Reflecting on the expectations outlined in job descriptions for academic skills tutor roles, I noticed a clear emphasis on metrics and technical expertise. Increasingly, institutions prioritise digital literacy, learning analytics, and evidence-based teaching practices, framing these as essential for student support. Alongside these technical demands, tutors are also expected to balance pastoral care with academic guidance—addressing students’ mental health needs while teaching critical thinking, time management, and other core academic skills, and these roles are further shaped by institutional agendas, with a growing expectation for tutors to contribute to broader strategic goals such as widening participation, fostering inclusivity, and improving student retention rates. On the surface, these responsibilities appear both reasonable and necessary, yet their breadth raises questions about the feasibility and accessibility of such roles, especially for those with unconventional backgrounds.

Using Cohen’s monster theory (1996), I frame these demands as “monstrous” in their construction of the ideal academic skills tutor. Cohen describes monsters as cultural symbols that reflect society’s fears and anxieties while simultaneously enforcing boundaries of what is considered acceptable or “normal.” Applying this to the tutor role, the idealised figure emerges as a hybrid being—simultaneously a digital expert, a pastoral guide, an academic coach, and an institutional representative. These overlapping and, at times, conflicting expectations create a figure that is both highly desired and inherently exclusionary, and the monstrousness of this construct lies in its ability to alienate those who do not fit neatly into these predefined moulds. Candidates with non-linear academic trajectories, such as myself, whose strengths lie in qualitative creativity and working with marginalised groups, are rendered irrelevant or insufficient in the face of these institutional priorities. In this way, the academic skills tutor becomes not just a role but a site of tension, where institutional goals clash with the diverse, lived experiences candidates bring to the table—this framing allows for a deeper critique of how modern academic skills tutor positions are shaped, and by emphasising data-driven approaches and alignment with institutional strategies, the roles privilege certain forms of expertise while marginalising others. From this perspective, the figure of the tutor can be seen as a “monster” that embodies both the aspirations and the exclusions of contemporary academia, highlighting the ways in which certain candidates are systematically excluded from contributing to the academic landscape, and this reflection forces me to question the roles themselves and also the broader implications for diversity, inclusion, and creativity within the sector.

I also reflect on the emotional impact of facing repeated job rejections in my post-PhD career journey, using my own experiences to look into the mental health struggles often encountered by early-career academics. Job searching in the post-PhD world is undeniably competitive, and I was aware of this as I navigated the application process. Despite my qualifications, I found myself dealing with imposter syndrome, constantly battling the thought that I wasn’t “good enough,” even though my academic background was solid, echoing Ashford’s (2023) observations. It was difficult to avoid the emotional weight of these rejections, especially after investing so much time and energy into crafting thoughtful applications, only to receive either no response or form-letter rejections, and as much as I tried not to internalise these experiences, it was hard to shake the feeling that the problem might be me—that I was somehow failing or falling short. However, with time and reflection, I came to understand that sometimes it’s not about being “lame” or inadequate—it’s simply a matter of not fitting the exact criteria that employers are seeking for a particular role or team dynamic, and I began to see that my unique skills and experiences, particularly those shaped by a non-linear academic path, were often not what these institutions were looking for in terms of collaboration or institutional fit. The more I encountered this reality, the more I recognised how academic hiring practices often prioritise certain profiles over others, making it harder for diverse candidates to find a place within traditional roles. But I also began to see that these rejections were not necessarily about discouraging diversity or creativity, but rather about a mismatch between what institutions were seeking and what I had to offer. This realisation helped me reframe the emotional challenges of rejection, not as a personal failure, but as part of the knotty process of fitting into a specific institutional culture or team dynamic. It highlighted the fact that sometimes, despite one’s qualifications and experience, it’s simply about finding the right fit—something that is not always under our control.

As I reflect on my journey and the challenges faced in the post-PhD job market, I’m reminded of an interview experience that encapsulates the disconnect I’ve encountered. During this interview for an academic skills tutor position, I was repeatedly asked how my PhD background related to the role, which left me feeling increasingly uncomfortable, and despite my efforts to explain how my research and experiences with marginalised communities could inform my approach to supporting students, I was ultimately rejected. When I asked for interview feedback, the response was again clear: my PhD background had little relevance to the role, and this exchange highlighted the disconnect between my skills and what the institution seemed to value, which led me to question the broader issue. This experience reinforced a key realisation: as post-PhD navigators, we often find ourselves trying to align our backgrounds with institutional expectations that may not always be clear or consistent, and while institutions may have certain criteria in mind, these can sometimes seem opaque or ill-defined, leaving candidates like myself wondering how we truly fit into these roles. It’s a reminder that we, as a broader academic community, must continue to ask the question: Who belongs in the library? By embracing candidates with different backgrounds and unique experiences, we can create a more inclusive academic environment that recognises the value of varied outputs and perspectives, and as we push for change, we must stay committed to challenging the status quo and advocating for spaces that welcome all voices.