Many thanks for the anti-acknowledgments

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Earlier this month, part of a Ph.D. thesis went viral on social media. It wasn’t a bizarre artificial intelligence–generated figure, or a scintillating methods description, or a result that could revolutionize medicine; it was a twist on the standard acknowledgements section. The excerpt, written by a graduate student named Rachel Los, featured a page of anti-acknowledgments, offering her heartfelt “no thanks” to everyone who dissuaded, intimidated, or made inappropriate comments to her as she worked toward her degree: colleagues who had expressed skepticism about her ability to pursue science as a woman; did or said unsolicited icky, creepy things; or otherwise made comments that, in her words, “shattered my confidence” and “made me feel like I do not belong in science.”

It clearly hit a nerve: The posts have been viewed thousands of times, with many proposing their own anti-acknowledgments—and many more lamenting that, in 2025, we’re still fighting some of the same battles against harassment and discouragement that should have been obsolete decades ago.

I was struck by how Los subverted a traditional—and sometimes boring and boilerplate—component of a thesis to speak her truth. Graduate students inherently have so little power that the ability to deviate from tradition in the prologue to your thesis—a document that, let’s face it, you’re primarily writing for yourself—is a legitimate flex. Your dissertation is your dissertation, and though the scholarly part still needs to meet academic standards, the decorative bits are yours to control. An anti-acknowledgments section—right smack at the beginning of vellum-bound scholarly research, printed on nice paper and enshrined in the university library—has impressive heft.

Some may argue that such a section has no place in a formal dissertation—that it’s unprofessional, or ungrateful. And certainly, it’s nice to have a true acknowledgements section—for the people who truly contributed positively.

But, let’s face it: A lot of traditional acknowledgements sections are phoned in. Honestly, I couldn’t remember who I might have thanked in my thesis. When I recently pulled my dissertation down from a shelf in my bedroom and opened it for the first time in years, I found that first I thanked my adviser, because that’s what you do. Then I thanked my thesis committee, because it seemed prudent to commend them in advance for a favorable decision. Next up was my oral exam committee from 5 years earlier (because why not), then all of our collaborators at other institutions. A page and a half in, I started thanking other members of my lab who had contributed to the project, then everyone else in the lab who hadn’t contributed to the project (because why not), then the department itself, then our funders, and finally my family and “the 261 mice who gave their lives for this project.” Mercifully, the acknowledgments ended there, rather than continuing to list the name of each mouse.

I wrote this section for two main reasons: I wanted to thank everyone who had assisted me, and more importantly, I had seen previous students write this section.

But if you find yourself in the lucky position of finishing up your dissertation soon (because the science job market is awesome right now), maybe you’ll want to do something different. Maybe you’re thinking of adding an anti-acknowledgments section, to celebrate your success—no thanks to the unhelpful people and events along the way. If that idea appeals to you, you probably have some ideas for that section. But if you’re looking for inspiration, here are some suggestions for the only page of your thesis that you might post on social media:

• No thank you to the kindergarten teacher who said I’d never amount to anything. Check it out, dummy: I’m getting an advanced degree, and I got to eat all that paste.
• No thank you to the people I tried to date who never, ever understood why my work schedule wasn’t a typical work schedule and why I sometimes just had to go to the lab at midnight. “Why don’t you tell your adviser it’s not reasonable to work at midnight?” they would ask. See below.
• No thank you to the adviser who made me work at midnight, yet at the same time made me feel like I couldn’t ask to not work at midnight.
• No thank you to the snackless seminars. Stupid seminars! Have snacks! Why wouldn’t you have snacks? What, I ask you, is the point of the seminar otherwise?
• No thank you to the politics that made science harder and less impactful. No thank you to the reorganizations and funding hiccups that no one wanted, and most of all, no thank you to every time we had to avoid the simplest, most logical way of doing something just so we didn’t have to annoy someone in a position of power.
• No thank you to the mice who died before the experiment was over. I tried, guys, but seriously, you’ve got to hold up your end.
• No thank you to anyone who said, either implicitly or explicitly, that a good scientist has no outside interests. You fools: I never said I was a good
• Finally, a big no thank you to the part of myself that absorbed and dwelled on every negative comment, every failure, every feeling of hopelessness. You’re the part of me that sat in every classroom and showed up in the lab every day certain that I was the only impostor in a room of smart people. I know you’re a natural part of being human, and I know you’ll always be with me, but as I progress in my career as a scientist, I look forward to bidding you farewell—or at least seeing you a little less often.

Anti-acknowledgments probably aren’t destined to become a standard part of the dissertation—goodness knows there are already enough graduation requirements without a new expectation that you recount your misery.

But for those who feel strongly enough that they want to put their dissatisfaction on record, thank you—an actual thank you—to Rachel Loh for sharing her own.

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