It’s been a few weeks now since the men’s style magazine GQ launched the “Rock Stars of Science” campaign.  I’m a staunch advocate of raising science’s profile, but the whole campaign has had me on edge, and I haven’t quite been able to put my finger on why.  Was it the exclusive use of white middle-aged male scientists?  Was it the implied message that the science-guys were rock-star wannabes?  Or was it the assumption that medical science is the only science worth promoting?

Sheryl Crow, Anthony S. Fauci M.D. and Harold Varmus, M. D. (I'll leave you to work out which is which.) From the Rock Stars of Science Campaign

Then it struck me – what really got under my skin was the cultural cargo cult mentality being flaunted.

Cultural cargo cult?  It’s not a new metaphor, but not a commonly used one either.  If it had a Wikipedia entry, it might read something like this:

A cultural cargo cult is a practice that may appear in societies in the wake of interactions with separate, socially advanced cultures. The cults are focused on obtaining the popularity of the advanced culture through association and behavior-emulation, believing that the fame and fortune achieved by others should be theirs, because they are more worthy.

Following contact with people from more socially advanced societies through random encounters, the media and, more recently, Twitter, cultural cargo cults have been observed around the world.  They are particularly prevalent in the developed economies of the West.

Members, leaders, and advocates of cultural cargo cults maintain that the social kudos (“cargo”) of the advanced culture has been created by trivial means, such as through celebrity promotion.  They believe this kudos is rightfully theirs but that, unfairly, the celebs of the other culture have gained control of this social status through attracting  “cool” to themselves by malice or mistake.

Cultural cargo cults thus focus on efforts to overcome what they perceive as the undue influence of celebrities in attracting cool, by conducting rituals imitating behavior they have observed among the holders of the desired kudos and presuming that their fellow citizens will, at last, recognize their worth and send the “cargo” to them instead.

A characteristic feature of cultural cargo cults is the belief that punters will, at some future time, give much valuable kudos and desirable “cool” to the cult members, rather than worthless celebrities who should never, in their eyes, have got it in the first place!

(My apologies to the authors of the Wikipedia entry on cargo cults, which this has more than a passing resemblance to.)

I hate to be too critical of the Rock Stars of Science campaign.  The medical research it aims to support is laudable.  And truth be told, I’d have been there like a shot if the call came in to do a photo shoot with Sheryl Crow!  But in the context of science communication and awareness-building, this is a classic example of cultural cargo cult-ism.  In their haste to be seen with the cool gang, the scientists have forgotten to ask what makes its members cool in the first place!

This probably would have been fine if the only message emerging was that naïve scientists simply like to have fun.  Unfortunately, I don’t think this was the case.

As @mjrobbins writes on The Lay Scientist,

“Let’s just look at the statistics here. GQ assembled 11 scientists, and 5 rock stars. Of the rock stars, two are black, one is a woman. Of the scientists, 11 are middle-aged white males. For a campaign that wants to attract new young people into science in a country where around half of young people are women and probably nearly half are from ethnic minorities, that’s just moronic.

But, okay, you’ve got your middle-aged white guys in suits into the studio and you’re ready to take some photos that promote science. It doesn’t take a marketing genius to tell you that the scientists should be in the centre, and the rock stars should be fawning over them.”

Given the reach of GQ and the rock stars that participated in the photo shoot, the messaging here will have an impact.  And sadly, that message seems to be that successful scientists are white middle-aged males (with a dubious dress sense) who, when all’s said and done, wish they’d become celebrity musicians instead.

@drisis concludes her blog on the Rock Stars of Science campaign with:

“This campaign sends the message that scientists aspire towards other things.  Not that other people aspire to be scientists.  It seems to me that if you want to have an effective campaign then what you do is put Sheryl Crow in a lab coat and take pictures of those guys teaching her to pipet or culture some cells or use a microscope.  Don’t take pictures of talented, gifted scientists — scientists whose talents make them as unique and talented as the rockstars they are pictured with — trying to be musicians.  Take a picture of a musician aspiring to be a scientist.”

Getting people turned on to science is incredibly important.  And nurturing science-savvy cultural icons will certainly help achieve this.  Indeed, there are already plenty of icons-in-the-making around, if only they could be given a bit of a leg up.

But let’s not fall into the trap of thinking that dressing like and fraternizing with celebrities will lead to some of the stardust rubbing off.

Postscript

In the Twitter chatter around the Rock Stars of Science campaign earlier today, a number of people pointed out that Queen guitarist Brian May is quite literally a Rock Star of Science – having reveived his Ph.D. from Imperial College in London in 2007.  And his thesis?  “Radial Velocities in the Zodiacal Dust Cloud.”  Clearly a rock star of science who genuinely knows his stardust

Update 6/28/09 – Also check out Chris Mooney’s thoughts on the Rock S.O.S campaign, which provide a good contrast to mine.  And if you want a closer gander at the pictures from the photoshoot that launched the campaign, here’s the 4-page portfolio from GQ Magazine [PDF, 580 KB]