So you want a chair for Christmas. Are you sure?

There comes a time in most academic careers when applying for a professorship is both expected and psychologically compelling. After all, nobody wants to reach retirement having never quite “made it”. And, hubris notwithstanding, you might also feel that, after years of hard academic graft, you deserve the esteem conferred by a chair.

That was my situation in the early 2000s. Having entered academia as a mature student in the late 1960s, I had a particularly reverent view of professors. They were scholarly in the true sense, not only well read in their own field but more broadly, allowing them to be polymathic while still specialist. Administratively, they were heads of departments but could also lead by example, delivering inspiring lectures and focusing on publication quality over quantity. There was usually only one or, at most, two per department.

All my efforts to join their ranks, however, were in vain. I applied for 18 posts over four years and was shortlisted and interviewed for 12, but I wasn’t offered a single one.

You may feel that I therefore can’t have much to teach you about getting a chair. But I might be able to help you decide if it is even worth trying.

Although there has been increasing uniformity in higher education in recent years, there is still little consistency in how UK professors are appointed. In my case, I was interviewed by a varying cast of characters, from the vice-chancellor alone to a panel of v-c, pro vice-chancellor and head of HR, following three presentations to different departmental heads with their senior lecturers and a presentation laying out my “vision” to all the research and teaching staff I would be leading.

The application I found most curious was the one that obliged me, along with eight other candidates, to attend a centre for “psychological profiling” deep in the Derbyshire hills prior to all the university procedures the following day. Suitability to lead an academic department was assessed via an exercise in time and people management in a failing travel agency. My only reported negative qualities were that I was “not a fast decision maker and may have a tendency to seek additional information at the expense of taking action”, being “prepared to listen and debate”. All true, I hope – but perhaps there would have been little opportunity for debate: during a walk around the campus, the v-c showed us the office that would be ours – along the corridor from his and next to all the other professors. And where was the department we were supposed to lead? The v-c gestured a mile away, across a body of water.

In the end, the post was given to the other final-listed candidate, who brought a considerable amount of funding (and left after two years). And that was the story of my applications. The feedback I received was frequently that I “did very well, but…”. On reflection, my main fault was that I was too honest. I would state my personal mission, and while I could always show how it resonated with the institution’s (I would not have applied otherwise), my interviewers didn’t always see it that way.

The most disturbing experience I had was when I was de-shortlisted after being interviewed by only the dean. As I was waiting, with the other candidates, for my scheduled interview with the vice-chancellor, the v-c called me in early. “You told the dean that if you were not appointed to this post, you would probably retire,” he said, clearly having written off my academic verve.

“No, I didn’t,” I replied. “I said I would stay in my current post until retirement since it is arduous applying for posts.”

I assumed the dean’s misrepresentation was deliberate as I’d sensed that we didn’t see eye to eye. Interestingly, she apparently hadn’t hit it off with the remaining four applicants either since no appointment was made.

I have come to the view that appointment decisions are typically made before interviews are even conducted. Shortlists’ purposes are primarily to demonstrate the depth of the applicant field, underline the perceived superiority of the favoured candidate and come up with a Plan B just in case. There is no realistic way to move up the pecking order unless the Chosen One discloses something “problematic” at interview.

But when I talk to friends and colleagues who did get chairs, I feel grateful that I failed. I was liberated by the freedom that early retirement brought me (yes, inadvertently, that dean turned out not to be far wrong). As an independent consultant, I have participated in and advised international projects funded to more than €50 million (£43 million); written, edited or contributed to more than 10 books; founded a book series now into its eighth volume; published over 25 articles; advised research agencies, governments and universities internationally; and, most importantly, had the freedom to turn down many requests that did not align in terms of time and interest. Much of this I would not have been allowed to do as a university professor.

So, to my younger colleagues, I’d say do not be beguiled by the esteem of a chair. It is not what it was and there are many more, less limiting opportunities out there. And to any managers reading: I do know how to find the right professor for you – and I am available at reasonable rates.

Ron Iphofen is an independent research consultant.