Blue Ocean Strategy for Scientists

In the previous post, I introduced the Blue Ocean Strategy, a business strategy that creates new market space in which the competition becomes irrelevant. In a red ocean, the competition sharks are circling; when they attack, the water turns bloody. In a blue ocean, you create a space in which you operate with little or no competition.  The sharks don't exist in that world. 

In science, we compete for external funding, for resources within our institutions, and for journal space. In this post, I'll briefly go through some of the steps required to develop a Blue Ocean Strategy.  If you are interested in getting the full story and detailed examples, the book is available on amazon.com.  Even if you are not interested in business books, this one is quite readable due to the many interesting examples that give the background story on some businesses/products that you may have heard of and why they have been so successful (Cirque du Soleil, [yellow tail] wine).

The strategy involves four actions to identify the changes that need to be made to create a blue ocean.  These actions are expressed as questions to get you to begin formulating the necessary changes.

1. Which of the factors that the profession takes for granted should be eliminated?
2. Which factors should be reduced well below the profession's standard?
3. Which factors should be raised well above the profession's standard?
4. Which factors should be created that the profession has never offered?

I'll use one of the examples from the book to illustrate how this works and then see how this idea might apply to science fields.

Casella Wines is an Australian based company that created [yellow tail], which differed from the typical wine profile.  By applying a blue ocean strategy, the company created a wine that became the fastest growing brand in the history of the wine industry in both Australia and the US.  First, they realized that most Americans and Australians rejected wine as their drink of choice because its complex taste was difficult to appreciate (tannins, etc.) and its reputation as an elite drink was unappealing to the masses. Beer and mixed drinks were sweeter and easier to appreciate...and were appealing to the average person. So [yellow tail] was created with a new combination of wine characteristics: uncomplicated in structure, soft in taste, and up-front fruit flavors. Buyers did not have to have years of wine experience to enjoy drinking it. So the company eliminated all the factors that the wine industry typically competes on: tannins, oaks, aging. The company next turned to the bewildering array of wines that customers usually face in the store--an intimidating choice for those unschooled in the complexities of wine.  They reduced the choices to two wines: a white (Chardonnay) and a red (Shiraz).  They removed all the technical jargon from the label, created a bright logo, and put the bottles in a striking but simple display. This move streamlined the business (reduced stocks, manufacturing, selling)--reducing their costs of production. They promoted the wine as a fun drink anyone could enjoy (i.e., you don't have to be a wine snob to drink it).  They priced it above the budget jug wines, but below the bottle wines at $6.99.  By making these moves, they reached a new set of customers that were not typical wine-drinkers.  Bottles literally flew off the shelves.

In science, we are all competing in similar ways for journal space, for funding, and for recognition--all of which have feed-back effects on each other.  Students and very naive junior scientists often seem not to recognize that there is any competition (or behave as if there is no competition).  They think that funding for their research will arrive--all they have to do is write a proposal; their papers will get published--all they have to do is write it up and submit it; they will land a great job and become well-known--all they have to do is work hard.  In other words, they have no strategy.

More savy science practitioners recognize that competition exists and attempt to best others by working harder and spending longer hours in the lab.   For example, some of us spend an enormous amount of time writing proposals (usually for only one or two years of funding).  I know some scientists who routinely submit five to ten proposals per year in order to get one or two funded.  That time could have been spent writing papers, of course.  Is there a blue ocean strategy that reduces or eliminates competition for research funding?  That may seem like a nutty question.  Of course scientists have to compete for funding.  Or do they?

One blue ocean solution that a few scientists have discovered is to self-fund their research.  I wrote about this idea in an earlier post.  These researchers essentially donate a portion of their income to keep their labs running.  Some started doing it when funding temporarily dried up and continued the practice. They set aside some of their income to cover research expenses or did a bit of consulting on the side and used that income to fund their research and that of graduate students.  The advantage is that they no longer compete with other scientists for funding, they don't suffer the indignity of having reviewers and panelists bashing (or stealing) their ideas, they don't give up part of the funds to overhead, and they can research whatever topics they fancy.  The disadvantage, of course, is using personal income and losing the "prestige" that comes with grants.  This would not work for everyone, but could be a blue ocean strategy for some.  It might be a temporary solution to get you through a difficult patch, rather than a long-term strategy.  I offer this example because it's an approach that most scientists never consider and is a perfect example of a blue ocean strategy.

Another idea is to target sources of funding in which you may be more competitive or in which the total competition is small.  This is an obvious suggestion, but one that is sometimes overlooked.  Instead of going after NSF or NIH funding (a red ocean), for example, look for other funding sources with less competition or in which your proposal stands out.  I once got a fellowship by applying to a funding source that did not get many ecologists applying--thus, my application stood out.  Smaller grants, especially those with limited eligibility, are sometimes easier to get than the usual research grant.  Career advancement fellowships for women and minorities, for example, are available from government agencies and private foundations.  To make these decisions, you must have a really good idea of your competitive profile (more about this later). 

These are just a few ideas for creating a blue ocean strategy for a science career.  The point is to create a space for yourself to do science in which you make the competition irrelevant.  You can probably think of other ideas that would work for you and your situation.  In the next posts, we'll look at some other strategies as well as additional criteria that tell you whether your blue ocean ideas are viable.

Image Credit (modified from a still image from the film "Open Water")

Broken Promises--An Expert Replies

I posed the following question that a reader sent in to a grant-writing expert:

"A grant proposal names a particular individual as "consultant" and lists their credentials to perform consulting work.  The grant is awarded.  To what extent is the PI obligated to hire that individual?  Could another consultant be retained without repercussion?  Does the proposal constitute a contract between the institution and the consultant? What if the would-be consultant becomes seriously ill, or has a "falling out" with the PI before the grant work starts?"

Several readers have responded to the poll I posted (in right nav bar), and it seems that the majority so far agree with the expert:

"The award of grant funds by a funding agency to a PI is essentially a contract between the funding agency and the PI to carry out the proposed research.  Usually the answer to “change of consultant” is yes.  The funding agency approved the PI’s budget, which contained the consultancy position.  The agency does not normally approve each individual listed in the budget, other than the PI.  If the budgetary position had not been approved, the PI could not use any of those grant funds for hiring a consultant.  The PI generally has options about which personnel are to be supported on the grant, including any necessary changes to accomplish the research.

The PI did not offer the reason for the change, but it would be well to consider at least two aspects.

1) Review all correspondence and conversations between the PI and the initial consultant to determine to what extent the consultant may have been “promised” the position.  If there were obligations made or implied, to what extent would they be legally binding if brought to court?

2) Gather all pertinent material about the replacement consultant and then contact the Project Officer of the funding agency.  Cite the reasons for the change, the expertise of the new consultant, and offer to send on further documentation.  Assure the Project Officer that the research can/will be carried out under the terms of the award with the new consultant."

~ Charles F. Howard, Jr., Ph.D

You don't necessarily have to agree with this.  Please indicate your preference in the poll or tell us about any experience you've had with a similar situation.

If you are interested in learning more about grant writing, Dr. Howard is hosting an audioconference on January 26, 2010 at 1:00pm EST: Writing Successful Grant Proposals

Broken Promises

The following question was posed to a grant writing expert:

"A grant proposal names a particular individual as "consultant" and lists their credentials to perform consulting work.  The grant is awarded.  To what extent is the PI obligated to hire that individual?  Could another consultant be retained without repercussion?  Does the proposal constitute a contract between the institution and the consultant? What if the would-be consultant becomes seriously ill, or has a "falling out" with the PI before the grant work starts?"

What do you think?  What if the individual in question was an associate PI (among several PIs), but did not make a significant contribution to the proposal preparation?

Give your opinion in the poll to the right.

Retirement Fantasies

Continuing on the theme of self-funded scientists, I wonder why more scientists don’t pursue science in retirement? Especially biologists and ecologists who can conduct a lot of research inexpensively. In retirement, one has a lot of time and no job responsibilities. Being older and experienced, a retiree is also presumably pretty knowledgeable. You don’t have to worry about fumbling around trying to figure out how to design an experiment or what would be the proper method to use in a new situation—as you likely did early in your career. You probably have a file full of ideas for experiments that you never got around to or that funding agencies didn’t like. Even better is that you don’t have to bother with all the egregious bureaucracy that employed scientists have to put up with.

I find it difficult to imagine not doing science. I also know that a lot of people don’t live very long after they retire. This may be especially true of people who either enjoyed what they did (and would miss doing it) or whose identity was tied up with their career. Not having goals or something to get out of bed for is deadly at any age, but particularly so in old age. The newly retired are one of the most vulnerable groups to depression. Of course, most people fantasize about retirement as a time to kick back, play golf, drink wine, spend time with family, etc. The last thing they want to do is work—or anything resembling work. I know once-dedicated scientists who walked away from their labs upon retirement and never looked back.

As for me, I cannot think of any leisure activity that would be as stimulating or interesting as science. I also detest the idea of frittering away my time playing golf or lying on a beach. I could imagine viewing science in retirement the same way 19th century naturalists viewed it: an intellectual hobby. These “gentleman scientists” were typically wealthy and did not have to work, but still pursued their scientific interests with zeal and produced major works (Darwin, for example). Interestingly, the concept of retirement was introduced in the late 19th century.

If you plan to travel in retirement, why not collect some data or specimens, write, or do whatever is most enjoyable to you (science-wise) along the way? If your science while employed involved high-tech, expensive equipment, then you could do something more affordable—and possibly more interesting--after retirement. Delve into a new field. Some retirees volunteer for science expeditions--often in remote and interesting settings. That would be a great way to learn about something new; and because you are already an experienced scientist, you would be an asset to the project. Or you could continue to collaborate with working scientists who have labs and grants and who would like to have you participate (and not have to pay you a salary). You would not have to deal with the administrative tasks, but just show up and do what you enjoy.

Even if you are not close to retirement, it is a good idea to be thinking about what you might like to do in retirement and to begin planning for it.

The time I most enjoyed nature and science was when I was a child, free to follow my whims, with no one to criticize my ideas, with no pressures to meet some deadline. I set up a corner of my bedroom as a laboratory, saved up to purchase collecting equipment and a microscope, and was my own boss. I’d like to experience that again.

Self Funding in Science

I’ve gotten onto the theme of early naturalists, adventurers, and generally intrepid souls who ventured into an essentially unexplored world to view and study nature. Many were self-funded “gentleman scientists” who could spend inordinate amounts of time (years) pursuing their travels to collect scientific specimens for museums and to observe and study remote natural areas.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how the pursuit of science has changed. Most of us spend a lot of time not actually doing science, but instead carrying out bureaucratic tasks or running after grants to fund our research and our staffs. In a previous post, I mentioned an article in Science called “Scientists Who Fund Themselves”. It is quite interesting reading and made me wonder why more of us don’t fund ourselves—at least in part.

The article describes a diverse group of scientists, some wealthy, but most just middle-class, who personally fund part or all of their research. One person used his savings to invest in the stock market, and now he runs his own lab, mostly funded by him. Some scientists use money made on the side consulting to fund their labs. Other scientists use part of their annual income ($10,000 to 20,000) to help pay expenses, including the salaries of staff, instead of wasting time begging for the funds from NSF. Many of us have used personal funds to pay for a conference trip or for a field trip when we did not have enough grant money to cover costs. But few of us are aware that some scientists have chosen to fund themselves at a higher level. Many who are aware of the practice think it’s crazy. Part of it is the loss of prestige and status that comes with winning grants. Also, the idea of using personal funds to carry out one’s job is abhorrent to many people.

But for some, it was the only way to keep their labs going. One researcher at the University of South Florida has donated $15,000 to $20,000 (made in outside consulting) annually for 30 years to his research. He’s not wealthy, but thinks his university salary is enough to live on. The consulting funds he’s donated has sent students to conferences or to do fieldwork or to pay for journal subscriptions.

Some of these self-funded scientists are driven by a desire to side-step the “time-gobbling”, “dignity-draining grantsmanship process” and pursue ideas that funding panels pan. Interestingly, a number of the people highlighted in the Science article are scientists studying biology or physiology of organisms, but who find they cannot compete with the molecular scientists. Whole-organism biology has definitely fallen out of favor. Not only are university departments not hiring such people, but funding agencies have also shifted interest toward molecular work. What is so sad about this is that a lot of whole organism or ecological research can be quite inexpensive, and these scientists are asking for very modest grants.

Also, if you delve into another field or area within your field, it’s difficult to compete for funding because you’ve not established yourself. One wonders how many good ideas and possible advances have been squelched because the proposal was written by an unknown, goes against the dogma, or does not involve sexy new techniques. And then there are the politics involved in getting grants--no need to elaborate.

Besides avoiding the competition for funding, self-funded researchers have more time for their research. Also, there’s no loss to overhead, which can eat up half of a grant. Self-funders are free to pursue their interests and not have to justify it by showing how the results will have some technological application or “broader impact”.

What a concept! Studying something just because it’s interesting. Sounds a lot like the 19th century “gentleman scientists” who studied nature because they found it fascinating.

The Gentleman Scientist

I was watching a film about Charles Darwin the other night and later began thinking about these early naturalist explorers. Many of them were able to pursue their interests in nature and science because they came from wealthy families, which allowed them the freedom from having to work (and deal with grant writing). Darwin is a classic example. His father was a wealthy physician, and his wife’s father was a wealthy industrialist. The voyage he took on the Beagle (1831-1836) was underwritten by his father (after Darwin’s father-in-law helped convince the family that Darwin should go).

Imagine spending five years sailing around the world, stopping in the Galapagos and other exotic places studying the geology and viewing and collecting fossils as well as modern animals and plants. Darwin later spent years at his home in England writing “On the Origin of Species” and other works. His father organized his investments, and the resultant income enabled his son to be a “self-funded gentleman scientist”. Darwin even referred to his work on the theory of natural selection as his “prime hobby”.

The term, “gentleman scientist” was coined in post-Renaissance Europe as “a financially independent scientist who pursues scientific study as a hobby”. There were many advantages to this self-funded pursuit: control over research direction, ability to avoid administrative duties, teaching, writing proposals, and peer review. Sounds pretty good to me.

Although self-funded science declined in the 20th century, there are modern-day equivalents such as Craig Venter (human genome), Stephen Wolfram (Mathematica software), and James Lovelock (futurist). An interesting article about self-funded scientists can be read in Science Magazine here.

I imagine that most scientists, if given the opportunity of financial independence, would continue to do their research. I know I would. I can only imagine the freedom and the extra time one would have. The fields of science and technology might even benefit from the fact that scientists are freed from the time sink of grant proposal writing, teaching, dealing with administrators, paperwork, and other non-science tasks. An example: Peter Mitchell who funded his own somewhat radical research later won a Nobel prize in chemistry. Craig Venter is another example who advocated radical approaches to sequencing genomes that angered the main-stream researchers and NIH. He made himself a multi-millionaire, created several institutes and businesses, and eventually sequenced the human genome.

Are there comparable “gentlewoman scientists”? See next post.