The persistent image of the scientist – solitary, austere, and speaking in impenetrable jargon – is a powerful one, and demonstrably untrue for many. But bridging the gap between the reality of scientific work and public perception remains a significant challenge. Molly Edwards, a filmmaker and the founder of Science IRL, isn’t just documenting science; she’s actively reshaping how it’s understood, and who feels welcome within it. Her story isn’t simply about a career change, but a deliberate effort to counter the often-sterile portrayal of STEM fields, and a timely example of how entrepreneurial spirit can address systemic issues in science communication.
Edwards’s path began with a childhood fascination with plants, leading to formal study of their development and evolution. This academic focus, however, existed alongside a creative drive – photography and video editing learned through extracurriculars. It was during a research position before graduate school that she first combined these passions, realizing the potential of video to communicate complex scientific ideas. This initial spark, fueled by a desire to showcase the “creative, curious, and funny” personalities she encountered in research, ultimately blossomed into Science IRL. The project gained momentum while she was pursuing her PhD, even contributing to her receiving a prestigious National Science Foundation (NSF) Graduate Research Fellowship Program award – a clear indication that effective communication isn’t a distraction from rigorous science, but can actively support it.
Original reporting: the-scientist.com.
The core mission of Science IRL, as Edwards explains, is to reveal the human side of scientific inquiry. She aims to show not just the polished results, but the process: “how researchers took measurements in the lab or a sample in the field, as well as doing a happy dance after getting a really good result.” This emphasis on authentic excitement is a deliberate counterpoint to the often-impassive image of the scientist. It’s a strategy rooted in behavioral science; demonstrating passion makes research more relatable and, crucially, more inviting. This is particularly important now, as STEM fields grapple with issues of diversity and inclusion. A field that appears emotionally inaccessible will naturally discourage those who don’t see themselves reflected in its existing culture.
Edwards’s journey from hobbyist to full-time entrepreneur wasn’t without its hurdles. She formally established Science IRL as a business, navigating the complexities of trademarks, LLC registration, insurance, and intellectual property law. This required not only financial investment but also a significant time commitment, and a willingness to learn new skills. The need for legal counsel regarding IP, for example, highlights a crucial, often-overlooked aspect of science communication: protecting the work of both the communicator and the scientists they collaborate with. This proactive approach to business structure is particularly noteworthy, as many science communicators operate as freelancers without the formal protections of a registered company.
However, the landscape for science communication is currently shifting. Edwards notes that recent changes to federal funding, specifically impacting the “Broader Impacts” requirements on NSF grants, have “upended a lot of those contracts.” These requirements previously incentivized scientists to incorporate public outreach and communication into their projects, providing a funding stream for communicators like Edwards. The reduction in this funding represents a significant challenge, forcing Science IRL to adapt and explore new revenue models. This situation underscores a broader tension: while the need for effective science communication is widely acknowledged, consistent and reliable funding mechanisms remain elusive. The current reliance on grant-tied funding creates instability and limits the scope of independent science communication efforts.
Recent projects demonstrate Edwards’s versatility, ranging from short-form social media content – a challenging medium for conveying nuanced scientific information – to longer-form documentaries. Her work with the Center for Research on Programmable Plant Systems, involving cutting-edge plant biotechnology and innovative filming techniques like drone footage and phenotyping robots, showcases her ability to integrate visual storytelling with complex research. Her participation in the Jackson Wild Media Fellowship and subsequent collaboration with Joe Hanson of PBS Digital Studios’ Be Smart further demonstrate the value of networking and mentorship within the science communication community. These experiences aren’t just career milestones; they represent a growing recognition of science communication as a distinct and valuable professional field.
For aspiring science communicators, Edwards emphasizes the importance of finding supportive mentors and actively creating content. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, but you want to find some way to practice science communication,” she advises. This is a pragmatic approach, acknowledging that skill development requires consistent effort and a willingness to learn from both successes and failures. Resources like the ComSciCon conference provide valuable networking opportunities and training. But the core message is clear: don’t wait for permission or perfect conditions – start creating, start sharing, and start building a community. The question now is whether the funding structures will evolve to support this growing community, or if the future of accessible, engaging science communication will depend on the continued ingenuity and entrepreneurial spirit of individuals like Molly Edwards. Will we see a shift towards more sustainable funding models that prioritize public understanding of science, or will impactful communicators continue to navigate a precarious landscape of grant cycles and freelance contracts?
