do think

it’s important. I think it’s probably more important than I give it credit for.” Describing the

particular ways in which he finds a somewhat more polished appearance is used to gain

credibility, Dan notes:

I think having your hair cut is important. I think that having a nice ironed shirt is important. I mean, it’s a presentation. When you deal with investors, you don’t want to open any questions. You just want to continually keep closing off their questions where they have them so they become comfortable with you. I think the risk is, you show up and the investor’s like, ‘Wow, he doesn’t look like—his hair’s pretty long, it doesn’t look like he’s cut it. His shirt isn’t quite ironed. It looks like his jacket is a size too small.” Or something like that. And I’m not sure how, I don’t know if sophisticated is the right word, but just how capable this person is if they can’t figure out their own appearance to translate that to other aspects of the business.

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Dan’s description shows a stark contrast between the cultural beliefs associated with appearance

in science and business. Whereas attention to appearance helped—and, in a sense, is very much

expected—to convey credibility in business, it signals a lack of focus on being a competent

scientist. But even in doing so, Dan showed the ways that cultural beliefs in an innovation

environment favor nuance in the preferred business style of dress:

I think there is the perception in start-ups that you’re gonna be dressed in jeans more often, that you’re gonna be, you know, not in a suit. But I do think the, like, put togetherness is equally important…It’s about how your overall appearance looks and how in control of things you are…You can always try to have flexibility in your wardrobe. If you come in jeans, then that kind of sets you there. You can wear dress pants which sets a certain tone there and if you bring a jacket you can always put it on or take it off depending on what the situation is. I rarely go to anything in a suit and I rarely go to any pitches dressed like this [more casually in jeans as he wore around the start-up space where I interviewed him]. I would always wear a jacket in this case [if he were wearing jeans] or I’d wear dress pants and have a jacket, too, probably. Explicitly drawing on stereotypical tropes about the professions, Chad explained why he

thinks it’s important for scientists to physically look different when they become business

professionals. Specifically, even though many investors themselves come from a science

background, “I think [investors] like to see that somebody is now a business person and as smart

as they are scientifically, they want to see somebody who looks like a business person.” Chad

believes this conveys to investors that the entrepreneurs “understand all the pieces that go into

business rather than the fact that it’s not sitting in a corner pipetting.” In essence, they needed to

communicate their credibility as business professionals through their physical appearance.

But there is a highly nuanced middle ground in this regard. It is not just about being more

polished. The middle ground is about showing you’re trustworthy or credible because you’re

comfortable enough in your role that you don’t need to impress others. You’re not a banker or

salesperson trying to make a buck. For this reason, Eric explained that, “There are a lot of times

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where people wear suit sand I will come in, I’ll wear a sport coat, but I’ll wear jeans. I never

wear a tie.” He believes this would make him appear like a banker or salesperson and, in this

context, would be “almost an inverse status symbol.” In Eric’s opinion, having high status

enables one to dress as they want, so those at the top of an organization do not need to “dress to

the nines.” Dressing in a more formal way as opposed to assessing the right combination of

casualness and formality, creates suspicion—it diminishes one’s credibility. It makes others like

Eric wonder, “Why? How? Are you really trying to impress somebody by how you dress? I’m

not. I’m perfectly happy being comfortable.” Eric elaborated that the signal he wants to send is

that he’s not “buttoned up” but rather has a “role up your sleeves” mentality. Eric disagrees with

the common sentiment that one can never be overdressed: “I think you can absolutely look out of

place being overdressed and if you are it generally indicates to people that you’re trying really

hard. Why are you trying that hard with what clothes you chose to put on that day.” The irony, of

course, is that the effort to reach this middle ground where one looks simultaneously polished,

comfortable, and like they’re not trying too hard—collectively portraying a credible image—

requires substantial attention and effort.

The balance required in physical appearance extends to a number of domains, showing

the extensive ways in which presentation style is used to convey credibility in business. Real

estate executive Russ described how he strategically selected his LinkedIn profile photo to

convey a balanced image. In one option, which was a photo his wife had taken of him on

vacation, Russ was dressed very casually. He asked people, such as headhunters and HR

professionals, during his job search what they thought of it and about forty percent said it was

too informal and sixty percent liked it. Those who did not like it said, “You’re going to be

judged. It looks unprofessional. It looks like you’re not serious.” So Russ was going back and

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forth with the decision for a long time. “But the sixty percent who liked it, without any

prompting from me or leading questions or anything, would say that the narrative part of my

profile was so potent it was almost too much and that I needed to have that photograph to kind of

make it more comfortable. That as my strategy going in.”

Yet being authentically comfortable with oneself and portraying an image to make others

comfortable has limitations. Scientist-business professional-VC Maria critiqued a woman whom

she had with a few years ago and who would change into yoga pants before getting on the plane,

even though she was traveling on business. Presenting herself in this way, presumably out of

personal comfort, suggested to Maria that this woman lacked credibility because she did not have

the instinctual judgment to know how to present herself for the context. Indeed, Maria’s

description showed how the issue with her colleague’s behavior was not simply about how it

may appear to external business contacts, should she run into them while traveling. It was further

about a deeper issue of cultural know-how, that even if she was not to interact with anyone

external to the company, it still showed poor judgment. She first highlighted the seemingly

functional business purpose:

You’re traveling on business and you have no idea who you’re going to be sitting, especially you’re in business class traveling somewhere. It’s just not the way I want the first interaction when somebody presents. I’m just making this up—you know, started an incubator, you know, I need to put in $27 million with this fund, that’s not the first interaction somebody should have with their legs crossed up on the thing and yoga pants if they go on company business.

But then extended her critique to highlight the broader character implications of such behavior:

It’s all about judgment at the end. I shouldn’t have to tell this woman that yoga pants are not the way to travel on company business, right. And clearly if I have to tell her that, she was relatively junior, this was way further back, but at a senior level, when I have to point out obvious things like that. Like if we have a company in pitching, it’s summer, I

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don’t want Bermuda shorts around, unless that’s the philosophy. But the fact that I have to explain that to a CFO or to a CSO…

Like with presentation of work, managing self-presentation requires assessing and

adapting for various audiences. Business executive Judith explained to me how she dresses more

casually at the biotech where she currently [at the time of the interview] works than she would

have done at a large pharmaceutical company where she worked previously in her career. She

explicitly connected to this to the culturally valued styles in each environment: “Part of that is, in

biotech, there’s a different framework, because people who work in biotech value that it is a

more casual atmosphere, whereas if I’m meeting with investors, with board members, with

external parties, then I dress as I would for an office in New York. So I do think each day, I think

about what is it that I’m doing that day.”

The Role of Attraction Beyond an overall polished appearance, tailored to cater for particular audiences, being

considered physically attractive has important implications, but highly nuanced ones that extend

beyond extant research findings. Within this study’s sample, respondents frequently described

other highly successful business professionals as conventionally physically attractive. In itself,

this seems consistent with extant social science research on the role of attractiveness, which has

consistently shown that attractiveness is associated with a range of social advantages. Studies

find that others are more likely to cooperate with attractive individuals (Mulford et al. 1998), hire

attractive job candidates (Beehr and Gilmore 1982), expect better academic performance by

attractive students (Ritts, Patterson, and Tubbs 1992), offer loans to attractiveness individuals

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more frequently than to those considered less attractive (Hamermesh 2011), and find attractive

people generally more competent (Jackson, Hunter, and Hodge 1995).

The present study, however, suggests important limitations to the advantages conferred

upon the attractive. For one, the effects of attractiveness are not consistent across professional

contexts. As we have seen throughout this chapter already, the professional track, as well as the

specific professional context in which one operates, even within the same broader industry

culture, shapes the particular valued images. Further, the interaction between gender and

professional context is especially complex, requiring careful management with respect to

physical appearance and attractiveness.

Men and women alike mentioned other successful men in business roles as being

physically attractive and, often, relatedly, having an overall charming demeanor. Business

development professional Emma described an executive level male board director as a “super

cute man—and in the business way. So he’s very charming, he’s very self confident…He’s the

type of man that even if he doesn’t know what he speaks about, he will make you believe he’s

the expert in the subject.” Emma believes that this sort of “being a good actor” is “one of the

most important things” in business. Having the best scientists and obtaining the best data are

great, but ultimately you also need the “best actors.”

With respect to physical appearance, being a “good actor” means having a fit physique

and some unique physical quality to stand out. Engineer-entrepreneur Eric moved toward more

highly valuing the role of physical appearance in career success as he shifted to a business role:

You know, I never thought that physical appearance was that big a deal, I guess for a long time. I think I’ve changed my tune on that…I’ve always been sort of—I like sports, I’m an athletic guy, I’ve always kind of done that. So for that reason, I guess I look like I play sports. So it never really struck me. But I do think that people react to people—look,

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people react to attractive people. And, you know, physical fitness is one thing that sends a signal with respect to those sorts of things.

Darren similarly emphasized maintaining physical fitness, explicitly linking it to the

youthfulness and energy it conveys: “I feel like I need to portray and be energetic. You know, in

some ways I can’t fake it. And maybe it’s more my own image as I get later stage in my baby

boomer years. I want people to think of me as, I’ve got a long way to go. I have a lot to give.

And I do. It’s all part of the packaging—you know, it’s not quite packaging, it’s just who I am.”

But even youth is not categorically desired. Here, too, as in virtually all dimensions of

self and work presentation style, a nuanced, balanced image is most valued. Though middle-age

could be at odds with the industry’s dynamic innovation culture, early career professionals in

their 20s give effort to overcoming the credibility concerns of their relative youth. Mid-twenties

business development professional Sarah thinks that self-presentation is important to her success

particularly on the business side, where questions of credibility and lack of work experience

come into play. Sarah often recognizes the challenge in the moment: “I think it’s really easy to

come off like I don’t know what I’m talking about and I’ve had in person meetings that I sit

down and they see me and I can tell on their face right away that they think it’s going to be a

waste of time.” To combat these perceptions, Sarah gives more attention to how she presents

herself rather than to changing the substance of her information:

Honestly, I think a big part of it is not even the content but just: Are you comfortable in the situation? Do you seem comfortable in the situation? You know, how’s your voice sound?…I think if you can come off as likeable, credible, and you have a purpose to them, if you can have all three then that’s great. If I would try to boil it down to like anything, I think being likeable, being credible, and you know having some value add.

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Achieving this combination of likeability, credibility, and value add is complicated by issues of

age, as there are not always obvious role models. Business executive Ethan similarly tries to

overcome credibility concerns raised by running a company in his late twenties. This has proven

somewhat challenging to him because he has observed such a range of seemingly successful

strategies.

Beyond a conventionally attractive appearance, both men and women in business

described having a unique physical quality as being relatedly important for success. Both

attractiveness overall and a somewhat unique quality were intended to convey being

authentically credible in an industry focused on innovation, as they signaled youth, energy, and

creativity. With these expectations for conveying credibility comes even greater ambiguity in

how to present oneself. There are no clear cultural scripts for appropriate ways to stand out,

leaving professionals—especially women—trying to strike just the right balance. The key to

successfully achieving these slightly unique appearances is to do it in a way that appears

(supposedly is) authentic, or else be penalized for trying too hard. If that boundary is crossed, it

defeats the purpose in the first place, which is to be demonstrating credibility. Eric, for example,

added in discussing the role of an athletic appearance that such an appearance is “memorable”

which he finds “every bit as important” as being conventionally attractive: “You don’t need to

look like a movie star or whatever the case might be. But if there’s something about you that

people remember, that helps a lot.”

Gender and Credibility in Business

Women’s valued self-presentation styles are highly nuanced because of the need to

convey credibility in a way that aligns with both business roles (in which motives can be

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perceived questionably) and gender. Large pharmaceutical business professional Vicky

explained how she balances dressing seriously with demonstrating a more playful personality at

times. In this way, she seeks being perceived as a credible business professional and woman.

There is no single clear model on how to do this. Well-educated professionals like those whom I

interviewed have a general sense of what needs to be accomplished. However, the particular

strategies and blending of techniques varies, which shows the complicated, ambiguous nature of

business culture. Consider for example Vicky, who errs on the conservative side with dress. To

illustrate her point, she explained that after our interview, she was actually going to be going to

Logan Airport to get on a flight to start a long weekend with her family. She explained, “I could

have totally worn open toed shoes and something that’s more comfortable for the airplane, but I

went to an [organization] board of directors meeting [that day, before our interview], so I did

kind of suck it up and put on something that was a little more appropriate even though it wasn’t

going to be very comfortable.” Vicky balances her dress formality with being more laid back in

other ways. For example, when asked to be an executive who went in a dunk tank, she agreed.

“You have to show that you’re serious about your work and that you respect yourself and other

people but then you have to show that you’re willing to have fun and that you’re not so serious

that you can’t laugh at yourself.”

With respect to physical appearance in particular, strategies for leveraging physical

attractiveness are not as straightforward for women as they are for men. Extending the theater

analogy she had begun when earlier discussing the role of being physically attractive, Emma

explained: “Men have more ability to put themselves on stage, showing that they did this and

that, even if they didn’t.” By contrast, “to be successful, women need to be very authoritative and

cold because otherwise they don’t take you seriously.” For this reason, Emma believes that a

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more masculine appearance for women garners more respect, even though she has personally

navigated away from doing this because she did not enjoy it and it did not come naturally to her.

Yet being more masculine for women in business is not always the best way either. I asked

Emma to explain how both of these views were true. “Yeah, being attractive [is good] but it’s

also a man’s world and I think that people associate in companies, power and masculinity. So it’s

like, okay, you have to be attractive but if you are an attractive woman it means that you’re an

attractive woman. If you’re an attractive man, okay, it’s good for power, but women and power

are in general not linked in the head. Not even power but a form of respect. I think for some

people it’s not normal to see an attractive woman.” Because of this, when someone sees an

attractive man, Emma believes they’re more likely to respect him and believe he has or deserves

power. By contrast, “An attractive woman is linked to disrespect.” Further reconciling her

internal discrepancy, Emma noted, “The company you’re employed in wants you to be attractive

as a woman even because when you talk with clients, they will comment. It’s not good for you

sometimes, but for the company that hires you, it’s good because you’re gonna make them come

and talk with you.”

While some of the examples above have already reflected women’s experiences as part of

the overall business self-presentation culture, many discussions focused explicitly on the

particularly harsher or more nuanced requirements related to women’s appearance in business.

Both men and women alike expressed agreement with the existence of harsher standards on

women’s appearance and the greater challenges associated with navigating it. In particular, the

valued styles for women are more variegated and ambiguous. This leaves the women themselves

giving considerable thought to how to manage these expectations and impressions. And it further

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leaves more ways in which to be perceived as erring, at best, if not having distinctly negative

qualities by virtue of not physically presenting themselves in the ways deemed credible.

First, the most basic difference between men and women in navigating appearance

expectations is that there exist clearer strategies for presenting oneself across contexts. That is,

while male business professionals need to attend to altering their appearance across audiences, in

ways that male scientists generally do not, men in business had relatively greater clarity for how

to best manage different situations. As VC investor Maria summarized the male-female and

science-business issues in this regard: “For men it’s a little easier…because the spectrum is so

much more narrow. I mean, in science, my God, these academic scientists can, you know, they

don’t even put any thought into what [they wear].” She continued that, even in business, where

professional expectations demand a more polished appearance, men have fewer options and also

greater flexibility to not be as polished. Save for male VC investors who are “a little bit more

polished,” men in business “even if they have nice suits, you look at their shoes and it looks like

they haven’t put polish on those shoes in a long time. Or the shoes are horrible. I don’t know,

they have Merrells for walking and, you know, and a nice suit. It’s ridiculous. So no, I don’t

think the expectations are the same.”

It is not merely the case that women should be more physically attractive to be

successful. Indeed, being highly physically attractive can come with negative stereotypes just as

likely as it can bring rewards. Specifically, highly attractive women were considered those

allocated to pharmaceutical sales roles, particularly those that required selling to physicians.

Sales professional Brent described these women as somewhat of a phenomenon. While at a

healthcare company that was his own client, he was meeting with one of the company’s

engineers and described the following as they walked into the cafeteria to grab a cup of coffee:

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We’re just going to have a discussion about a project and we’re going through like a hallway, and walking past us were like thirty, thirty 27 to 32 year old like really attractive young women, like dressed ‘business hot’. That’s a term, right? That’s not offensive, is it? So they were like dressed business, and there weren’t two of them, there were like 25 of them, and I was like, ‘Dude, what the hell was that?’ And he was like, ‘Oh they’re having a sales meeting, that’s our sales team.’ There might have been like one dude in there with like a skinny necktie. I was like, ‘That’s your sales team?’ He’s like, ‘Yeah, our whole team is young hot ladies.’ I was like, ‘Interesting.’

Professional women are generally aware that such beliefs are associated with these sales

roles and that such perceptions can undermine their credibility in business more generally. This

understanding is what led to women’s often considerable and uncertain thoughts about how to

manage their self-presentation. Consider for example consultant Elaine. Describing a highly

successful woman in the industry who holds a PhD in science, but presently works on the

business side, Elaine explained that she “dresses femininely but strong at the same time.” On the

science side, in both academia and industry alike, Elaine has found that some women “can go the

guy route, which works, I think it’s a very effective route. You see this, some women, successful

women [in science] who sort of dress like the guys or are very, you know, sort of dumpy, ugly.”

But more frequently in business, she finds “these very elegant women who are using their

femininity and are a little flirtatious.”

Business executive Judith, who we saw earlier gives attention to the particular types of

professionals with whom she’ll be interacting in a given day when assessing how to dress,

dresses with a balance of feminine details. She wears “a lot of bright colors, animal prints, things

that are fun” balanced with the less feminine trousers instead of skirts. Importantly, she

emphasizes that this is her natural style and what she prefers to do: “I think you have to be true to

yourself in everything, whether it be how you speak, how you dress, people will sense a lack of

authenticity very very quickly. So, each choice needs to be made in a way that is true to

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yourself.” Cheryl similarly connected the ability to both tailor and be authentic. She tailors both

her physical appearance and mannerisms in order to convey a combination of credibility and

warmth. “I have a very tailored wardrobe I would say. I’m not gonna be someone that’s gonna

roll in in a mini skirt or leather bondage boots or anything like that. I like to look put together. I

have a lot of accessories. I change my handbags but not to the point of a fashionista. I really, I

have been told I have a high emotional intelligence. So I read a room, I read a situation, and I’ll

tailor myself to that. So if the room is very boisterous and loud, I’ll let more of that part of my

personality come through. If it’s a very subdued or introverted set of individuals, I will read into

that […] but still staying true to myself.”

Yet the complicated balancing nature of appearance does not stop there. Consistent with

others’ discussions and the pharmaceutical sales force description at the beginning of this

section, Elaine continued that, in attempting to strike this balance, women need to avoid

appearing too sexy. That is, there needs to be a balance not only between femininity and strength

but, further, within femininity, a balance between being attractive but not overtly sexual. Indeed,

in continuing to describe this idea, Elaine began hesitating and trying to clarify it herself, itself

further highlighting the highly nuanced nature of achieving this ideal: “You have this sort of

intermediate, where the feminine, not necessarily flirtatious, but they’re definitely feminine. I

think the look that doesn’t work in our industry is really flirty. You don’t see women wearing

really low-cut dresses, flirty dresses, hardly ever.”

The challenges in navigating the lines between being feminine and strong and between

presenting a softer femininity and a more sexual or flirtatious femininity are further exacerbated

by needing to be somewhat unique in appearance as one moves up their career ladder. This is the

case for both men and women, but men’s styles are not scrutinized on the basis of sexual

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attraction. Senior male professionals whom I interviewed wore unique socks or no socks to stand

out in a small way. By contrast, senior female business professionals like Carol described

physical self-presentation styles that are highly ambiguous—nuanced and complex, even

contradictory at times. Carol explicitly mentioned the difference she perceives between men and

women in this regard:

It’s easier for men, right. Men wear a suit or wear dress pants. With a woman, so much depends on your own comfort, and now we’ve [professionals in general, not specifically women] become a bit more relaxed. For me, I don’t like wearing a dress if I’m doing a business meeting. It just seems too girly girl and so I, from my vantage point, I think a suit shows that you’re serious. And what we’re doing is serious. I mean, I think you don’t want the risk of being perceived as being, you always almost want to neutralize your gender in some ways. You want to use if definitely in different situations and I think women have the ability to connect with people more easily than with men but I think you don’t want to give the opposite sex the excuse, ‘Oh, she’s a woman.’ I want almost to be gender neutral, so gender neutral would be […] pant suits.

But despite needing to sometimes neutralize gender, there remains the need to find

unique ways to stand out, as this particularly is believed to convey credibility among senior

women. Just as engineer-entrepreneur Eric believes an athletic or attractive physique leaves a

memorable impression, Carol, VC investor Lori, among other senior female business

professionals sought ways to combine tailoring their appearance, standing out, and being

authentic. In practice, Lori characterized what striving to combine those outcomes looks like:

I kind of like to mix it up, I don’t know, I just, I don’t want to stand out but I also don’t want to be just like everybody else. And it’s kind of a blend because it depends on the circle so sometimes it’s very businessy and sometimes it’s more I feel like I can be more playful, but also not too. But I do think about it and I’m learning. Sometimes I’m like that was a mistake, I was like, I dressed down too much for that, or I dressed up too much for that, or I don’t know...I think it’s just a matter of trying to respect the venue, the individuals.

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Lori’s description shows how despite her identifying as “sort of a chameleon” and being

comfortable presenting differently for different situations, there remains uncertainty about how

to do it in the most context-appropriate way, even with her intellectual and emotional savvy and

experience.

Being unique also serves as a way to manage the concerns about age. Senior women

attempt to avoid the perceptions that Gail had heard directly. A person with whom Gail was

doing business said to Gail’s colleague: “‘I don’t mean to be disrespectful but you know, has she

kept up with the latest things going on with technology?’, you know, so and I think there may

have been other people who didn’t express but acted on it.” For this reason, business

professionals like Carol attempt to alter their appearance in a way that conveys some element of

youth while still remaining professional—again, a nuanced balance of the two. Carol explained,

“So believe it or not, when I dress casual there’s also making sure I’m approachable because

unfortunately that’s the first impression people have of you.” When I asked what she wears when

dressing casually and what she’s trying to convey, Sandra replied, “Sometimes youth, right,

because I’m 55 and I don’t want to look like a fifty year old past middle age woman so I’m more

conscious of, something that I don’t know how to explain it, comfort and casual, again I said it

approachable, or connecting in a different way, you know, I’ll wear jeans once in awhile if I

know we don’t have to, because ya know it says, oh she wears jeans. I mean, I get more

comments when I wear jeans than when I wear jeans than when I wear regular clothes because

people don’t see me. So part of it is even the surprise factor. I don’t try to dress the same way all

the time.” When I probed Carol on why she does this, she added, “You want to show

vivaciousness sort of because old is associated with old ideas not new ideas and innovation and

when you’re working in an innovative company, you want that freshness.”

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Indeed, lacking a unique quality in style by dressing in a pointedly mundane way carries

disadvantages and is open for scrutiny even beyond issues of age. This is particularly the case for

women because it is assumed that they have a broader range of ways that they can dress

professionally. Further, exceptionally ambiguous beliefs about the relative masculinity or

femininity of women’s appearance contribute to a range of critiques about women’s standard

styles. Maria critiqued women wearing a standard navy blue suit and white button down shirt

because “it’s almost like a strip away with the personality and you’re going to this neutral

uniform because it’s safe, which means you’re not very comfortable with who you are. By

contrast, dressing in a more authentic way—which is assumed by Maria to have more nuance

and not be the standard corporate uniform—“signals that you’re not desperate. You’re not

trying, you’re not dressing for the interview. You’re dressing the way you dress and you just

happen to be at an interview and you’ve chosen something that’s appropriate for an interview,

but it’s also who you are.”

Balanced displays of masculinity and femininity extend to broader mannerisms, as well.

Communications director Heather was once told by a colleague that she appeared “scary,” which

Heather told me is what happens when she’s passionate about a topic—even when discussing it

in a positive way. Since receiving that feedback, she has tried to better monitor her mannerisms

and “keep that in check.” Patricia similarly tries to keep her hand gestures in check to avoid

being “too flamboyant” in the way she speaks, while also making sure that she is assertive and

doesn’t get relegated to taking minutes, as she once needed to quip back, when asked to take

minutes:

‘Sorry, why am I taking the minutes?’ [then, imitating the boss] ‘Well, uh, hmmm, uh, hmmm’ I’m like, ‘Am I taking the minutes ‘cause I’m the only girl in this room?’ [boss stuttered] I’m like, ‘Okay, good, so that’s not it, then [Bill] can take the minutes.’

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Thus, keeping oneself in check was not about being distinctly weaker. It is part of a broader,

more complex strategy of balancing mannerisms in a way that combines the ways that one

achieves credibility as both a business professional and a woman.

Such more nuanced standards are not only understood by women themselves, but are also

understood by men and expressed by men about their female colleagues. Some recognized the

greater variation and, therefore, challenges associated with women’s appearance and dress

expectations. Business development executive and VC investor Alan said of an open collard

dress shirt and sport coat: “I think that that has become in the United States in 2015, that has

become the universal uniform for men. I feel sorry for women because the boundaries of what

business attire is [sic] tougher to figure out. Or maybe there’s more flexibility, I don’t know.” In

describing a professional disaster, Charles characterized a woman who “talked too much” and

“was sometimes a little off topic, sometimes would offer suggestions that were not quite

relevant.” Without further probing about her appearance, he continued by associating her less

than stellar engagement style with her physical appearance: “She was a little older. She was

overweight. She was a little frumpy. You know, all of those things that don’t come across well in

a business setting.” Again, without probing, he admitted, “I think she was competent but, you

know, competence in your particular area sometimes isn’t quite enough. You’ve gotta be a little

more than that to really…nail the landing.” By “frumpy” Charles meant, “I don’t even know. She

was a little overweight. But again you can be overweight and be very stylish. I can’t even

remember what she, what she wore, which says something [slight laugh] I never remember what

men wear, but usually I notice what women wear.” He concluded by noting that dressing in a

more polished, business manner is “just something, something you expect competent women to

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do.” Here, Charles’ critique of a female colleague highlights the strong connection among

appearance, credibility, and gender. Charles admitted that his colleague was competent, but her

appearance, which did not fit within the prescribed, albeit highly female-business template

detracted from her credibility—criteria that existed primarily because she is a woman, otherwise

he would not have noticed.

Cultural beliefs that associate youthfulness with innovation further complicate the way

that women try to manage their self-presentation. Interestingly, though middle-aged women

explicitly attributed the desire to maintain a youthful appearance to innovation, such concerns are

nearly exclusively among business professionals rather than scientists. Though the concept of

innovation is not confined exclusively to scientific technology and advancement, within the life

sciences industry context, the science (rather than the business) is considered the locus of

innovation. For this reason, I argue that the broader industry milieu of innovation uniquely

interacts with the business profession’s emphasis on a credible appearance, which requires

women to be credible as both business professionals and as women. Below I illustrate the

complex ways in which the business culture of credibility requires women to manage their image

by giving attention to both business and gender.

For many business professionals, the complicated nature of the industry itself leads to

nuances in their style of dress (i.e., even before consider the other relevant factors, like a diverse

audience and gender considerations, highlighted throughout this chapter). As Chapter 2 on the

industry setting depicted, the industry at large combines a professionally conservative, corporate

culture with one of casual, youthful, energetic innovation. Business professionals give

tremendous effort to match this variegated culture in their self-presentation style, particularly

through dress. For example, marketing specialist Rebecca explained that she had even given

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thought in this regard to our meeting at a Panera Bread restaurant. On the day I interviewed her,

she was otherwise hunkered down working for the business at her home, where she would have

been wearing running shoes and a t-shirt. Though she did not feel that would have been

appropriate for our meeting, she also did not believe it required putting on slacks, since I am not

one of her clients. Jeans and a stylish top were her compromise, as is often the case when she is

around her company office.

At the same time, Rebecca is highly particular to the context when assessing which side

of formal or lax she leans. For example, when others at her company had recently wanted to

order company logo golf shirts to wear at a venture event (where start-up companies displayed

posters), she advised her colleagues that “nice clothes” would be a better option because “we

want to look entrepreneurial but legit.” For one of her male colleagues, “nice clothes” would

mean a blazer, pressed white collar dress shirt, and jeans. For herself, Rebecca described that

conveying both entrepreneurialism and legitimacy means wearing an animal print blouse with

black slacks and a sweater instead of a blazer. Showing the industry’s influence on this more

nuanced self-presentation style, Rebecca contrasted this appearance with what she would have

worn in a comparable business situation in her previous corporate job (outside of the life

sciences industry attire): a neutral colored or pinstripe blouse with a skirt. In this innovation

context though, “I might wear my leopard print top and a cute little sweater and I might have less

professional jewelry.” This is because “in the entrepreneurial space, I want to look a little bit

more marketing. So I tend to be a little bit more trendy.” Rebecca also generally wears flats in

her role because many industry women don’t wear high heels and she wants to be cognitive of

fitting in the environment and not creating boundaries through her appearance. Highly

fashionable sales/business development professionals Jacqueline similarly chooses not to wear

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stiletto-style heels, generally opting for square heeled boots, because of Cambridge’s

cobblestone sidewalks, to look like she understands the environment in which she is working.

Similarly, she never wears business suits because she finds them too intimidating when sales

stereotypes already come with a deal of intimidation.

Women’s decisions about the level of formality are complicated by beliefs about which

types of physical appearance and dress styles would convey confidence and status. There is no

clear consensus and that is, indeed, the point. Even the characterizations many individual

professionals expressed were highly complex, save for the complexities in examining people’s

experiences collectively. To highlight this complexity and their connection to gender, let’s

consider the following examples.

Business development professional Jill, whose nuanced negotiation style was presented

earlier in this chapter, takes a similarly balanced approach with respect to her physical self-

presentation style. Over time, it has become more informal. When she first began in her role, Jill

always wore a suit—indeed, at that point to appear more credible through formality. As she’s

advanced in her career (though she is still only in her late 30s), she has felt that, “I don’t need to

prove myself through how I look.” Yet Jill’s and others explained that it was merely that they

would not prove themselves through being particularly formal. Instead, the ways women

conveyed credibility as they advanced in their careers largely became even more nuanced

because a suit—a single, relatively clear way to present oneself—could not be relied upon.

Jill, in particular, developed a more relaxed style, which is not simply out of less care—

she believes it holds distinct advantages when working with some companies. Given that she

works at a large pharmaceutical company but negotiates deals with several smaller companies,

dressing more informally helps her being perceived as part of “the big mother ship of pharma

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coming in and raining down on them.” But it is not merely advantageous when working with

small start-ups. During a recent deal, even a VC company commented that Jill and her colleagues

did not “look” like big pharma, which Jill believes made the interaction more efficient because

everyone felt more comfortable at the beginning and free to speak their minds.

Jill’s careful decisions about how to present herself are tightly connected not only to the

industry context, as discussed above, but also to her gender and career seniority. Earlier in her

career, she believes that she could not have presented herself in the more casual way that she

finds advantageous now. Often, she was and still is one of the only women in a negotiation

meeting. For this reason, early on in her career, she thought that if “I walk into the room with a

bunch of men—I’m a young female, you know, just starting off in the career—and they go

‘What the hell is this?’” So Jill felt that she needed to be formal in presentation style to prove her

worth or credibility because being a “young female negotiator…was an ‘X’ against me and so I

was always going to have to start to try to prove myself to that team pretty quickly in the

discussions.”

The expectations for women’s self-presentation style are not only different or more

variegated than men’s, they are distinctly more ambiguous, with contradictory valued qualities.

Jill has been advised in every way, from needing to be more masculine to succeed to actively not

being masculine and instead being true to her personality. She finds that there are “all of these

mixed messages when you talk about any type of leadership roles in general.” Jill had recently

heard a talk relating to these issues (which I had knowledge of, as I had also attended, though I

met Jill separately through a contact). While Jill told me that she does not like stereotyping

women into a particular personality type, acknowledging variation within both men and women,

she enjoyed hearing a well-known female leader in the industry at least say that it is okay for

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women to act in a nurturing way. Throughout Jill’s own career, she has often received inherently

contradictory advice (to do both) or the opposite advice—to conceal qualities typically

considered feminine. She recalled once being advised not to bake or bring baked goods to work

because it shows a “weakness that you’re more feminine.”

That women receive such contradictory advice while also grappling with the need (and at

least at some level, actual desire) to present themselves authentically is apparent in the varied

ways that women choose to navigate similar tensions. Business executive Wendy made a

conscious choice to stop wearing jeans because “I’m a woman, cause I’m short…and I have to

bring some profess [cuts off “professionalism”], otherwise I’m sort of like, ‘Who’s that kid?’ I

realize I’m fifty, I don’t look like a kid anymore. But for a long time I also looked very young.”

Yet we also saw that others actively choose to wear jeans in order to manage the broader

environment. The important thing to note here is that these are not merely different ways people

dress, as they can choose among a bunch of options. People appear to be doing a bunch of

different things with presentation style, but all in a somewhat desperate attempt to strike just the

right balance to convey credibility—a pressure only exacerbated by issues around gender and

appearance.

Selling Credibility Summary This chapter argued that business’ culture of morality leads business professionals to take

highly nuanced presentation strategies, resulting in ongoing work challenges. Business

professionals—regardless of the specific type of business role—typically need to gain interest

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from multiple stakeholders, such as scientists, other business professionals, or investors30. Doing

so demands frequent tailoring of business professionals’ personal presentation style and framing

of their work or business itself, information or messages, and so forth. In navigating these

diverse audiences—whether in formal presentations like business pitches or in regular business

encounters—they need to present both themselves and their work or company image in a highly

nuanced manner that is at once polished yet not stuffy, convincing and enthusiastic yet appearing

genuine and not overselling, and intense yet with a comfortable demeanor.

Business professionals’ particular balanced presentation package is required to

demonstrate credibility, given the cultural concern about the credibility and trustworthiness of

business intentions. This approach in presentation applies to business professionals’ self-

presentation expressed through language and mannerisms (e.g., being charismatic while also

presenting some shortcomings) and physical appearance (i.e., neither Silicon Valley high tech

nor New York corporate), as well as through their framing and tailoring of their work or

company itself.

The findings presented in this chapter show the important ways that professional cultural

context and its associated success schemas contribute to gender differences in career

experiences. The ambiguous nature of valued presentation styles in business is particularly so for

women. Where multifaceted strategies are necessary for everyone in business in order to exhibit

competing qualities simultaneously (again, to convey credibility) or appeal to a diverse audience,

men have relatively more clearly prescribed ways for achieving each of these (e.g., particular

styles of dress for different audiences, lack of negative sexualized perceptions associated with

being physically attractive). Though men and women alike described more nuances in business 30 Investors themselves are categorized as business professionals in my sample. I note them separately here given that they have a unique upper-hand by virtue of holding discretion over to whom highly sought after funds are allocated.

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presentations than in science ones, women confronted greater ambiguity than did men in

business expectations. The complexities associated with the universal business need to sell

oneself are compounded by women’s often-token status. Together with Chapter 4 on science

presentation, this chapter shows how women’s experiences in proving their professional merits

in male-dominated work environments vary by the cultural context. Where extant research has

found variation in different categories of tokens in a given context (see Turco 2010 on the

leveraged buyout industry), the present study further shows how women’s experiences vary

across similarly male-dominated contexts. Whereas women are underrepresented on both sides

of the industry, particularly in more senior roles, the extent of cultural ambiguity associated with

their roles varies substantially between the industry’s two core professions.

Finally, because business professionals, no matter how mission-oriented they may be,

ultimately needed to achieve some sort of financial buy-in (whether gaining a client or

partnership, selling a product, or winning funds), there is often an aspect of their identity that

needs to be concealed. In his seminal work on self-presentation, Goffman (1959) contended that

engaging in behavior to profit when it contradicts expectations leads the performer to engage in

concealing forms of presentation (43). As noted in Chapter 1, these negative forms of self-

presentation, seeking to “pass” as someone desired in a context rather than “reveal,” can serve to

undermine people’s ability to flourish in their work by constraining aspects of their identity

(Goffman [1963] 1986). In light of the heightened tension in the life sciences industry voicing a

patient-driven cultural focus, business professionals’ strategies often occur within this type of

constrained context, despite professionals’ feeling that they fit in on a social level. As we have

seen throughout this chapter, concealing aspects of professional identity at odds with the

industry’s patient culture requires highly ambiguous strategies, particularly for women.

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// 7 // Ambiguity at Work: Professions, Culture, and Inequality in Perspective

Understanding Gender Through Cultural Processes

This dissertation began by asking how gender inequality is perpetuated differently across

similarly male-dominated professions. To ultimately add to sociological insights on gender

processes at work, I took a conceptual and methodological approach currently unconventional in

gender scholarship. Rather than tackle gender issues directly (e.g., by comparing women’s

experiences across contexts or men’s and women’s in a single context, as most extant gender

research has), I drew on the conceptual strengths of cultural sociology to first understand the

broader cultural contexts in which these professionals live their work lives. Specifically, I sought

to identify how success and worthy professionals are defined in two elite, male-dominated

professionals—science and business—finding that cultures of expertise and morality,

respectively, shape individuals’ career experiences and feelings of professional fit. With this

understanding, I then analyzed professionals’ experiences to understand how gender dynamics

interacted within the broader cultural context, leading to variation in men’s and women’s

experiences within a given profession and in women’s experiences between the two professions.

Further bridging cultural and economic sociology, I took an organizational field approach,

examining how the macro cultural industry dynamics influence the nature of relationships and

interactions among professionals across various occupations.

In the remainder of this concluding chapter, I first synthesize and discuss the central

empirical findings of the preceding chapters. I then discuss the theoretical implications of this

research to a diverse-range of sociological subfields. I also suggest how this study’s theoretical

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insights can be applied in future sociological research to better understand inequality processes

and to further advance organizational research.

Empirical Contributions: Ambiguity, Gender, and Professional Cultures In this dissertation, I presented evidence showing how the life sciences industry’s

overarching cultural scripts shape the science and business cultures and, in turn, the valued

cultural qualities among individual professionals. The industry’s cultural scripts about its overall

shared purposes—improving patients’ lives and diligently applying oneself to work in a mission-

oriented fashion—influence the way technical and commercial production and social interactions

occur within it. In this cultural context, science is considered sacred because scientific innovation

and drug (and medical device) development is what treats patients. Because of this connection to

medicine, science further holds professional legitimacy (e.g., Abbott 1988), heightening the

extent to which others in the broader field need to reflect its ideals. Business practices are

focused on earning a profit, effectively placing value on the sacred nature of human health and

life and, even more, interrupting the pure practice of science in which negative results are

otherwise viewed as valuable data points in themselves. Yet professionals on each side of the

industry need to work together to achieve scientific, medical, and commercial success. So to

align with the industry culture, the professions develop unique cultures, which I identified as a

culture of expertise in science and the culture of morality in business. In essence, the science

culture intends to emphasize the rigorous nature of its profession’s technical practices, while the

business culture seeks to overcome perceptions that its profession is at odds with the sacred

industry culture.

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Science’s expertise culture and business’ morality culture lead to variation in the level of

ambiguity associated with the professions’ ideal worker images—that is, the interpersonal and

presentation strategies that individual professionals believe they must take in order to achieve

their profession’s ideal. Expertise is developed and conveyed through a set of relatively clear,

unambiguous cultural practices intended to garner cognition-based trust and signal competence.

The strategies for reflecting these valued cultural qualities are focused on showing that one is

doing good work. Morality is displayed through a set of highly nuanced, ambiguous cultural

practices intended to obtain affect-based trust and convey credibility. The strategies for reflecting

these valued cultural qualities are focused on showing one has a good character.

The level of ambiguity associated with a profession’s ideal worker in turn shapes how

professionals experience fitting with the profession. Where the ideal is unambiguous,

professionals (scientists, in this case) experience a feeling of distinct fit or lack of fit between

their own identity and the profession’s ideal. Such relatively more distinct feelings of fit are

associated with similarly distinct preferences for or away from the profession. For example, on

the one hand, we saw cases of early career scientists like postdoctoral researcher Lindsey seeking

more interpersonal opportunities and feeling a lack of such fit with the highly routinized

technical focus of her work. Likewise, other now business professionals like market research

manager Andrew had already made the career transition in order to accommodate such

preferences. On the other hand, we also cases of professionals strongly fitting with the relatively

narrower, technically-oriented focus of the science culture. Scientist-entrepreneur Cynthia was

longing for her start-up to take off so that she could return to a more scientific role within the

company. And in a large pharmaceutical company, scientist Bruce felt increasingly pulled away

from the science (even while remaining on the science track) as he advanced in his career,

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adding managerial responsibilities. Across all of these scenarios though, one commonality exists:

the ideal worker image is clear. It is someone who, through both interpersonal relationships and

broader presentation and work style, is single-mindedly focused on achieving and demonstrating

technical expertise.

By contrast, where the ideal is ambiguous, professionals (here, those in business) are

perpetually in flux. They neither actively fit nor lack fit, often enjoying the big picture thinking

required of strategic business roles, but constantly navigating ambiguous expectations on how to

succeed. The need to convey the good nature of their character requires a complex mixture of

interpersonal and self-presentation styles. Even those most senior in the industry were not fully

settled in a strategy. For indeed, achieving the morally trustworthy ideal does not merely require

a singular, even if complex, strategy—it’s unclear what strategies to engage overall and even in a

given instance because there are multiple, competing cultural models of success that

professionals see in peers or industry superiors. Because the focus is on morality or character—

demanding strategies to convey affect-based trust and credibility—the level of ambiguity is even

greater for women. Where appearing both genuinely personable and physically attractive are

generally advantageous interpersonal and self-presentation qualities for signaling good character,

they come with added layers of complexity for women. If either is not conveyed in a carefully

balanced manner, women receive negative assessments where professional success and sexuality

are viewed as mutually exclusive.

In developing the dissertation’s broader theoretical argument, attributing variation in

career experiences to the level of cultural ambiguity in the professions’ ideal worker, I examined

two core aspects of professional culture—interpersonal relationships and self-presentation style.

Empirically, this extends research across a range of social science disciplines and sociological

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subfields. Interpersonal relationships have been the focus of networks, particularly within the life

sciences industry, but this research has generally not examined the qualitative nature of the

relationships, rather looking at structural positions (Powell, Koput, Smith-Doerr 1996; Powell

1998; Powell et al. 2005). Further, my findings show the ways that people process self-

presentation expectations. Where other research has demonstrated intentionality by focusing on

impression management (e.g., Bolino 1999, Roberts 2005) or on the outcomes by looking at

criteria of evaluation (e.g., Rivera 2015), I bring together how people experience these demands

and their effects on professionals’ lived work experiences.

With these understandings, I showed how each dimension of culture—interpersonal

relationships and self-presentation—in each of the two professions contributes to gender

inequality in unique ways. Each aspect of culture in science and business interacts with broader

cultural beliefs about gender in ways that contribute to exaggerated effects of the professions’

respective cultures for women.

In science, narrow, lowly ambiguous definitions of success are especially constraining on

many women’s identities, as the particular professional ideal is at odds with “emphasized

femininity” (Connell 2005), the ideal gender script for women. With respect to relationships in

science, the drastic fit issues highlighted for scientists in general are especially true for women,

given that cultural gender beliefs associate women with a more social nature. Further, the

presentation style valued within science is narrowly conceived in a distinctly masculine way,

which constrains the ways that some women prefer to present themselves or feel other cultural

pressures to do so that are related to their gender.

In business, where the ways to fulfill the culturally valued demands were ambiguous in

general, they were particularly so for women. Developing rapport to achieve affect-based trust

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requires managing uncertain strategies to avoid being perceived as too flirtatious, as some

flirtation or at least a highly friendly demeanor could be advantageous. With respect to self-

presentation, I show how a greater range of options about women’s dress, in combination with a

strong cultural emphasis on women’s appearance, similarly heightened ambiguity about the

desired way to present oneself.

In sum, the central findings related to gender suggest different mechanisms by which

gender inequality is perpetuated between these two high-status professions. Clear but narrowly

defined masculine definitions of success on the science side create a heightened disconnect

between women’s identities and the professional culture. This leads to relatively greater exits

from the profession relative to women in business. Women who remain on the scientific track

confront a competence-likeability bind as they move into managerial roles. While the strategies

for navigating this divide are somewhat ambiguous, there remains a relatively greater emphasis

on directly focusing on the substance of the work relative to other non-work emphases in

business. Highly nuanced, ambiguous definitions of success on the business side seem to enable

more leeway in relationship and presentation styles. For this reason, women do not experience

strong lack of fit, yet they also struggle to manage what is ultimately not greater flexibility but

more uncertain strategies for success. An interaction between gender beliefs and business’

emphasis on demonstrating good character, which requires a highly social and friendly

demeanor, creates this struggle. Women’s behavior is interpreted through a gendered lens,

coding some of their interpersonal and presentation behavior as flirtatious or sexual and

unprofessional. At the same, some element of those qualities can be advantageous for developing

rapport, a highly valued quality in business.

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Finally, these cultural findings on interpersonal relationships and self-presentation extend

management research on ambiguity. Earlier management research focused on role ambiguity,

generally showing negative effects on performance and job satisfaction (e.g., Rizzo, House,

Lirtzman 1970). Meyerson (1994) importantly showed how a professional context’s dominant

cultural logics can influence professionals’ (in her research context, social workers)

interpretations of ambiguity, whereby some view it is as a constraining problem and others as

professional freedom. Further, some participants in her study found fluctuation in the ambiguity

of their work. The present study shows how the broader cultural context of the life sciences

industry field creates cultural (not role substance) ambiguity. Because the ambiguity is business

is associated with fundamental character qualities, it persists across individuals’ career

experiences in ways that other types of workplace ambiguities may be overcome.

Theoretical Implications and Future Research The present research theoretically contributes to and holds implications for future

research in several large subfields in sociology. This study has responded to calls in the gender

literature to further incorporate a cultural approach to gender research and, in doing so, has made

important contributions to our understanding of the ways that gender inequality persists. While

this work has drawn on analytical cultural concepts to contribute to other subfields, it also

contributes to cultural sociology itself by suggesting a new dimension of cultural schemas that

may influence inequality processes. Further, this research suggests a revised and expanded

approach to research in economic sociology and organizations, specifically one that incorporates

strategic action fields. In this section, I elaborate on the theoretical contributions and

recommendations for future research across each of these three subfields.

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Gender Inequality

First, the empirical findings from this study suggest important revisions to the ideal

worker theory. Where extant gender research has focused on the masculine construction of ideal

workers, it has overlooked the broader cultural variation that occurs across professional contexts.

In this way, there is not a single ideal worker, but several, each with varying characteristics that

may additionally interact with gender in unique ways. The empirical findings from the present

study show the ways that ideal images vary across professional cultural contexts. While we saw

that the particular constructions of the ideal in science and business had exaggerated

consequences for women, the particular ideal worker images varied, leading to different types of

constraints and outcomes due to the unique ways in which these professional ideals interact with

cultural beliefs about gender.

Relatedly, the fundamentally different cultural processes that shape people’s career

experiences in science and business suggest that gender scholars need to look beyond the

demographic composition of occupations. Other research has compared male- and female-

dominated occupations in a given profession or industry, concluding that differences in career

experiences between the occupations are rooted in gender-infused cultural differences. For

example, Pierce (1995) contrasts “rambo litigators” and “mothering paralegals” in the legal

profession. The findings from the present study highlight the need for understanding broader

cultural differences in order to explain why similarly male-dominated professions would

constrain and enable career experiences in fundamentally different ways.

Second, recent research on gender and social class inequalities has highlighted the role of

cultural fit on professional outcomes, such as employers’ hiring decisions (Rivera 2012, 2015;

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Turco 2010) and professionals’ own career decisions (Wynn and Correll 2017; Cech et al. 2011).

The basic argument in this research has been that, across a range of contexts, being a better fit for

a profession or in an organizational context leads to more positive outcomes—greater likelihood

of being hired or of deciding to remain in a profession, for examples. The present study of

science and business professions in the life sciences industry shows the unintended consequences

of cultural fit. Research on gender inequality in particular has suggested that expanding the

image of success in technical fields will encourage women’s continued commitments to these

professions (Wynn and Correll 2017). However, where such images of success are more fluid,

we see that a new set of consequences emerges. Specifically, professionals—especially

women—experience ongoing challenges to manage the cultural expectations.

From both a research methodology and policy standpoint, the complicated findings on the

role of fit have important implications. Methodologically, these findings suggest that we need to

give attention to a range of professional outcomes in our research. Where individuals feel a

reasonable sense of fit, they tend not to make such drastic career moves, yet their ability to

succeed may be constrained (e.g., by not fully engaging in interpersonal relationships in ways

that can be advantageous for business). Even more, the present study showed how shifts between

science and business are easily enabled by the tightly connected nature of the industry, and by

the set of dynamic opportunities for starting or funding companies. For this reason, what may be

indicated in quantitative data as exiting an occupation and, therefore, deemed negative may in

practice be a natural career progression or intermittent opportunity. Thus, future research may

give more attention to the diverse range of professional outcomes and consequences of various

cultural practices. Likewise, from a policy standpoint, those interested in reducing workplace

gender inequality should examine the ongoing effects that ambiguous expectations perpetuate.

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Further, while recent gender literature has highlighted the relevance of cultural context on

various professional outcomes, it has not specified the theoretically significant criteria that shape

these outcomes (e.g., Turco 2010). The findings from the present study suggest particular

workplace cultures that should be explored in other settings. Specifically, I found meaningful

variation based on the professional division between expertise and morality purposes,

particularly as their professional cultural ideals are associated with disparate levels of ambiguity.

By taking a broader cultural approach to workplace inequality, I identified a range of cultural

dimensions of work that affect professionals’ ability to fit in. This approach can enable gender

scholars to better contextualize the effects of gender on outcomes of interest.

Finally, this study suggests revisions to our approach to examining gender inequality in

STEM professions, specifically. In addition to understanding cultural differences between

science and business contexts, this study further highlights the dynamic nature of science-track

careers. Science roles become more business-like in culture as professionals move into higher

leadership roles. Where policy efforts have focused on increasing girls’ and young women’s

interest and involvement in scientific endeavors, this shows how the barriers are more

variegated. Indeed, those perceived as most successful overall in the life sciences industry were

often those who had taken on a diverse range of science and business roles throughout their

careers, not those directly practicing science or even in an exclusively science track. If changes

are to be made that promote gender equity in STEM, they may be more fruitfully targeted at

presenting the changing and expanding nature of scientific roles. This would prevent those who

preeminently exit scientific roles early out of lack of cultural fit from doing so, if they

understand that more fitting interpersonal and presentation cultural aspects of work will emerge.

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Cultural Sociology The present study leveraged the conceptual tools of cultural sociology—namely, cultural

schemas and boundaries—to examine how people define and attempt to become worthy or

successful professionals. I drew on these cultural concepts to inform the development of my

interview guide and to analyze a vast amount of rich personal career and work experience

narratives. In developing interview questions and probes, I sought to gain insights on the ways

that cultural schemas shape people’s understanding of what they need to do to be successful,

whether they feel their identity fits with that image, and how these understandings shaped their

experiences. To elicit responses about these concepts and issues, I asked professionals about

other professionals assessed to be successful or disastrous, as well as about their own career

practices and strategies, especially those related to interpersonal relationships and self-

presentation. As discussed above, this approach enabled me to contribute to extant gender

scholarship that has often lacked such a cultural and comparative perspective, as my analyses

showed variation in the particular cultural schemas and boundaries associated with each

profession.

Further, as we have seen throughout this work, cultural logics of patient-centricity and

relentless commitment to work as a life mission pervade the broader industry field. Beyond the

industry field itself, we should understand this framing of a relentless commitment to work as a

morally worthy endeavor in its broader cultural backdrop. Such morally-conscious work frames

have deeply historical roots, from Weber’s ([1905] 2003) theory of the Protestant work ethic to

Jackall’s (1988) account of moral complexities among managers in modern bureaucracies. More

recently, similar morally worthy work frames have re-emerged as a legitimate boundary enabling

the wealthy to preserve their economic and social advantages in an era when meritocracy is

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prized in the U.S. (Sherman 2017). The present study’s findings suggest the ways that such

frames can emerge at the field and profession levels, deeply infusing professionals’ lives even in

the absence of traditional bureaucracies. Though my respondents work in a range of

organizational types, the morally charged tropes persist less because of bureaucratic forms and

more because of the industry’s pervasive start-up culture, where work is not a job, but a lifestyle.

The findings from this study also contribute to the field of cultural sociology. Cultural

sociologists have been interested in understanding the criteria of evaluation for including or

excluding people across a range of areas of social life (Lamont 2009, Lamont 2012). In this

work, I examined the cultural schemas that people use to define professional ideals, establishing

some as worthy colleagues or fellow industry professionals and others as cultural misfits, not

fulfilling the cultural expectations. In this way, I contribute to our understanding of the

interpersonal relationship and self-presentation criteria on which people are included or excluded

from consideration for professional advancement or other opportunities. Primarily, I have

focused on the ways people’s understandings of these criteria shape their own decisions to opt

into or out of a particular professional pathway. However, respondents’ discussions of successful

and unsuccessful others show the ways that these cultural criteria shape professional evaluations

of others in ways that may enable or constrain their career opportunities.

Additionally, by analyzing the broader cultural contexts and purposes for establishing

interpersonal relationships, this research bridges cultural sociology and social psychology, and

suggests future research to be extended along the same vein. Sociologists have long studied trust,

but often focused on broad variations in its forms—the difference between generalized,

particularized, and strategic (for a review, see Smith 2010). These conceptions have made

important contributions to the discipline, but have largely focused on intergroup perceptions

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(e.g., extent to which one trusts others they perceive to be similar to them), especially those

related to race. This work brings a sociological understanding of culture to the more specific

differences in types of trust that social psychologists have identified, especially cognition-based

and affect-based. The differences in professional strategies for garnering each type of trust

suggest fruitful avenues for future sociological research on group relations. For example,

research on race relations may consider the role of these particular types of trust on personal and

professional outcomes. In this or other substantive areas, research may give further attention to

how empirically-based and emotionally-based assessments differently shape experiences.

The findings from this study also suggest the importance of examining not only the

content of evaluation criteria, but also the level of ambiguity of such criteria. Where ideal images

are vague, those with relatively lower power (even among otherwise elite professionals) are

taxed with managing a complex range of strategies in order to be perceived as legitimate

professionals. Those with power (e.g., male VC investors, in the present study) engage in a more

straightforward strategy seeking to set themselves apart (see also Bellezza, Gino, and Keinan

2014). Social class divisions have increasingly been maintained not by elitist tastes and explicitly

material items, but by displaying omnivorous preferences (Bryson 1996) and cultural capital

(which only implicitly also signals the economic capital generally required to achieve it). The

present study shows the easily hidden challenges that emerge with more nuanced, ambiguous

cultural ideals.

While the present study has examined how ambiguous cultural schemas operate in a

particular professional field, the implications extend to both other organizational research and to

inequality research in a range of domains. Lamont and colleagues (2014) theorize that examining

cultural processes will enable social scientists to connect micro-level cognitive processes to

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macro-level inequalities. Fruitful cultural sociology research has increasingly shown the

explanatory value of such cultural processes. Scholars have shown how cultural schemas create

divisions and lead to social and economic inequalities, from parenting practices in childhood

(Lareau 2003) to work and family decisions as successful executives (Blair-Loy 2003). The

present study provides two particularly rich empirical areas for further applying the call for such

a cultural process-oriented approach. Though I identified expertise and morality as specific

cultural schemas leading to variation in culturally valued interpersonal and presentation styles,

each schema influences a vast range of social life domains. Indeed, entire social science subfields

are devoted to each of these concepts (e.g., sociology of knowledge, morality and trust in social

psychology).

In her well-known lecture and subsequent article, Reskin (1988) developed a cultural

explanation for inequality that emphasized the role of power. Drawing on conflict theory (e.g.,

Collins 1975), Reskin argues that dominant groups preserve their social advantage by first

creating boundaries between themselves and the subordinate group, and then devaluing the

qualities associated with the subordinate group. Applying this theory to gender inequality,

Reskin argues that occupational sex integration will not eradicate gender inequality because

those in more powerful positions (in this case, disproportionately men) will alter the criteria to

maintain a hierarchical gender division. The present study shows the nuanced processes by

which inequality can persist. While this study compared two male-dominated professions, it

shows how processes by which inequality are perpetuated vary by cultural context. Further, that

men experienced similar variation in career challenges between the two professions (even though

not to the same extreme as women did) calls into question the particular type of power struggle

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presented by Reskin. Rather, it points to broader systems of power relationships that create the

cultural rules of the game.

Economic Sociology and Organizations

This study examined the broader organizational field in which people operate

professionally and shows the empirical and theoretical value of doing so. While extant social

science research on the life sciences industry has looked at the connections across organizations,

it has not focused on the way that professional divisions between science and business shape the

industry. Beyond their effects on individual career outcomes, as examined in the present study,

the central science-business relationships suggest that future research give further attention to

these dynamics on other outcomes, such as innovation and patenting. Further, this study showed

the ways in which the broader industry field context, ripe with professionalization and

networking events, adds to people’s conceptions of success beyond their organization’s walls.

Within this tightly-knit professional community, professionals have broader knowledge of their

peers across organizations. And in a space where mergers and acquisitions are frequent, in a

boom as of this writing (Carroll 2018), professionals are frequently jumping across roles and

organizations. For this reason, a professional’s direct employer at a given point is far from the

only or even primary influence on their work practices. Giving attention to the broader macro

environment in which professionals operate, as this study has done, can help organizational

scholars more richly identify the influences on the professionals whom they study.

Beyond taking a field approach, this work contributes to current organizational and work

literature by further parsing out cultural processes. While others (e.g., Rivera 2012, 2015) have

examined cultural processes at the hiring stage, this study has taken an in-depth look at what

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happens once people are in organizations. Where Rivera suggests that interpersonal and

presentation skills may be overemphasized to some extent, I find that they, in fact, continue to

matter in the organizational contexts themselves. Rather than merely serving as a signal of

cultural fit, they are part of the core set of skills for communicating the technical and moral ends

continually required in this innovation supercluster. Most importantly, feeling like a good fit for

a profession does not guarantee a successful outcome. As this study has shown, the ambiguity of

the professional culture can hinder experiences even for those who fit best.

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Appendix A. Interview Guide Part I. Overview of Career Trajectory, Work Experiences, and Work Environment Let’s start off with you just telling me a bit about your current job. (Q1) Could you tell me a bit about your current job and how you came to it? Probes and Related Questions:

- How did you become interested in [the job/career]? - What about how you became interested in [the firm]? - What were you doing prior to this job? - Why did you leave your previous job [and/or firm]?

(Q2) Could you walk me through in detail what you do on a typical workday? (Q3) Are there other tasks or assignments that you do not typically do, but that you do on occasion? Could you tell me about them? (Q4) What about your relationships at work? Could you describe your relationships with colleagues? Probes and Related Questions:

- In what ways do you interact with colleagues at work? Is the interaction strictly formal? Do you have casual conversations with any of your colleagues while at work? What do you discuss? Who participates?

- Do you socialize with any colleagues outside of work? - Who participates? - What types of events do you attend? - What do you think of these events? - Why do you attend them?

(Q5) Who are the people you’re working with most closely? What are they generally doing? Part II. Professional Goals and Self-Evaluation Now that you’ve given me a sense of what you do, I’d like to talk about your goals and how you feel work has been going for you. (Q6) Could you tell me a bit about your current personal goals at [the firm]? Probes and Related Questions:

- How do you expect to accomplish them?

(Q7) How comfortable do you feel at work? When did you start to feel that way? (Q8) Do you feel like you fit in at work or not? How so?

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(Q9) What does [the firm] want or expect you to accomplish? (Q10) How would you describe your work performance over the last several months? Probes and Related Questions:

- What about over the last couple years? (Q11) What kind of feedback (both formal, for a performance review, and informal on daily assignments) on your performance have you received from your managers or colleagues? (Q12) How have you responded to the feedback you’ve received? Probes and Related Questions:

- What in particular did you do? Could you provide some examples? - What do you think was the outcomes of the changes you made?

(Q13) What do you do to get staffed on a project (or deal, or equivalent depending on the occupation)? Probes and Related Questions:

- What do you think most people in your position at your firm do to [get staffed on a project]?

Part III. Workplace Success Culture, Interpersonal Relationships, and Self-Presentation So in thinking about what people do to get staffed on projects/deals or just doing their job more generally, I’d like to discuss what you think it takes to be successful. (Q14) Who is someone that you think is really successful at your firm? First, let’s talk about someone in a position similar to yours that you think is successful. (Q15) Could you think about a person whom you really think does the job well and just describe what you think it is that makes them successful at [the firm]? What is their job? (Q16) Do you think social skills or personal presentation matter for this person’s success?

Probes and Related Questions: - Why or why not? - What aspects of his/her style do you think help or hinder him/her?

(Q17) Could you tell me in detail how that person presents him/herself? Probes and Related Questions:

- How do they act? Around managers? Around clients? Around peers? - I’d like to form a picture of what this person looks like. Can you describe him/her to

me? How do they dress? What is their style?

(Q18) Are there any [men/women, sex other than that of person first noted above] that you think are really successful? [repeat same questions as above]

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(Q19) What about successful people even higher up at your firm in general, not just in your particular job? Probes and Related Questions:

- Could you tell me about what that person does really well? - How does this person present him/herself? - What do you think is effective about the way that person presents him/herself?

(Q20) [If respondent manages others] Of those whom you manage, who is your favorite? Probes and Related Questions:

- Could you tell me about what that person does really well? - How does this person present him/herself? - What do you think is effective about the way that person presents him/herself?

(Q21) So we’ve been talking about the people you think are doing things right. What about a person whom you think is just a total disaster? Probes and Related Questions:

- What does this person do? - How do they present themselves? - Does [person] know they don’t have it right for this career?

(Q22) Who can break all of the rules and get away with it?

Probes and Related Questions: - What do they do? - Why do you think they can get away with it?

Part IV. Cultural Fit [Transition directly from section above.] (Q23) What about for you, in particular? Could you tell me a bit more about what you do in your current position to be successful? (Q24) What about how you present yourself at work? Could you give a specific example to illustrate your point? Probes and Related Questions:

- How do you act around peer colleagues? Around people more junior? Around people more senior? For work social events?

- What about your physical appearance? Could you describe how you attend to your appearance for work? (Style, brands, hair, physique)

(Q25) How do you decide to present yourself this way? Probes and Related Questions:

- What do you think you convey by presenting yourself in these ways?

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(Q26) How do you feel when you present yourself that way? What do you like/dislike about it? (Q27) Ideally, if it were up to you, how would you present yourself? (Q28) What qualities do you think are most valued at your firm? Probes and Related Questions:

- How about for men? - How about for women?

(Q29) Do you think you have any of the qualities [the firm] values most? Which ones? (Q30) What do you do to convey those qualities? (Q31) Do you think there are any differences in what men and women do to be successful at your firm? Probes and Related Questions:

- What do you think it takes for a man/woman to be a successful in your position? - In other positions at your firm?

Part V. Future Career Plans and Goals Let’s wrap up by discussing some of your future plans. (Q32) What are the next steps you plan to take in your career? Probes and Related Questions:

- What type of job? Type of organization? (Q33) What do you think you’ll be doing the same or differently to succeed in [the new role]?

304

Appendix B. Selected Characteristics of Interviewees Table B1. Selected Characteristics of Science Interviewees

Current Organizationa

Interviewee Pseudonym

Gender Ageb

Previous Profession(s) – Previous Organization(s)c

Academic/ Research

Institutions

Jenn Female 20s N/A Monica Female 30s N/A Lindsey Female 30s N/A Hannah Female 30s N/A Jake Male 30s N/A

Start-up to Mid-Size

Biopharma-ceutical

Company

Kyle Male 20s Other – other Amanda Female 20s Science – start-up Gabriel Male 40s Science – research Rachel Female 30s Science – research, start-up Fred Male 50s Science – research, start-up Julia Female 50s Science – research, mid biopharma, large pharma Keith Male 50s Science – large pharma, mid biopharma, start-up Ralph Male 60s Science – large pharma, start-up, research Tina Female 40s Science – research, mid biopharma Ryan Male 30s Science – research, contract, large pharma Dennis Male 50s Science – large pharma Sharon Female 50s Science – mid biopharma Matt Male 50s Science – mid biopharma, large pharma Travis Male 40s Science – mid biopharma, large pharma

Large Pharmaceutical

Josh Male 30s Science – research Natalie Female 30s Science – research, med Neil Male 40s Science – research, start-up Jasmin Female 20s Science – gov Meredith Female 30s Science – large pharma Sam Male 40s Science – mid biopharma Nathan Male 40s Science – large pharma Seth Male 40s Science – start-up, research Bruce Male 50s Science – large pharma Greg Male 60s Science – research, large pharma Gloria Female 50s Science – large pharma Charlesd Male 60s Science – medicine

a Current organization and profession refer to the respondent’s sole or primary role at the time of the interview or their most recent role for a interviewees who were between jobs. b Specific ages are used to calculate the age means presented in Chapter 1. To help protect confidentiality, I present individual-level age data by decade, which still provides a meaningful context for the career and gender issues examined in this work. c Research=academic (university) or other research institution; start-up=small, early-stage company to slightly later stage but still small biotechnology/medical device; mid biopharma=mid-size biotechnology, pharmaceutical, medical device, or bioinformatics company; large pharma=large pharmaceutical or medical device company (primarily consists of those ranked top 25 in the industry by revenue, with others of comparable size); contract=contract research/manufacturing organization; med=hospital or medical practice; gov=government institution; other=non-life sciences organization. d Current organization is a large contract research organization.

305

Table B2. Selected Characteristics of Business Interviewees

Current Organizationa

Interviewee Pseudonym

Gender Ageb

Previous Profession(s) – Previous Organization(s)c

Chief Executives

Start-up, Mid Size

Biopharma, Contract,

Consulting

Ethan Male 20s Science – research Dan Male 30s Business – other Chad Male 40s Science – research; Business – finance Cynthia Female 50s Science – research, large pharma, medicine, gov Eric Male 30s Science – start-up Walter Male 60s Science – other; Business – start-up Jeremy Male 30s Science – start-up Maria Female 50s Science – research, start-up; Business – finance Judith Female 50s Science – large pharma; Business – large pharma Wendy Female 50s Science – mid biopharma, large pharma Darren Male 50s Business – other

Business Development and Operations

Start-up to Mid Size

Biopharma

Carol Female 50s Science – mid biopharma; Business – mid biopharma

Jack Male 50s Science – other; Business – other Cheryl Female 40s Business – large pharma, contract, other Dale Male 50s Business – mid biopharma Rebecca Female 50s Business – start-up, other Emma Female 20s Business – mid biopharma Sarah Female 20s Business – mid biopharma Jay Male 30s Science – start-up

Large Pharmaceutical

Jill Female 30s Science – start-up, mid biopharma; Business – large pharma

Shane Male 40s Business – other Melissa Female 50s Science – mid biopharma, large pharma Vicky Female 40s Business – gov Veronica Female 40s Science – large pharma Mitch Male 40s Science – start-up Roger Male 50s Science – research, start-up, large pharma Paul Male 40s Science – mid biopharma, large pharma; Business

– large pharma Heather Female 40s Business – large pharma Andrew Male 30s Science – start-up; Business – start-up Russ Male 50s Business – other

Contract Research/

Manufacturing (CRO/CMO)

Shannon Female 30s Science – research; Business – contract Brooke Female 20s Business – contract Sheila Female 50s Business – other Brian Male 30s Business – contract Trevor Male 30s Science – contract; Business – contract Diana Female 40s Business – contract Jacqueline Female 50s Business – large pharma Brent Male 30s Business – contract Ron Male 50s Science – start-up, large pharma

306

Table B2. Selected Characteristics of Business Interviewees (continued)

Current Organizationa

Interviewee Pseudonym

Gender Ageb

Previous Profession(s) – Previous Organization(s)c

Business Development and Operations (continued)

Partnering Institutions

Teresa Female 50s Science – start-up, mid biopharma, contract; Business – partnering

Shawn Male 30s Science – mid biopharma; Business – mid biopharma

Carl Male 50s Business – mid biopharma, other Human Resources

Mid Size Biopharma and Large Pharma

Olivia Female 20s Business – other Mary Female 40s Business – large pharma James Male 70s Business – mid biopharma, large pharma

Finance

Venture Capital (firms

and large pharmaceutical

arms), Angel Groups,

Investment Banks

Patricia Female 40s Science – research; Business – start-up, mid biopharma, large pharma, advisory

Lori Female 50s Business – mid biopharma Adam Male 50s Science – start-up; Business – start-up Brad Male 30s Business – finance, start-up Howard Male 50s Business – other, finance Alan Male 50s Business – mid biopharma Henry Male 50s Science – contract; Business – mid biopharma Anna Female 40s Science – start-up; Business – large pharma Kendra Female 20s N/A

Professional Advisory Services

Consulting and Law

Doug Male 50s Science – mid biopharma; Business – start-up, mid biopharma

Tim Male 50s Science – research, start-up, med Gary Male 70s Business – start-up, mid biopharma, finance Gail Female 70s Business – contract, med Elaine Female 50s Science – research Nicole Female 30s Business – contract Luke Male 20s Science – med Steve Male 50s Business – advisory Gordon Male 60s Business – advisory

a Current organization and profession refer to the respondent’s sole or primary role at the time of the interview or their most recent role for a interviewees who were between jobs. b Specific ages are used to calculate the age means presented in Chapter 1. To help protect confidentiality, I present individual-level age data by decade, which still provides a meaningful context for the career and gender issues examined in this work. c Research=academic (university) or other research institution; start-up=small, early-stage company to slightly later stage but still small biotechnology/medical device; mid biopharma=mid-size biotechnology, pharmaceutical, medical device, or bioinformatics company; large pharma=large pharmaceutical or medical device company (primarily consists of those ranked top 25 in the industry by revenue, with others of comparable size); contract=contract research/manufacturing organization; med=hospital or medical practice; gov=government institution; finance=venture capital firms, angel investor groups, investment banks, and investment arms of large pharmaceutical companies (only financial organizations related to life sciences, otherwise indicated as “other”); partnering=partnering institution (e.g., technology transfer office); advisory=professional advisory services (except finance); other=non-life sciences organization.

307

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