Philipp Gramlich and Karin Bodewits are founders of Natural Science Careers - a company for career counseling and soft skills seminars for natural scientists. For the Nachrichten aus der Chemie, both write about observations from their consulting work.
In 2005, I was toying with the idea of writing my diploma thesis with the newly appointed professor at our institute – but when I told my internship supervisor, Jan, about it, I was met with disdain. "Okay, so after a few standard syntheses, you just throw everything into the DNA synthesizer and get a few milligrams of DNA out. And then what?" the experienced doctoral student whispered to me. I countered that there were exciting interdisciplinary questions that the newly minted Leibniz awardee would be addressing with those small amounts of DNA. That was true, Jan replied, and "the new professor can write some great papers with it. But what good will that do for your Career?" The central distinguishing feature of chemists, he argued, is that no one else can synthesize and characterize molecules and other chemical substances.
Fast forward to the present. For a long time, there was speculation about how artificial intelligence (AI) would change our working lives – for the past three years, ChatGPT and similar programs have been demonstrating the reality. These models can now perform almost anything that can be easily parameterized far better than the smartest and most experienced humans. In the age of AI, the question arises: Is our unique selling point as chemists still one? After all, chemical bonds and reactions can be parameterized exceptionally well.
With the introduction of ATMs, surprisingly more bankers were hired: not to count money, but to provide advice. This kind of revaluation of our human labor is evident again now. "I save so much time with ChatGPT," a doctor friend tells me. Determining drug interactions was a real time-waster for her, and AI can help with that. As in many other professions, AI can generate time. This has a positive impact on profitability and patient care.
The old adage was that high-tech and high-touch professions—those involving intensive human contact—are difficult to replace. Chemists remain valuable in the high-tech sector because chemistry is so central to all scientific disciplines that it allows for the construction of many bridges and the development of new ideas. Chemists whose work involves direct interaction with people, such as in sales or communication roles, also remain difficult to replace.
So, when it comes to AI and the future of work, think in terms of possibilities rather than nightmare scenarios. And always look for creative, unique human strengths.
Philipp Gramlich, p.gramlich@naturalscience.careers
Science belongs online; that's almost a given today. Studies show that work shared on social media is cited more frequently. Platforms like Bluesky, LinkedIn, and others bring research to the attention of journalists, support public relations , and many funding organizations now expect research consortia to have a presence there. In short: anyone who wants reach and needs funding can hardly ignore social media.
A social media post can sometimes reach a wider audience than a conference presentation. A short lab video on Instagram captivates colleagues and laypeople alike. Outreach becomes measurable: followers, clicks, likes, shares. And these figures can be used directly in grant applications or final reports.
At the same time, it's true that many researchers simply have no interest in social media. And those who do try it quickly realize: it's a time sink. Added to this is the Fear of Missing Out (FOMO), which affects scientists just as much as everyone else. Relevant reach doesn't happen overnight. Visibility requires interaction – replies, comments, discussions – and therefore a lot of time. Those who have to painstakingly build a following over years quickly end up spending more energy scrolling than on research. Social media then feels like a second job. Except that the real job – experiments, manuscripts, and grant applications – gets neglected.
But there's good news. Nobody has to do everything alone. And you can reach people via social media without being active on every platform yourself. Many universities and research consortia operate their own social media channels. Simply forward the publication – and the responsible team will take care of promoting it. Or there might be someone on the author list who is already active and happy to share the work. And those who want to reach a less specialized audience with their research can leverage the reach of others: science influencers with thousands of followers are constantly on the lookout for ideas. Content in exchange for reach – a classic win-win.
Ensure your research is noticed beyond the ivory tower. Nothing is mandatory, everything is possible. Feel free to incorporate your own preferences, and that's precisely what can make these communication channels appealing. Don't let the fear of missing out (FOMO) stress you out; instead, embrace the joy of missing out (JOMO). You decide how you spend your time – and that includes slowing down through focused research.
Karin Bodewits, k.bodewits@naturalscience.careers
In a presentation workshop, we look at Valters' presentation, which he created for his industrial internship. He presents in a lively and engaging way, but his slides contradict what we discussed in the workshop. I cautiously inquire: "Did you have to use a template, or did you design it yourself?" "It's the company's corporate design," he replies, "cute but useless."
At first glance, the slides are quite appealing: not overloaded, the colors harmonize, there are even uniform symbols for standard processes.
The corporate design includes a wide, beige band in the background of the slide – a weakness of the template. The band looks innocuous, running unobtrusively across the left half of the slide. But it's not just background: If elements are placed over it, contrast is lost. If the band is omitted, only the right half of the slide remains for information.
“What is the function of the title slide?” I ask, moving on to my second point of criticism. “I have to list all the people and departments involved, as well as show the logos of the products in question.” Valters makes no secret of his dislike for the template. The entire content of the title slide can be moved to the acknowledgments, the penultimate slide. The final slide should be the summary, intended to spark discussion.
"The company logo is in the top left corner of every slide. What would be a better position for it?" I ask the group. Anna's hand shoots up: "After everything we've discussed so far, I'd say the trash can." Not bad – and if that's not possible, the acknowledgments slide could be a compromise. It's a common template sin to plaster the most prominent position on every single slide with a redundant logo.
All the problems I'm addressing point to the same thing: the organization puts itself first, not its audience. If you want to serve your listeners, simply ditch all the corporate nonsense. A headline color that appears in the logo is more subtle and perfectly sufficient to stand out.
As presenters, we are often forced to use poor templates. We can advocate for changes, but the main responsibility lies with the communications departments: Focus on the audience.
Philipp Gramlich, p.gramlich@naturalscience.careers
The recession Germany is experiencing is not a crash like the one following the Lehman Brothers collapse. Instead, it seems to be dragging on endlessly, like chewing gum. More and more early-career researchers are reacting to the real and anticipated economic difficulties by seeking the relatively safe haven of a postdoctoral position. This is because research funding is committed for several years, making it appear as a rock in turbulent times.
Whether things will look brighter in two years than they do today is impossible to predict. A postdoc tactic might therefore only postpone the problem. If you do choose the postdoc route, please only do so if you actively work on developing marketable skills and building a broad network during that time.
Entering the supposedly safe haven of a postdoc position isn't the only option. There are a few levers we can pull to succeed in an increasingly competitive job market: employer branding, location, and your field of expertise.
The size of an employer, and closely linked to their reputation, is the dominant factor determining the level of competition. One of my colleagues worked for a medium-sized biotech company. When a large corporation acquired it, the number of applications exploded virtually overnight – even though salaries decreased as a result of the acquisition. Smaller companies also tend to experience the most significant job growth.
The second factor is geography. Metropolitan areas and their employers are popular with young applicants. Consider the geographical radius within which you are willing to search.
The third factor is the type of work. You have an academic degree, so a research and development position seems like a natural fit. Most people think this, which is why these jobs are often highly competitive. Determine why you're drawn to such positions. For example, do you value the intellectual stimulation or the freedom of academic work? Take an open-minded look at the job market and search for all positions that can offer you these things.
Question whether your job search truly reflects your own interests. If you don't reflect on your own desires, then you're looking for your happiness where most others are.
Karin Bodewits, k.bodewits@naturalscience.careers
In a workshop on networking, we first look at profiles on professional social media like LinkedIn. Then I want to know what other networking activities the participants engage in. Finally, I ask them where they plan to pursue their careers after completing their doctorate or postdoc. Yannis takes the floor: "I'd like to go into the chemical industry immediately after completing my doctorate."
Yannis has described his previous experience in a clear and understandable way on his LinkedIn profile. He attends conferences recommended by his boss, where he presents the results of his research to an expert audience.
"You show what you've done so far, but not where you want to develop," I say. And he's not an isolated case. Most participants proceed in the same way.
On social media and in our application documents, we can describe ourselves in such a way that we become relevant and discoverable for our desired network partners and employers. An "Open to work" badge above the profile picture isn't enough. For example, after a long postdoc, Sarah wanted to move into industry. During her postdoc, she did preparatory work for her supervisor on a spin-off. Instead of omitting this, in her view, unsuccessful experience, she could describe it in her CV for applications and on social media: "Feasibility study for a spin-off from Prof. Mayer's working group ." While her profile immediately shows that she has a strong academic background, employers in industry are more interested in whether she can also function in a non-academic environment and are happy if Sarah gives more space to these experiences.
You also have freedom in choosing what you do and how you do it within your network. Are you interested in collaborating with industry? Then look for conferences or other networking events where delegates from academia and industry meet. Is there someone specific you want to meet there? Then look for overlaps with other delegates in advance. Do you share interests with your target person that you can use as starting points for a conversation? Is there someone in your network who could connect you with them?
With a little thought, preparation, and creativity, you can actively manage the development of your network and align it with your personal goals.
Philipp Gramlich, p.gramlich@naturalscience.careers
"Hey Dad, do you know the dumbest statement of all time?" one of my sons asks me at the dinner table. Before I can express my suspicions, he blurts out: "100 is a big number." He acknowledges my stunned expression with a triumphant grin. I reply: "If I may make a guess, I suspect it's not the dumbest statement in the world. However, it is one of the most common of the dumb statements."
The afternoon before this meeting, I gave feedback on a presentation to a scientist from a renowned pharmaceutical company. When we got to the inevitable wow slide of the company's self-presentation, I thought, "Not again!" Why? The presentation was aimed at graduates whose interest in the company was to be piqued. The slide contained a series of large numbers without context, such as: "5 billion euros research budget." Although this amount sounds enormous, it doesn't initially convey anything. During the consultation, we worked out how to bring this number to life. What percentage of revenue goes into research, and how does this percentage compare to the competition? Even non-experts can make sense of this information.
My son, with his childlike naivety—or his intuitive instinct—recognized that numbers without context are meaningless. This is evident in all areas of life. In Germany, 100,000 birds die annually from collisions with wind turbines. That sounds like a lot, but estimates suggest that a thousand times more birds are killed by domestic cats. And they don't contribute to the energy transition.
When applying for a job, the private sector in particular loves it when you express your value in numbers. Here, you should estimate who will be reading your application and, if in doubt, provide more context. Just imagine a twelve-year-old looking over your shoulder while you write your resume: If you describe how your ideas helped you speed up a project by two months, you'll get away with it. "Sales of goods worth 10 million euros," on the other hand, wouldn't pass the test.
Philipp Gramlich, p.gramlich@naturalscience.careers
"Before we look for a specific position, we first need to analyze ourselves," I begin the topic of introspection in a career workshop. Some participants seem curious, others not. "As a 30-year-old, do I really need a thorough navel-gazing?" Ezra asks with a grin.
At another workshop, Oskar stated right at the beginning: "I know my goal: I want to become a patent attorney." When asked, he explained that he enjoyed intellectual challenges and precise language—this would align well with the requirements of a patent attorney. During the course of the workshop, his introspection revealed that he thinks best when discussing things with colleagues. Of course, patent attorneys also exchange ideas with one another, but this only accounts for a small portion of their working time. The rest is spent alone. Oskar had to reconsider his suitability for what seemed like his dream job.
When scientists take a long time to land their first job, it's not because of a weak application or a shy interview demeanor. Instead, it's almost always a lack of reflection on their own goals and strengths.
Through such introspection, you become aware of your own desires. We often adopt the ideas of charismatic people, accepting their judgment without question. But then we follow their vision, not our own.
Being clear about your requirements will help you better describe your commitment to the position. Without this clarity, many application letters sound as if ChatGPT rewritten the requirements from the job posting into a cover letter.
The downside to outside influences is that you're stuck on well-trodden paths. But what happens when you're applying for the same types of positions, in the same organizations, in the same locations as most of your competitors? That's right. You'll have a tough time standing out in this crowded part of the job market.
Conducting a self-analysis before applying is neither navel-gazing nor a job creation measure for underemployed workshop leaders. It's a key step in tailoring your job search to your own desires and strengths.
Philipp Gramlich, p.gramlich@naturalscience.careers
In a coaching session, I'm sitting across from Magda, who's in the process of accepting a position as production manager. She talks about the upcoming negotiations with her boss: "She's a tough person, and I don't think she'll back down." Magda's move to production would mean a change to her employment contract, as she would have to come in at night in case of emergencies. In return, Magda wants one day of home office per week—not the easiest starting point.
I show her some of the lowlights of the recent rail strikes. Railway CEO Weselsky began the escalation with foul-mouthed insults. The employers refused to begin negotiations before the old collective agreement expired—a painful delay for workers after the wave of inflation. The workers, in turn, refused to negotiate behind closed doors, which made mutual concessions difficult.
"Even if you don't expect any insults in your case, it would be interesting to understand why your boss is acting so harshly," I begin, transferring the discussion to Magda's case. She thinks for a moment and then says, " Management is putting enormous pressure on her, and the HR department is generally skeptical about working from home." I notice that Magda chose different words than she did at the beginning, namely "difficult environment" instead of "tough person." Putting yourself in the other person's shoes focuses on their behavior rather than on perceived character flaws.
By starting negotiations early, Deutsche Bahn AG could have accommodated the employee side without compromising its own negotiating position. "Is there anything you could offer your boss that wouldn't hurt you?" I ask Magda. She nods. "Of course I would agree to the contract change if I took on responsibility in production, but not for free." I ask further: "And conversely: Would there be any advantages for your boss if you occasionally worked from home?" "Sure. Production is like a chicken coop; I can't work quietly if I have to write a report, for example. That's much easier at home."
The negotiating tactic now seems clear: Magda will first speak with her boss alone. She will ask what Management expects from her. Then, together, they will consider how to achieve a win-win situation, which will then be presented as a complete package to the HR department.
Philipp Gramlich, p.gramlich@naturalscience.careers
In an application workshop, I demonstrate the classic interview opening with Faye, an American: "Tell me a bit about yourself." She responds like a shot: In 60 seconds, we learn about the highlights of her educational journey, her motivation for applying, and the added value she brings to the fictitious employer. The other participants look impressed, but also a little concerned. Andreas sums up his thoughts: "If we were competing for the same position, I'd be in trouble—I'd never be able to convince the employer that much."
Faye did a good job. In the US, such short self-introductions are part of the school curriculum—it's understandable that she delivers so fluently. Nevertheless, all would be lost for the other candidates in the fictional situation.
Faye presented herself in her native language; she was playing on home soil. This is both a blessing and a curse. We are all calmer when we can speak the language we grew up with. Native speakers have to expend less mental energy finding the right words. However, speaking very fluently can also lead to the tongue being faster than the mind.1) In discussions, this can lead to impulsive reactions and excessive speech speed during a lecture . Having to find your words first can therefore be an advantage. This is usually the case when you express yourself in a foreign language.
I ask the group, "Did you understand everything Faye said?" "Your English is very good, of course," Felix replies. "Still, I find it easier to understand the English of someone who isn't a native speaker." He spoke with Andreas from Lower Bavaria during the last coffee break – his dialect was difficult for Felix, a native of Flensburg, to understand. In contrast, Andreas's strong German accent when he speaks English isn't pleasant to listen to, but it's very easy to understand.
If you speak a foreign language, this does not have to be a disadvantage for you: more laborious, but possibly more careful choice of words and perhaps even better comprehensibility will play into your hands.
Philipp Gramlich, p.gramlich@naturalscience.careers
In a career workshop we discuss two principles of salary negotiations. In a negotiation we need an anchor point. In salary negotiations this is the market value, i.e. the salary that is usual for the position you are aiming for.
With the first principle, you set your salary expectations at the upper end of this market value so that you have some buffer for the negotiation. The second principle is called BATNA, short for Best Alternative To a Negotiated Agreement. Think about what could happen if the negotiation does not lead to a satisfactory result? Of all the possible scenarios, BATNA is the best result, i.e. your fallback option.
I want to know from the participants whether their personal situation influences their salary expectations: “Imagine you or your partner were wealthy. Does that change your salary expectations?”
"If I'm already rich, I don't really need the money and I don't have to ask for much," Ina replies. "Or the other way around," Miroslav interjects. "You don't want to lag behind your partner so much, do you?"
Your financial situation can influence your salary expectations - but it shouldn't. If you ask for less than market value, you're giving a poor work sample. After all, if you don't stand up for yourself, how can you negotiate on behalf of the employer in the future and adequately represent their interests? On the other hand, if you ask for more than market value, you'll be unattractive.
"Does your personal situation influence your BATNA?" I ask my second question. The participants quickly realize what I'm getting at. "Unemployment with money is more pleasant than unemployment without money," Miranda says the obvious. And she's right: If you're doing well financially, you're in the comfortable position of being able to turn down a mediocre offer.
Second earners in particular often sell themselves short. And because many people find salary negotiations uncomfortable, they try to end them quickly with defensive tactics.
Naming your salary expectations is a pretty mechanical affair. Think of it as a work sample: show the employer that you can research your market value and present yourself confidently.
Philipp Gramlich, p.gramlich@naturalscience.careers
My first attempt as a scientist to engage with a lay audience was surprisingly challenging. During my postdoc, I took part in the Edinburgh Science Festival and stood on stage in front of 150 school children. I prepared much more intensively than I usually do for lectures: a particularly detailed preliminary discussion with the moderator, a three-dimensional model as visual material and many practice runs. At the end of the event, the moderator asked the audience which of the six of us scientists had made the best impression. None of the 300 hands went up for me. Where did I go wrong?
All my energy was focused on the question: How can I explain my science specifically to this target group in such a way that it is understandable? Despite all my efforts and considerations, I probably did not completely fail to be at least somewhat understandable. What I did not realize, however, was that what I was saying was simply not relevant to the audience. For them, it was the unworldly tinkering of a foreign nerd who stirs transparent liquids for days and occasionally shouts "Eureka" when he sees cryptic lines on his computer.
I am in good company. The former German Chancellor Angela Merkel once had a moment when the physicist in her, who holds a doctorate, broke free: During a Castor transport, small amounts of radioactive material escaped - at a time when there were particularly intense protests against these transports. Merkel stepped in front of the Tagesschau microphones and explained the accident. Something had gone wrong when the container was being transferred. You could imagine it like when children in a sandbox use a small shovel to pour sand from one bucket into another.
If the goal had been to make the process understandable even to viewers who have nothing to do with technology, then the explanation would have been appropriate. But the viewers' concern was something else: They wanted to be sure that something like this would not happen again in the future.
It is good that science is becoming more accessible to the public and that actors are expressing themselves more and more clearly. However, for most situations as communicating scientists, this first step in development is not enough: we need to put ourselves even more deeply in the shoes of our audience and add relevance to comprehensibility.
Philipp Gramlich, p.gramlich@naturalscience.careers
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last modified: 28.11.2025 09:59 H from Translator