Embracing my silly side makes me a better scientist. I wish I’d done it sooner

From ScienceMag:

“Come in,” I said to the scientists at my doorstep, ushering them toward the kitchen. Our color­ful tunics—not our typical work wear—rustled as we mixed that month’s cocktail, a wintery take on an Aperol spritz. We bantered and laughed; one attendee asked which walkout song we would choose if we were professional mixed martial arts fighters. It was what I needed, and not just for relief after a long week in the lab. I’ve learned that levity helps me be a better scientist, mentor, and colleague. It is also what keeps me going during hard times—a lesson that was reinforced the very next month.

For much of my career, my fellow scientists only saw what I call my “resting science face,” which conveys the part of me that’s driven to spend hours obsessing over a conference talk or stay up all night putting the final touches on a grant. They didn’t see the side of me that loves alien kidnapping skits on Saturday Night Live. As a woman and mother, I felt I needed to prove I was serious about the job, lest others view me as too distracted by my personal life to excel.

My serious face worked. I landed a job at a great univer­sity, recruited brilliant graduate students, and won tenure. But I felt I had to split myself in two—the serious scientist in public, the goofball in private. Only later did I realize how much stronger my science, and my relationships, could have been if I’d let both sides show sooner.

The first crack in my public persona came in 2024 when, on a whim, I participated in a local live storytelling show. I took a risk and described an embarrassing moment from a solo trip to Thailand. To my surprise, when people laughed it didn’t feel bad or shameful. It felt like a hug.

The experience made me think I could start to experiment with being silly at work, too. So, when Halloween came around, I delivered a lecture dressed in a fuzzy pink axolotl costume. I began kicking off lab meetings by asking my gradu­ate students what brings them joy or makes them laugh. And I started the monthly get together with colleagues. The idea was to get out of our usual professional mode by enjoying fancy cocktails and lighthearted conversation. Donning out­landish garments helped set the mood.

To my surprise, I found that injecting fun and humor into my work life didn’t make me less effective or credible. Students seemed to find me more approachable. Humor also helped me open up with colleagues, which in turn led others to be more authentic and vulnerable with me, a key part of building trust. After one of my closest international collaborators and I discov­ered a shared love of humor, we began affectionately poking fun at each other. That brought us closer and made it easier for us to handle challenging issues.

But perhaps most importantly, humor has helped me be re­silient. Not long after the gathering at my house last winter, my grant from the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency was abruptly terminated as part of the federal government’s sci­ence cuts. After the shock and immediate grief wore off, I turned to my goofy side, writing several pieces of satire, mak­ing joke T-shirts, and letting colleagues distract me with dis­cussions about the set design choices in Sir Mix-a-Lot’s 1992 Baby Got Back music video.

That’s not to say I was living in denial. I knew I needed to find new ways to pursue my goals in an increasingly complex funding environment. But that pressure could easily feel overwhelming. Making jokes and sharing laughter helped me stay present. It also served as a reminder of how much joy I get from interacting with the people I work with, what­ever the circumstances.

In the end, I have come to realize that being authentic at work is not a weakness, but rather a strength. For other scien­tists, that may mean talking more about their hobbies or families, or showing off their other talents—whatever brings them joy and helps them connect with others. For me, that’s humor.

So that’s why, even as I reimagine my research plans, I’ll be putting on a colorful outfit, calling up some friends, and crack­ing jokes. Now, more than ever, it’s time to laugh.

Read More