Alie Ward’s weekly podcast, Ologies, has become a popular masterclass on scientific specialities. While some ologies are ingrained in everyday knowledge – anthropology, biology, cardiology, geology, psychology – most remain obscure.
Two recent episodes of Ologies featured ‘medusology’, the study of jellyfish, followed a week later by the even more refined niche of ‘toxinology’, the study of jellyfish venom.
Other episodes this year have explored ‘agnotology’ (the study of ignorance), ‘bryology’ (moss), ‘pelicanology’ (not surprisingly, the study of pelicans), ‘penguinology’ (self-explanatory), ‘nassology’ (taxidermy), ‘cryoseismology’ (icequakes), ‘philematology’ (kissing), and even the practical fields of ‘gastroegyptology’ (bread baking) and ‘oikology’ (the study of decluttering).
This list sounds like fun. Ward has made science accessible to the point where Ologies ranks among the top 10 science podcasts in the USA, Canada and Australia. Reviews posted by more than 14,000 listeners have rated the podcast 4.9 stars out of 5, close to perfect.
“The Ologist’s answers radiate inspiration that seeps into you, until suddenly you realise you really love mushrooms. And sharks,” wrote one reviewer.
The tagline for the show is, ‘Ask smart people stupid questions.’ The premise might be fun, but the science is serious, and the impact for the experts is immediate.
Authors have said their titles have gone from obscurity to the charts,” Ward told The Brilliant. “One scientist I interviewed sent me an all-caps email that just said, ‘THE OLOGIES BOOK BUMP IS REAL.’”
She features a diverse range of specialities, and her audience appreciates the diversity. “I hear a lot from listeners who say, ‘This particular Ologist encouraged me to go into oceanography’, or, ‘Seeing a person of colour in this field made me feel like I belong there too.’”
With the explosive growth of podcasting – listeners can choose from more than a million programs – having impact is tough. Since its launch in September, 2018, Ologies has now posted more than 150 episodes.
The origin of Ologies
In the early 2000s, Ward – working as an artist at the time – wanted to name her illustration company Curiology. “I was, like, is there an actual study of curiosity? Is it called curiology?”
It turned out curiology does not mean the study of curiosity, but rather the study of writing without words. Think emoji, hieroglyphics and gender signs on toilet doors – that’s curiology.
But while researching curiology, Ward stumbled across a website that listed all kinds of ologies. It got her thinking: “Who studies clouds? Who studies honey bees? Like, clowns, who’s doing this? Who gets to study these random little subjects?” (Nephologists, apiologists and clownologists respectively, in case you were wondering.)
Ward thought she’d combine her fascination with ologies with her creative side – perhaps produce an illustrated book. But nerves about her artistic ability paired with growing confidence in her interviewing skills meant the idea instead eventually found its niche in podcasting.
“I was doing a comedy podcast, around four years ago, and they said, ‘we’d love it if you have any science ideas’ and I was like, ‘boy, howdy, do I,’” Ward laughs.
Having the idea was great, but making it happen, she soon realised, would be easier said than done. She knew she wanted the podcast to be funny and feature in-depth, informative interviews.
But I really struggled with it at first because so many science podcasts in the top 10 are very polished. And you can listen with your kids and they’re very sophisticated. I could do that, but it was boring, because I felt like I already did that on the shows I did for television,” Ward says. “Instead I wanted to be myself. Be authentic.”
She saw there was already plenty of science content for children, but nothing for adults that gave them the science, warts and all. That settled it. “There’s so much sex and fighting and gross stuff and I want to be able to talk it. So, I thought all right, I’m going to go for it, but this could be a huge failure,” she says.
“I think if you don’t see anything like you or what you want to do, you think there’s a reason it doesn’t belong there. But a lot of times, it’s a great way to trail blaze.”
The art of science
Ward’s journey into science podcasting was circuitous, but the initial spark will be familiar to many.
“I got a toy microscope when I was eight. It came with some pre-glued and pre-set slides, like the mouthparts of a fly and a little tiny leaf, and then I had some blank slides. And I just saw this whole other world that I never realised existed through this microscope.”
She was hooked. By studying the minute, her world felt bigger. A dead fly on the windowsill became delicate lace-like wings, geometric eyes, and barbed feet that she could scrutinise in close detail.
As a student, Ward loved the arts and science, bouncing between theatre, writing, art and biology. She was inspired by artists such as Frank Netter, an American surgeon who drew incredibly intricate anatomical illustrations.
“Then one day I was in a library memorising the mouthparts of a crayfish and realised Frank Netter had already drawn the whole human body better than I ever would,” Ward recalls.
“I realised that maybe I was doing biological illustration because I was too afraid to make whatever was in my mind. So I changed my major to film and photography and studio arts, and I ended up graduating with a film degree.”
Her career before and after graduation has been a study in diversity and talks to Ward’s curiosity and pursuit of her various passions. She acted in Nash Bridges, Grey’s Anatomy and King of the Hill. She wrote for The LA Times, created illustrations for various newspapers, continued to paint and created a travel food show, Tripping Out with Alie & Georgia, on the Cooking Channel.
But even with this success, Ward was yet to find the metier that worked for her.
“When I was doing film, I would miss biology. When I was doing biology, I would miss the creativity,” she says. “I struggled with it for a long time. Even into my twenties and into my thirties, where I was working in TV and journalism, and I was writing about nightlife and art exhibits and stuff, I just missed science. I felt disconnected from it.”
Prompted by a friend, entomologist Lila Higgins, Ward started volunteering at the Natural History Museum of LA County. That decision proved life-changing.
“It ended up being the best thing that has happened in my adult life,” Ward says. “I loved being there and doing something that had nothing to do with my TV job. It felt so grounded.”
At the museum, Ward had the freedom to learn about spiders, then work in the spider hall. She says she chatted with interesting, passionate people, from kids “who wanted to tell me about a cool possum they saw” to colleagues who volunteered after retirement.
She made her science television debut when a friend who worked for a production company put her forward to host an educational show. For the first time, she saw her diverse training – university biology, on-camera television experience, and writing and researching skills fostered as a journalist – as an advantage.
“I spent a lot of time before that being so embarrassed that I had such a mishmash of jobs,” Ward says. “I felt like a chimera.”
Everyday wonder
As a leader in engaging people with science, Ward feels academic communication should be reassessed. The old-school style, which is typically jargon-heavy and devoid of emotion, is suited to papers and PhD defences, but doesn’t gel with those outside of the research world.
“When it comes to interfacing with the public, who don’t speak that jargon and need a reason to get invested, you need narrative and emotion and stakes and relatability,” Ward says.
I think some scientists feel vulnerable when they talk about what their research means to them or why they care about it. Even simplifying their lexicon to where the public can digest it is embarrassing to them, I think.”
But science without context, she adds, is meaningless to most: “It’s the same as watching the finale of The Bachelor without watching any of the other episodes.”
And that’s why developing a narrative is crucial to science communication. By putting the reader, listener or viewer in the story – by, for instance, describing how climate change will change their part of the world – they’re more likely to become engaged.
“You have to hook them in a way where it matters to them, where they feel like they have stakes in the game,” Ward says.
The subject area doesn’t even have to be big or gloomy to change the way a person sees the world. After an Ologies episode about malacology – the study of molluscs, which includes snails – Ward received a note from a listener who spied a snail while out on a walk.
“They sat and stared at the snail for five minutes, like a stoner,” she laughs. “If they hadn’t heard the episode, they would have walked right by it.”
It’s these everyday flashes of wonderment that Ward wants people to experience more often. Learning about a snail’s lifecycle may not seem particularly relevant at first, but that information can help a listener keep slugs away from their garden or simply understand the function of those silvery trails often seen crisscrossing footpaths during rain.
To me, nature and science is like one of those advent calendars, where you’re like, ‘What’s behind all the doors?’ And once you have a little bit more back story and context for different sciences, then you realise, ‘Oh, I know this. I get it’. That’s my hope.”
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Article by Kylie Ahern
Photo Credit: Robyn Von Swank: vonswank.com
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