Having a seat at the table—A feminist autoethnography of the university kitchen

Abstract

Research on the social construction of the scientific personality has shown that one is not simply born a scientist, but rather becomes one through processes of social recognition and attribution. By emphasizing the reciprocal constitution of gender and science, the notion of science as (gender) neutral and objective has been rejected. Although feminist scholars have always recognized the complex ways in which gender (and other social categories) play an important role in how people can or cannot inhabit spaces, little attention has been paid to the role of the university kitchen and its practices in becoming a scholar, and the role of gender in the appropriation of this academic space. The article addresses this research void by using a feminist autoethnographic approach to situate the author’s personal experiences within a broader cultural and social context. The findings show that the practices that take place in the university kitchen (e.g. conversations around the kitchen table) can be understood as symbolic practices in which symbolic capital can be accumulated. These practices are a crucial initiation rite for early career researchers, as they show whether one belongs to the scientific field. Findings suggest that (bodily) orientations shape how the university kitchen appears and what it means to inhabit this space. The results indicate that female early career researchers encounter physical and psychological borders when trying to access the university kitchen. The article thus points to the subtle mechanisms of exclusion and distinction that contradict the self-image of science. Implications for early career researchers and scientific practice are discussed.

Introduction

Being in academia means finding your way around and being entangled in complex, ambivalent, and sometimes subtle power relations and structures. For those at the beginning of an academic career and trying to find their place in the academic world, it also entails acquainting themselves with certain practices, modes of action, and forms of communication that are not (yet) familiar. Recently, questions about the social construction of the scientific personality have come to the forefront of scientific research. Scholars have pointed out that one is not simply born a scientist, but rather becomes one through processes of social recognition and attribution (e.g. Bourdieu, 2018b, 2022a). In this context, scholars have rejected the notion of science as (gender) neutral and objective, pointing out to the reciprocal constitution of gender and science (e.g. Beaufaÿs, 2015; Engler, 2001). While feminist scholars have always been aware of the complex, intricate ways in which gender (and other social categories) play an important role in how people can or cannot inhabit spaces, the specific role of the university kitchen and its kitchen practices, as well as the ways in which female researchers at the beginning of their careers engage with the university kitchen, has not been examined. As a result, little is known about the role of the kitchen space in becoming a scholar and the role of gender in the appropriation of this academic space. Without an adequate understanding of the role of the university kitchen, we may underestimate its function for the social order of the scientific field. By drawing attention to what I argue is an often overlooked but very important space (e.g. the university kitchen), this article aims to explore the function of gender in relation to the university kitchen and its practices, and what it means to orient oneself in this particular space.

The idea for this article came from personal observations. As a newly enrolled PhD student at the time of writing this article, I was just beginning to navigate the scientific field and found myself thinking about how people move through academic spaces and how they feel about being and moving through them. I began to observe which places were accessible and how it felt to enter and occupy certain (restricted) spaces. I noticed which spaces I, as a PhD student, was allowed to enter and under what conditions, and which spaces remained closed to me. I further observed the almost total absence of spaces for meaningful encounters between students and academic staff. Spaces for collective dwelling were very limited, with real consequences. For students, it is very difficult—and sometimes even forbidden—to gain access to certain spaces, such as the university kitchen. Sometimes the instructions are explicit, with signs that say “Staff,” making it clear who is allowed in and who is not. Often it is not obvious who is excluded from certain areas and academic practices, but rather through implicit, subtle spatial arrangements and certain rituals. At some point, it seemed to me that universities were promoting a culture of separation rather than community and engagement. The notion of separation, of inaccessible spaces and doors that remained firmly shut, not only irritated me, but also deeply frustrated and unsettled me. This was because I had perpetually envisioned academia as a realm where individuals come together and collaborate, a notion I still hold dear. These initial observations piqued my curiosity about how universities shape who is welcome and who is not, and how we inhabit and perceive academic spaces.

Analyzing a social field in which one is already involved, while at the same time trying to gain a foothold, is a challenging, almost impossible task. To address this challenge, I apply a form of feminist self-reflexivity to comprehend my personal experiences in the university kitchen as a means of grasping the broader cultural dimensions that structure these seemingly “individual” experiences. The questions to be examined in this article are: What is the role of the university kitchen in the scientific field (e.g. what kitchen practices take place there and what functions do they serve)? How do female early career researchers inhabit and engage with the university kitchen?

The article is divided into six parts. The first part addresses the research method and covers the central characteristics of (feminist) autoethnography. I then lay the foundation for my explorations by presenting the autoethnographic vignette upon which the analysis is based, and by expressing and reflecting on my own positioning within the scientific field. This is followed by an introduction to the theoretical framework that will guide the analysis. By bringing together different theoretical perspectives, the article aims to understand how the university kitchen is intertwined with the social power dynamics and relationships that are spatially organized within it. The following part presents the initial analysis and findings. In the final section of the article, I will briefly summarize the key findings and draw some tentative conclusions.

Method

Autoethnography is a qualitative research method and an autobiographical genre of scholarly writing that uses the researcher’s personal experiences to analyze, interpret, and critique cultural beliefs, practices, and experiences (Adams et al., 2015; Poulos, 2021). It “seeks to describe and systematically analyze (graphy) personal experience (auto) in order to understand cultural experience (ethno)” (Ellis et al., 2011, p. 1). Autoethnography as a scientific method emerged in response to a crisis of representation and a critique of how science produces knowledge. Scholars have criticized the assumption that social science must seek universal truths that are objective, neutral, and value-free, producing knowledge that is distant from the researcher, as well as the bias against affect and emotion, and the refusal to acknowledge that the researcher’s situatedness affects the research process. Social researchers have therefore begun to “radically rethink” how science should be done and challenged canonical ways of doing research and representing others (Adams et al., 2015; Ellis et al., 2011). At the heart of autoethnography is the goal of making the social sciences more human and to transgress the boundaries between the sciences, arts, and humanities (Bochner & Ellis, 2022). As a consequence, autoethnography attempts to recenter the researcher’s experiences as vital in and to the research process (Poulos, 2021). Rather than having general information about people, autoethnography has the advantage of refusing to exclude the I, the first-person voice (Bochner & Ellis, 2022). Instead, it embraces subjectivity and provides a nuanced and specific understanding of particular lives and experiences (Adams et al., 2015; Bochner & Ellis, 2022). However, autoethnography does not stop at personal experiences, but places them in a broader cultural and social context (Adams & Holman, 2008; Ettorre, 2017). This approach recognizes and values a researcher’s relationship with others, and thus uses active self-reflection to examine the intersection between self and society (Adams et al., 2015). Furthermore, autoethnography asserts that research should be a political, socially just, and socially conscious process. Consequently, when conducting autoethnographic research, we are committed to human rights and strive for social justice (Adams & Holman, 2008; Bochner & Ellis, 2022).

In line with autoethnography, feminist autoethnography builds on the central aspects of autoethnography, but places special emphasis on those who are marginalized in this society. Building on Allen and Piercy’s (2005) aspects, Ettorre (2017) sets out a definition of autoethnography as a feminist method that covers four aspects:

(1) autoethnography creates transitional, intermediate spaces, inhabiting the crossroads or borderlands of embodied emotions; (2) autoethnography is an active demonstration of the ‘personal is political’; (3) autoethnography is feminist critical writing which is performative, that is committed to the future of women [and members of marginalized groups] and (4) autoethnography helps to raise oppositional consciousness by exposing precarity. (Ettorre, 2017, p. 4)

Although this definition is not exhaustive, it offers an initial understanding of the specific contribution of feminism to autoethnography. Feminist autoethnographers become embodied crossroads, seeking to be aware of the existing power relations in which they find themselves, and recognizing that identities and experiences are fluid and open to change. Furthermore, feminist autoethnographic researchers make their private lives public, and in doing so, they also make their “private” affairs political. They share their vulnerability with others, and by sharing their own struggles and embodied precariousness, they can help break down barriers and connect with others, fostering a sense of community and promoting healing. Finally, by engaging in feminist critical writing, feminist autoethnographers commit themselves to the future of those who are marginalized in this society (Ettorre, 2017). (Feminist) Autoethnography can engage with different types of material such as texts, images or videos. This article presents an autoethnographic vignette that serves as the empirical basis for the analysis.

Autoethnographic Vignette

As the clock strikes noon, the kitchen comes alive with a cacophony of voices, chatter, and clinking cutlery. The aroma of food permeates the air, hitting my senses before I even approach the kitchen, the scent of reheated microwave dishes wafting into my nostrils as I step off the elevator. I remind myself: yes, it is already lunchtime. I encounter a colleague. She nods at me and asks: Would you like to join me?

The kitchen door is closed. But you can hear someone preparing food. Glasses clink, drawers are opened, a saucepan is filled with water and brought to a boil. The kitchen itself is not easy to spot within the university. Carefully hidden behind an alcove, tucked away in a corner of the university building, it is a rather inconspicuous room. But I sense that this unassuming room is more than just a place to eat lunch. For a long time, I thought it was an office or a storage room due to its peculiar appearance, making it seem unlikely to be a kitchen. Most of the time, the kitchen door is open, creating the illusion of accessibility for all. However, a glance at the front door dispels any misconceptions, as a “Staff” sign at eye level indicates who is allowed to enter. During lunch time, the door is closed. When the door is closed, uncertainty looms, leaving me hesitant to enter the locked and seemingly forbidden kitchen. In these situations, I fear of entering the kitchen. What mysteries lie beyond the closed door; I wonder.

Before stepping into the kitchen, I must remind myself that I have a right to be there. I fear of being spoken to as someone who does not belong there, who is not allowed to enter this place. This time, as I enter the kitchen, my fear turns out to be unfounded. I attract a brief glance from those present. Others acknowledge me with a nod or a hesitant smile.

The room is crowded. A group (unspecified number) is sitting around the kitchen table. They are chatting lively and in an enthusiastic way. The kitchen’s walls are painted a pristine white, with one large photograph of a lush green forest adorning one side, right behind the kitchen table. The walls, however, are not adorned with any personal touches—no photos or personal items. The kitchen has a large, long wooden dining table. Chairs in a variety of sizes, shapes and patterns are arranged around the table. The room has a white fitted kitchen, positioned along one of the longer walls, contributing to the overall elongated and rectangular shape of the room. This layout creates a sense of narrowness, in which I sometimes experience moments of discomfort as one must come close to others in the room when passing by. Whether heating food or accessing the tap, moving around the kitchen inevitably brings you close to other people, whether they are sitting at the kitchen table or busy making coffee.

I feel a vague unease as I pass through the crowded room. My body tenses and my jaw clenches. I know this rising feeling of discomfort already. Something I could not name for a long time, but now it comes to me in all its clarity. The feeling of not belonging.

I make my way through the narrow kitchen, acknowledge others with a nod, grab a glass of water, and make a hasty exit. As the lunch break draws to a close, the vibrant energy of the kitchen begins to fade, and people slowly return to their offices and lecture halls. ¹

Self-Positioning

Feeling comfortable within the university environment has not been easy for me, nor has been writing this article. I have struggled to put my experiences into words, often picking up the pen only to set it down again. I have become aware of how risky it is to write about such a topic. There is a fear of exposing vulnerability—after all, being vulnerable is a risky endeavor that is often not appreciated in academia. As Chatham-Carpenter (2010) aptly describes, there is a certain need to protect oneself as a researcher in the process of publishing an autoethnography. However, I cannot erase my experiences because they led me to write the article in the first place. Therefore, like Allen and Piercy (2005), I hope that by putting myself in a position of vulnerability, I may be more open to hearing the voices of members of marginalized groups.

The sketched kitchen experience was an important touchstone for me. Allen and Piercy (2005) describe touchstones as “powerful reminders of [our own] vulnerability” and as “memory fragments that help [to] negotiate the emotional terrain of the present” (p. 160). I decided to write this article because I wanted to understand the scientific field to which I thought I belonged or at least wanted to belong.

Much has happened since I first set out to write this article. These changes have significantly influenced my learning, thinking, and writing process. When I first started writing this article, I was “just” a PhD student, working full-time in a women’s health center in the 10th district (a former working-class district) of Vienna. Although I was involved in a research project at the time, I did not feel strongly connected to the university. I found myself torn between two distinct worlds, in a state of in-between-ness. I did not really belong in the women’s health center or in the university environment.

At that time, whenever I entered the staff kitchen at the university, I always felt like I was about to cross a border. As the kitchen is for staff only, no students are allowed in, and I was afraid that someone would identify me as not belonging there. It just felt wrong and forbidden to cross this border. I remember that I came up with an excuse in case someone asked me why I had entered that place. That being said, it is not uncommon for young female researchers who appear as students to be told “This kitchen is for staff only.” Since then, my position at the university has changed. I am now privileged to have a prae doc position as a research assistant. Consequently, when I wrote the first draft of this article, my starting point was different from the one I took in revising this article. With the new position came new entanglements that made me doubt whether I was even allowed to write such an article. However, the transition to my current position has not fundamentally alter the emotions I experience when moving in the university environment. Yet, something has changed. Whereas at the beginning of my studies, it seemed inconceivable to simply grab a glass of water from the staff kitchen, I now eat my lunch in the kitchen. Members of the academic staff are starting to recognize me. In this sense, I have gradually begun to appropriate the kitchen space. Due to my social position as a female, feminist PhD student and as an academic employee, I find myself in a state of double in-between-ness. This multiple duality serves me as a starting point for the following explorations.

Theoretical Framework

First, I draw on Pierre Bourdieu, a French philosopher and sociologist known for his critical examination of the role of the French education system in maintaining and perpetuating social inequality. One of his most important contributions was the sociology of the intellectual field in his work “Homo academicus,” in which he undertook a detailed study of the French scientific field (Bourdieu, 2022a). Bourdieu’s (1979, 2018b, 2022b) approach can be characterized as a praxeological approach in which he tries to overcome the dualism between subjectivism and objectivism. He developed various theoretical components (e.g. habitus theory, field theory, class theory, and capital theory) that are intended to provide this mediation. While I cannot go into detail here on how Bourdieu defines his concepts (a clarification of his concepts has already been provided elsewhere, see, for example, Fröhlich and Rehbein [2014]), I would like to focus on a brief characterization of the field, especially the scientific field, as this is particularly relevant for the analysis. According to him (Bourdieu, 2021, 2022b; Fröhlich & Rehbein, 2014), social fields are fields of force in which people play according to specific rules that determine what is possible and what is impossible. These field-inherent rules exert a form of coercion: Actors cannot escape them without leaving the game which means leaving the field. These field-specific rules and practices are usually not followed explicitly, but in practice. Action in different fields depends on the types of capital available, such as economic, cultural, social, and symbolic capital, and actors try to accumulate their capital. One specific field, according to Bourdieu, is the scientific field. In his elaborations on the scientific field, Bourdieu (2022a) has shown that this field, like any other field, is characterized by interests and social struggles that aim to reproduce the prevailing power relations. However, it has distinctive characteristics such as specific rules, objects of interest, and modes of operation that apply only within it. It is a truly symbolic field in the sense that it is above all symbolic practices and strategies that are pursued by the actors operating within it. Being part of the scientific field also means having (or appropriating) a certain academic habitus and requires an illusio that includes “believing” and investing in the scientific game, but also “believing” that the stakes are worth it (Bourdieu, 2022a). Through Bourdieu, I aim to better understand the specifics of the university kitchen and the role and function of its kitchen practices.

Second, I employ on Sara Ahmed’s queer phenomenological approach, which she developed in her book “Queer Phenomenology.” Ahmed, a feminist writer and independent scholar, works at the intersection of feminist, queer, and race studies. Her book builds on the phenomenological tradition by focusing on the normativity of ordinary life experiences and orientations, but goes a step further by explicitly addressing the social exclusions created by the notion that the zero point of orientation is the “white”, male, structurally privileged normal subject (Slaby, 2016). In line with Ahmed (2006), “orientation” can be described as a spatial metaphor that refers to one’s position and raises awareness of proximity and distance to people, activities, objects, and spaces. Similar to Anzaldúa’s concept of borderlands, “orientations” refer not only to a physical location, but also to the psychological experience of spaces. Thus, she also addresses the role of primary affectivity in being integrated into spaces, asking what it means to be “oriented” to others and things, and how we become oriented or feel at home somewhere (Ahmed, 2006; Slaby, 2016). “Being oriented” encompasses a sense of familiarity that includes a sense of home, awareness of one’s position, and accessibility to nearby objects. However, the very spaces and institutions that can make some people feel comfortable, for example, at ease, can have the opposite effect on others (Ahmed, 2006). Based on this, a queer phenomenology can teach us how social relations are spatially organized. Although Ahmed’s “orientation” approach is based specifically on the phenomenon of sexual orientation, I believe that her approach could also contribute to a better understanding of how young female scientists orient themselves in the university kitchen and how they (can) or cannot appropriate it.

Third, I build on the concept of the borderland introduced by Gloria Anzaldúa in her 1987 published book “Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza.” Often referred to by others as a “Chicana, lesbian-feminist author” Anzaldúa resisted confining herself to a single group or position and portrayed herself in a more expansive way (Keating, 2009, pp. 2–3). Instead, she maintains multiple belongings and locates herself in several words simultaneously (Keating, 2009). Keating (2009) describes her as someone who “moves within, between, and among these diverse, sometimes conflicting, worlds. She positions herself on the thresholds—simultaneously inside and outside” (p. 2). Anzaldúa (1987) employs the term borderlands in two complex ways: On the one hand, Anzaldúa draws on earlier notions of the borderlands as a specific geographic location rooted in her lived experience growing up in Texas, on the Southwest border between Mexico and Texas. On the other hand, she theorizes borderlands as more than a physical place. Her redefinition of borderlands expands this concept to include a psychological, sexual, and spiritual dimension to the borderlands, in addition to its geographical location (Keating, 2009). Furthermore, the term is also used as a metaphor for border crossing. In the sense of Cantú and Hurtado (2012), the term border crossing can be used for all kinds of crossings, including geographical, but also in terms of “sexual transgressions, social dislocations, and the crossings necessary to exist in multiple linguistic and cultural contexts” (p. 6). More generally, Anzaldúa’s notion of borderlands can “help us [to] understand and theorize the experiences of individuals who are exposed to contradictory social systems” (Cantú & Hurtado, 2012, p. 7). Thus, borderlands hold significance not just for the hybridity that takes place within them, but also for the perspective they offer to those who dwell there. Residing in the borderlands generates insights by being part of a system while maintaining the perspective of an outsider entering from beyond the system (Cantú & Hurtado, 2012). By applying the concept of borderlands and border crossing to the university kitchen, I aim to understand how physical and psychological borders can occur in the kitchen through its practices, and the particularities that arise from the hybridity of the social position of female PhD students who are also academic staff.

Analysis

The Role of the University Kitchen in the Scientific Field

Amidst the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the smell of food, the university kitchen unfolds as a microcosm that reflects the complex power dynamics of academic life. While the university kitchen is often perceived as a rather inconspicuous space, I argue that it is actually the heart of the university because of its practices and their functions for academia and the maintenance of the social order.

The vignette shows that the kitchen space allows for an often underestimated academic social practice: conversations around the kitchen table. These conversations and exchanges illuminate an aspect at the heart of academia: research is not a solitary endeavor, but thrives in an ongoing dialogue among colleagues. It is often in this space, that thoughts and ideas for collaborations and research projects are exchanged and born. As some authors have pointed out, research is not only done in “laboratories or on computers” (Glegg, 2022, p. 97), but through engagement with others; it is about being and working together. In this context, the vignette highlights the crucial role of the university kitchen, where informal conversations can flourish. Conversations around the kitchen table can be seen as a manifestation of “collective dwelling” (Glegg, 2022, pp. 104–105) that has the potential to foster collaboration and a sense of community. Given that engaging in good science also means doing emotional and moral work, including supporting colleagues in their endeavors, “collective dwelling” is about responsible engagement in places we share with others (Glegg, 2022). However, kitchen practices such as eating together are not just about exchange. They also play an important role in distributing symbolic capital and determining who belongs in the scientific field. With Bourdieu’s theoretical underpinnings, we can understand the kitchen as a space where symbolic power can be accumulated, and kitchen table conversations as an important symbolic practice and strategy. While lecture halls and classrooms are important for knowledge transfer (e.g. a form of reproductive work), the kitchen space is crucial for the acquisition of symbolic capital, which is especially important for early career researchers. By participating in kitchen table conversations, academics acquire symbolic capital. Form the perspective of young researchers, the crucial aspect of this kitchen practice is often that colleagues may not know them or be familiar with their work, as they are not yet fully established in the field. At this stage of their academic careers, they depend on this social practice as they might not have established an extensive social network yet and rely on informal conversations to share experiences and information, such as details of conferences and current calls for papers. Thus, the university kitchen, with its kitchen table conversations, serves a purpose that goes beyond being a place to eat or a mere meeting place. Through its practices, the university kitchen can provide not only a place of collegial exchange where knowledge is created and ideas for projects are born, but also a place where people are recognized as members of the field, where symbolic capital is accumulated and where power relations are reflected. In addition to its function of “collective dwelling,” it shows that it is of imminent importance for the construction of the scientific personality. In this regard, Bourdieu (2018a) highlights the importance of the moment of being perceived by others. Symbolic capital consists of being recognized and acknowledged by the members of a field, which can manifest itself, for example, in being addressed by name or invited to lunch. For this reason, I conceptualize the kitchen conversations as a form of social play in which the scientific personality is constructed. In considering this moment of perception, however, it is important to keep in mind that the “symbolic capital is a form of perceived being which implies that those who do the perceiving acknowledge recognition of those whom they perceive” (Bourdieu, 2018a, p. 87). As a result, this act of recognition only works if the PhD students recognize the classifier and their classification. It follows that the PhD students must, to some extent, accept the illusio and the person who says, “This kitchen is for staff only.” Only through mutual recognition, albeit hierarchically organized and not equally distributed, can this form of exclusion succeed, and the PhD students leave the kitchen and are not addressed as members of the field.

Exploring Orientations Towards the University Kitchen

Spatial arrangements create certain atmospheres that play a role in how we inhabit these spaces. However, orientations also shape the way we perceive and inhabit spaces (Ahmed, 2006). Therefore, the questions to be asked here are: How do female PhD students orient themselves towards the university kitchen? What orientations occur and what does it mean for them to orient themselves in this particular space and how do they engage and inhabit this space?

According to Ahmed (2006, p. 3), “Orientations shape not only how we inhabit space, but how we apprehend this world of shared inhabitance, as well as ‘who’ or ‘what’ we direct our energy and attention toward.” In the light of this, we can say that how things appear, and how relevant they become, depends on the orientation we have towards them. Thus, how the university kitchen appears might be a matter of (different) orientations. The objects that academics turn to in the kitchen space are not only material (e.g. food), but also, and most importantly, non-material: the engagement with others. In this sense, the role of the university kitchen is not only through its official function (consumption), but also through certain practices and rituals that take place there (kitchen table conversations). It is not only what the kitchen space allows us to do, but what the actors actually do with it. In this respect, the relevance of the place comes from the way the academic staff inhabit this space. The university kitchen and its significance for the scientific field take shape through the practices that take place there.

Drawing on Ahmed’s (2010) insights, it can be argued that the essence of this space is forged through actions, exemplified by activities such as kitchen table conversations. Consequently, the significance of orientations resides in their impact on the manifestation or formation of both subjects and objects (Ahmed, 2010). Being oriented to the university kitchen means that this particular space becomes important to me; the kitchen space becomes important to PhD students. It becomes important for early career researchers because it allows them to play an important scientific game (kitchen table conversation) and to accumulate symbolic capital. The university kitchen and its practices become relevant to them because of the crucial role it fulfills. While early career researchers may be oriented toward the university kitchen, other established members may not. Perhaps the kitchen space and its practices are not as important from their perspective because they may have already accumulated enough symbolic capital. As a result, orientations shape how the university kitchen appears and what it means to inhabit this space.

However, the autoethnographic vignette also illustrates that not everyone feels seamlessly integrated into academic spaces, such as the kitchen space. We can relate to the experience of young female academics who may not find the university kitchen and its practices as “comfortable” and moving around in the kitchen “natural.” Spending time in the kitchen is therefore not always self-evident and can even be perceived as alienating. This can lead to a feeling of (bodily) insecurity when entering and remaining in the kitchen. It shows that there can be differential experiences and, in Slaby’s (2016) words, an “ontological uprootedness” (p. 289). Female early career researchers might lack the familiarity and ease in dwelling and crossing these spaces. Unlike their male counterparts, they may not have the self-evident orientation because the space is not prescribed and predetermined for them. Consequently, orientation implies that certain places are at times more attuned to certain bodies than others (Ahmed, 2010). The university kitchen is a space in which not every “body” is given the same space or can extend in the same way. Certain bodies are prohibited from expanding because this space does not accommodate their presence (Ahmed, 2006). This is also reflected in the perceptions of other established members of the field, where female early career researchers are addressed with “The kitchen is for staff only.” Considering this, Ahmed (2006) articulates the following about disorientation: “If orientation is about making the strange familiar through the extension of bodies into space, then disorientation occurs when the extension fails” (p. 11). This has profound implications: People who are not (established) members of the scientific field have to appropriate the university kitchen in order to participate in crucial academic practices (e.g. kitchen table conversations), but at the same time it is made more difficult for them to do so. It is more difficult for them, because the university kitchen (and the university more generally) is shaped by the assumption that certain (male, white) bodies are given. Women and other members of marginalized groups do not fit in with their bodies because science itself is structured in a way that implicitly assumes a masculine habitus (Engler, 2001).

Kitchen Table Conversations as Practices of Exclusion and Distinction

Power manifests itself concretely in physical environments, and thus the university kitchen stands as a domain where the dynamics of power become apparent. While the kitchen is a place where ideas can flow freely and be a stimulus to engage with others, it is also a place where not everyone can participate and not everybody can extent in the same way. Although academia is about being and working with others, the kitchen space can create distinctions and boundaries between (established) members of the field (in the sense of recognized and acknowledged staff) and people who are not (yet) part of the field (e.g. PhD students). The initial observation highlights that certain academic practices, especially those that involve activities in the kitchen, such as kitchen table conversations, are not accessible to everyone. Some are denied access to these spaces, which means that they are not recognized as belonging to the field and cannot participate in these practices. To illustrate, access to the kitchen is restricted exclusively to employed academic staff, thereby largely excluding students from engaging in the activities that take place there. As part of a differentiation from (PhD) students, some academic staff choose places and practices that students are not supposed to be part of. This can be interpreted as a practice of distinction as described by Bourdieu (1979, 2018b). It is not a matter of resembling the students, but of differentiating oneself from those outside the field, a process that is crucial for establishing and maintaining social hierarchies within the academic environment. In this sense, social differences emerge through the intentional differentiation of lifestyles (Bourdieu, 1979, 2018b). Established academics sometimes tend to seek to differentiate themselves from people who are not (yet) part of the scientific community (e.g. PhD students). By choosing spaces and practices for scholarly engagement, such as eating lunch in the university kitchen, they actively, but not always consciously, create distinctions. This holds significance as one of the paramount forms of capital in academia is acknowledgment from fellow colleagues (Bourdieu, 2022a). The people described in the vignette, sitting in the kitchen and chatting with each other, recognize each other; they belong to the academic field and have established themselves within it. Nevertheless, I believe it is crucial to recognize that even those who may outwardly appear to be part of the scientific community (e.g. PhD students who are also employed at the university) may find themselves on the periphery. While observers from the outside may perceive everyone in the kitchen as field members, the individuals inside may not necessarily have to feel the same way. Although some individuals may have access to the university kitchen, not everyone is extended an invitation to partake in specific kitchen practices. In this context, being allowed to enter the kitchen and have lunch with members of the field becomes an indicator of academic power capital, as it signifies belonging to the scientific community. Thus, the autoethnographic vignette emphasizes the pivotal role of recognition and attribution mechanisms in shaping the scientific personality. It also acknowledges the role of gender in the social construction of the scientific personality. The recurring experience of young female researchers being told “The kitchen is for staff only” when they enter the room is more than just a coincidence. It indicates that they are sometimes not recognized as members of the field. Hence, young female early career researchers are not excluded from the scientific field per se but experience obstacles in participating in one relevant scientific game in which academic capital can be accumulated—namely, the kitchen table conversations.

Borderlands and Border Crossing

Upon arrival at the university, students encounter borders that shape the environment, interactions, and their way of being within the institution. One such border, is the entrance to the university kitchen. We can understand the university kitchen as a borderland, with a set of practices defined and determined by established field members. The entrance to the kitchen serves as a physical border, marked by the closed door during lunchtime and the “Staff” sign. However, it is crucial to bear in mind that borders within the university indeed originate much earlier, such as, at the entrance to embark on university studies. Through Anzaldúa’s perspective, we can grasp the hybrid nature of female PhD students, who may find themselves belonging to multiple realms, neither entirely outside nor entirely within the scientific field. Consequently, female PhD students possess an external perspective while also maintaining an internal one. Being in the borderlands means existing in a “state of perpetual transition” (Anzaldúa, 1999, p. 84). This is described in the autoethnographic vignette as a state of being in-between. The importance ascribed to the university kitchen may also arise from the particular position of being a female PhD student and a member of the academic staff. Being in the borderlands, then, means navigating the often chaotic and confusing web of different roles within the university. Subsequently, there is the psychological dimension to borders. Even if authorized to enter the university kitchen, a psychological barrier may persist, impeding one’s access. The kitchen may evoke a sense of not fitting into the kitchen space, even with official permission to enter. For female PhD students, existence in the borderlands can mean a constant process of negotiation and confrontation with elements of non-belonging, difference and alienation. They have to navigate the kitchen space, dealing with ambiguity, contradiction, and occasional internal conflict, facing challenges akin to the “struggle of borders” (Anzaldúa, 1999, p. 84). In this scenario, female PhD students can be portrayed as border people, undergoing a transitional phase as they strive to be acknowledged as members of the scientific field.

While (physical and psychological) borders limit access to the university kitchen, PhD students show some creativity in establishing alternative academic practices. But how can PhD students traverse the border to the university kitchen that is so fundamental for becoming a scientific personality? And what alternative forms of being and doing science together (e.g. places and practices) can they choose instead, if they refuse to join the hegemonic places from which they are excluded in the first place?

PhD students can “change the mode of actual being by changing the way being is perceived” (Bourdieu, 2018a, p. 87). In this sense, disregarding rules (e.g. ignoring the staff sign on the door of the university kitchen) can be a powerful act of subversion. Thus, when women and other groups that are marginalized enter the kitchen space, they have the potential to disrupt the norms and practices upheld by members of the field. In doing so, they can challenge conventional notions of who should, can, or is allowed to enter. By ignoring rules and entering spaces like the kitchen, they assert their presence in that space, and by claiming that space, they occupy it and make it their own (Ahmed, 2006, 2010). In this way, they can (slowly) become members of the field and participate in the important scientific game of kitchen table conversations. Choosing spaces beyond the university for interaction provides an alternative mode of engaging with one another in the pursuit of collaborative scientific endeavors. This may be especially the case when crossing the border is not possible. Then they have the option of rejecting this particular social practice and moving on to other practices and spaces, which symbolizes a struggle for symbolic power. Therefore, one strategy for challenging this form of accumulation of symbolic capital is for PhD students or academic staff to refrain from this space. Hence, the social practice of science must not be inherently confined to the particular structures, places, and contexts of the university; it can occur independently. Certain academic practices can extend beyond their conventional spaces, as exemplified by practices such as eating lunch in places other than the university kitchen. It follows, that the social practice can be somewhat challenged by PhD students, though not completely eradicated. Engaging in alternative practices allows them to contest established kitchen norms, consequently creating opportunities for the exploration of different spaces and practices.

Discussion

This feminist autoethnography demonstrates the use of “personal” experience to understand the role of the university kitchen and its practices, and the ways in which (female) early career researchers inhabit and engage with the university kitchen. By exploring the function of gender in relation to the university kitchen and its practices, and what it means to orient oneself in this particular space, the article aims to contribute to a better understanding of kitchen practices and thus to stimulate the debate on the social construction of the scientific personality.

In sum, the university kitchen serves as an important initiation rite for early career researchers because of the specific symbolic practices that take place there. However, young female early career researchers may not feel seemingly integrated into this space and face challenges in trying to inhabit this space, as they embody a form of hybridity due to their multiple belongings. Furthermore, the article draws attention to the subtle mechanisms of exclusion, that contradict the self-image of science. In this way, it points out to the interconnectedness of science, class, gender, and other dimensions of inequality. How we perceive the world, science, and its spaces and practices—for example, how safe we feel moving through them—is inherently linked to gender, class, ethnicity/”race,” dis/ability, sexual orientation, and other social categories. Similarly, the ease with which someone appropriates university spaces is intertwined with their social position in society, manifested through their hexis—the ensemble of permanently incorporated postures and movements (Bourdieu, 2018b; Engler, 2001) and, for most of them, it depends on their in-between status (Anzaldúa, 1987).

Following these explorations, I conclude that there is a noticeable lack of genuine inclusion and participation in scientific practices for people other than established academic staff and for groups that are marginalized. This holds importance for both individuals and for the way science is done. From an individual perspective, it is significant because becoming a scientist involves garnering recognition and acknowledgment from field members. Early career researchers rely on the recognition of their peers to engage in scientific practices, that is, to play along with the scientific game. Without participation in these kitchen practices, it is more difficult to become a member of the scientific field. In shaping the practice of science, it is essential because scientific endeavors hinge on collective thinking and the exchange of ideas. Science is not the endeavor of an individual “doing” it, but rather a collaborative effort in which a group of individuals collectively engage in collective thinking. Despite borders, PhD students try to cross them, sometimes more, sometimes less successfully. In this respect, implicit, subtle or explicit social rules guide social actions, but there is at least a condition of possibility for different ways of engaging within academic spaces.

I suggest that future research engage in a more nuanced examination, specifically addressing the role of additional inequality-generating categories on the appropriation practices of PhD students. This may reveal alternative, though perhaps closely related, experiences. Furthermore, it is important to acknowledge that my analysis is rooted in a specific university context. Other universities may feature distinct spaces and practices crucial for the accumulation of symbolic capital. Consequently, exploring the significance of specific spaces and practices for PhD students at various universities and faculties would provide valuable insights into their relevance and dynamics. Ultimately, I emphasize that crossing borders, appropriating academic spaces, and feeling comfortable in them is work and takes time, because those who are “out of place have to secure a place” (Ahmed, 2010, p. 254) that is not (yet) given to them. However, established members of the scientific field can help to create an environment in which those on the borders can feel more encouraged to enter academic spaces such as the kitchen space and engage in kitchen table conversations. They can become feminist border allies because they can act as a bridge to help cross borders. They can practice feminist solidarity by reaching out to those at the border and offering them a seat at the table.