PhDSciNet Interview 21: Difficult Supervisors, Part 2

Historical interview: The following preserves the research experiences and personal views expressed in the original manuscript.

Anonymous account: Chloe describes personal research experiences and views from the time. The identities of unnamed supervisors, students, or institutions should not be inferred from this account; judgments about other people's motives are the interviewee's interpretation.

PhDSciNet Interview Series

Difficult Supervisors: Part 2

01 Expectations and reality

I think an ideal supervisor would come from an excellent university, have outstanding results and insight, and be willing to spend time on you. I hope a supervisor will provide detailed, thoughtful research guidance and plenty of advice about career planning. From the proposal stage, they should explain how far the topic has already been studied, whether it might become a major area in the future, and where the difficulties lie. That kind of insight requires an excellent supervisor. Someone who can, as the old saying goes, “help you onto the horse and accompany you for part of the journey” is truly a good supervisor. Of course, character comes first and matters more than ability.

In reality, however, my overall impression of my doctoral supervisor is extremely negative. My enthusiasm for research was almost extinguished, leaving only a tiny spark, and that had a great deal to do with this supervisor. If I expressed it in percentages, I would say 99% was negative and perhaps 1% positive. I have many complaints about the supervisor—almost too many to list.

02 Complaint: A supervisor who breaks promises and procrastinates

My supervisor procrastinated badly and did not keep promises. Sometimes he promised to meet that day, read my paper that week, or help with presentation slides the next week. But he did not follow through on any of it. He completely ignored my existence. Whatever I requested, he would neither refuse nor agree; he simply paid no attention.

Initially, I emailed him each week to ask whether we could discuss my recent results and future plans. He never replied to the first message. After a month or two, I thought something was wrong and asked colleagues. They said they needed to send three or four, or five or six emails, and just keep sending them. I learned to join that competition in repeated emailing, eventually received a reply, and arranged a meeting. Then something else happened: whenever we had agreed on a time, he would say, “Sorry, something has come up today. Let's move it to next week,” or postpone it further. Perhaps it was a family issue or a class he had to teach. In short, he would not meet with me.

I felt he was entirely irresponsible and unwilling to have contact with students. Until the day before my doctoral qualifying exam, he had given me no substantive research advice. He only looked at the slides the evening before and said many things needed changing. I was stunned. Procedurally, he had fulfilled a supervisory duty, but I could not improve the presentation substantially in one night, so I had to press ahead the next day. Later, a committee member told me the slides looked amateurish, not like those of a prepared doctoral student. I had no way to explain my difficulties and should have told them about the situation earlier. This continued until graduation. Even the day before my dissertation defense, he had not looked at my slides. On the day itself, he said practically nothing and simply let me graduate. I felt that was extremely irresponsible toward a student, like treating students as plants: sow the seed, then wait for it to grow by itself.

[The email battle]

People may see email differently. Some treat it like a text message and feel a reply is optional. Others consider it important professional correspondence and acknowledge receipt whether or not they can act immediately. I prefer the latter approach.

I suffered badly from this. The lesson I learned was to keep writing if he did not reply, but that was also very inefficient and consumed shared resources. Eventually, he effectively stopped replying altogether; countless earlier messages might remain unanswered.

Why not simply knock on the door?

Later, I went straight to his door. If he opened it, I asked whether I could see him that day. Since he no longer answered emails, communication became verbal.

In a proper workplace, it is generally better not to knock when a teacher has closed the door, because they may be doing important work and you could interrupt. But for me, all normal channels had been blocked, so I could only resort to this extreme approach.

Why did my supervisor not see me?

Yes, that puzzled me greatly. I do not think that overseas supervisor was engaging in racial discrimination. Nor did he criticize my ability publicly. It was simply complete disregard. It was like marrying someone who did not like you and being forced to live together: you know they have many lovers elsewhere, yet they will not even look at you.

03 Complaint: My supervisor did not care about me

My supervisor did not help revise papers or care about or guide students' research. He was also strongly partial to one or two students, spending all his time and energy on them while essentially ignoring the others.

[Supervisor, you are playing favorites]

I think our group as a whole was unfortunate. If we imagined the distribution of the supervisor's time and energy as a normal distribution, I would be beyond negative 3 sigma, while perhaps only one or two people were at positive 3 sigma.

There were around a dozen people in our group, and one student was his favorite. He treated that student very well, fulfilling every request. As soon as a paper was written, he revised it immediately and it was published promptly. The student went from a bachelor's degree to a PhD in about three years, and the supervisor then helped them obtain a research award and move into a postdoctoral research position. Everything went smoothly, almost as though they had unlocked a cheat mode.

By comparison, I was at the opposite extreme. From the moment I joined, the supervisor ignored me. Other students were slightly better off. I might have to send twenty emails before receiving one reply, while they might only need ten.

I think there were serious problems with his way of developing students. I feel that his ability to obtain tenure and funding was entirely due to the excellent students who joined. They were capable researchers who hardly needed teaching—the kind who seemed able to walk from birth.

What exceptional qualities did the favored student have?

I have no idea what their exceptional qualities were. It was not favoritism based on gender or race. Our group did not work in mathematics or high-energy physics, and intelligence was not the sole measure. I do not think anyone was particularly clever or particularly slow; everyone worked hard. Yet that person received much more attention, and we never knew why. It remained a longstanding mystery in the group.

After I graduated, he selected two white students as new favorites. There were meetings all day, discussions in the morning followed by more in the afternoon, and frequent conversations about papers, while everyone else continued to be ignored.

Why did the supervisor choose them as the “chosen ones”?

My supervisor was intelligent, and intelligent people certainly consider their interests. I think we were the group sacrificed because our projects might not have aligned with his future strategic direction, so he selectively ignored us. That is the most reasonable explanation I can think of now. Unfortunately, my topic was not one he wanted to keep investing in.

During his own PhD and postdoctoral training, he had worked in area A. Later, perhaps to avoid competing with his former supervisor or to develop his own style, he switched completely to area B.

I joined his laboratory because I was interested in area A. From his CV and publication record, I judged that he must have strong expertise in it. I did not expect that he no longer wanted to continue in that area. He never stated that explicitly; I only realized it later. He gradually reduced investment and project planning in area A, and I unfortunately became a pawn sacrificed along his transition.

At the time, I could not see that possibility. I only wondered why I worked so hard yet received no attention, and I felt angry. Gradually, I let it go. Now that I am also considering faculty positions, I have begun thinking about it at that strategic level.

04 How I grew through the experience

I grew a great deal. Previously, external events could make me happy or unhappy, but after being worn down for so long, I became less affected by them. Fortunately, my personality did not change much, and I did not develop excessive pessimism. If he would not help with my doctoral project, I could not punish myself for his mistakes; I still had to pursue my research properly. He gave me considerable freedom in daily life, did not check whether I was present, and did not proactively demand results. My research essentially settled into a rhythm that I controlled myself.

I may sound detached when describing it now, but that was not how it felt then. Doing the PhD was psychologically painful. Family and friends were not nearby, and there was no one to listen.

There is a saying that an unhappy childhood takes a lifetime to heal, while a happy childhood can heal you throughout life. I think doctoral study is rather like the childhood of a research career. Fortunately, I continued navigating academia and experienced different laboratories, including some better ones. My later development partly healed that unhappy beginning, so I now feel less hatred or resentment toward that period.

If a supervisor is poor, it is certainly not simply our fault—at least not entirely. Do not punish yourself for someone else's mistakes, and do not become fixated on endlessly telling everyone around you about your negative feelings. To put it in somewhat mystical language, maintain an atmosphere of happiness around yourself.

When did you reach that realization?

A turning point came about half a year after I joined the group. A meeting that had already been postponed repeatedly was postponed again. I received his email saying that something had come up and he had to leave immediately. I rushed out to find him and saw him leaving his office for the elevator. I followed him inside and said, “I won't take much time. I'll just ride with you from the fifth floor to the first. Could you give me a yes-or-no answer?” He said no. He did not even want me in the elevator because he was in a hurry, and asked me not to bother him. At that moment, I lost all hope of relying on him. I felt completely desperate: I could not even get a yes-or-no answer. If a supervisor cannot offer even the length of an elevator ride, what guidance can you expect?

I felt that this could not be my fault. Whatever I had done wrong, it could not justify the supervisor refusing to say anything to me. This emotional coldness was his problem, not mine. After that, I completely relaxed my expectations and, in effect, let him go. Apart from the formal procedures he had to complete, he was no longer important to my PhD. I took control of my own project.

Who was responsible: me, the supervisor, or the university?

My problem felt like playing a game with a flawed system: there was a bug from the outset, and the teacher treated me poorly. I first stopped blaming myself. I think the supervisor bore the greatest responsibility, because he communicated too little and, in my view, deliberately chose to sacrifice my interests. That was unfair to me.

There is substantial room for improvement in university systems, in both North America and China. When recruiting new assistant professors, institutions often neglect teaching and the ability to guide students' research.

In North America, candidates may give a research talk and teach one or two sample classes, then share meals with the department's main faculty members so that people can assess how they interact. There can be a review lasting three or four days before an offer is made.

In China, the process may be much more cursory. If someone's academic CV is strong enough and they have published in Nature or Science, an offer can be almost assured.

North American institutions may be somewhat better, but still far from adequate. I think the values of the wider research environment have serious problems. Even top universities do not necessarily place much weight on teaching, and student evaluations do not directly determine promotion. Supervisors know that keeping their position secure depends on funding, networking, and impressive papers. Maintaining good relationships with students and a good reputation among them can seem unimportant.

At the root, those who design the system should consider separating research and teaching paths more clearly, or strengthening professional training in how to be a teacher and supervisor, rather than simply a research leader.

Participant sharing this account: Chloe

Editor: Honey Peach Oolong

Interviewers: Fantuan and Calorie

Audio recording: Calorie

Edited on 2026-10-10: To preserve an anonymous historical account, removed a combination of potentially identifying details about birthplace/background, a student's nationality, a particular award, and a subsequent institution. The participant profile card is not included in the body. The remaining experiences, complaints, and judgments reflect the interviewee's perspective at the time; the relevant events and other people's motives have not been independently verified here.