In the increasingly competitive world of academia, simply mastering your discipline is no longer enough to guarantee career success or personal fulfillment. The Entrepreneurial Scholar challenges scholars at all stages—from doctoral students to tenured professors—to break free from conventional academic pathways by adopting an entrepreneurial mindset. What opportunities can you create based on who you are, what you know, and who you know?
What inspired you to write The Entrepreneurial Scholar? Was there a specific moment that sparked the idea?
This book grew out of an op-ed I wrote for Inside Higher Ed titled “Why PhD Students Should Think More Like Entrepreneurs.” At the time, I was reflecting on why my PhD journey felt different from many of my peers—why I found it fulfilling when so many others felt disillusioned. I realized that my mindset had been shaped by something much deeper than just my experiences in graduate school: it had been ingrained in me long before, through my upbringing as an immigrant.
I was born in the former Soviet Union and immigrated to the United States with my family when I was seven. We arrived with very little—just a few suitcases, no English skills, and almost no financial resources. My parents, both engineers in the Soviet Union, had to start over in low-wage jobs. But they didn’t wait for opportunities to come to them—they created them. They learned new skills, saved money, and eventually bought and renovated houses to rent out, all while working multiple jobs. Watching them, I absorbed the mindset that shaped their survival: Given who you are, what you know, and who you know, what opportunities can you create for yourself?
That question—one I had seen my parents live out daily—stuck with me. I didn’t always think of it as entrepreneurialism, but it was. It was about making something out of limited resources in an uncertain world. And when I entered academia, I realized that this same way of thinking helped me thrive. Instead of waiting for my advisors or the institution to define my career path, I sought out mentors beyond my department, experimented with different types of research and writing, and actively shaped my own scholarly trajectory.
When Inside Higher Ed published my op-ed, I received emails from graduate students, faculty members, and even a therapist who works with PhD students, all saying they wished they had heard this perspective sooner. Then, an editor from 91ĚŇÉ« reached out, asking if I’d consider expanding it into a book. That was the moment I knew this idea needed to reach a broader audience. Academia has become increasingly precarious, and I believe that an entrepreneurial mindset is one of the most valuable tools scholars can develop—not just to survive, but to create meaningful, fulfilling careers.
You mention that this book isn’t a traditional academic career guide. How does it differ from other books about navigating academia?
Most books about academia focus on the mechanics of getting a PhD, securing an academic job, or surviving the tenure track. They provide step-by-step advice on publishing, job applications, and networking—all of which are important. But The Entrepreneurial Scholar takes a different approach. Instead of offering a checklist for academic survival, I encourage scholars to rethink their relationship with academia entirely.
This book is about mindset, agency, and adaptability. It’s for people who want to carve out meaningful scholarly careers, whether inside or outside the academy. Rather than teaching readers how to follow a traditional path, it helps them develop the skills to create their own opportunities. Thinking like an entrepreneur in the context of this book doesn’t mean starting a business or making money—it means being resourceful, embracing uncertainty, and recognizing that you have more power over your career than you might think.
What do you mean by “thinking like an entrepreneur” in the context of academia?
When people hear the word “entrepreneur,” they often think of tech start-ups, venture capital, and making a profit. But at its core, entrepreneurship is about solving problems creatively and making something new with limited resources.
In academia, this means shifting from a passive consumer of knowledge to an active producer of knowledge. It means asking yourself: Given who I am, what I know, and who I know, what opportunities can I create? How can I make my research matter beyond the walls of the university? How can I build relationships that will help me grow as a scholar?
Thinking entrepreneurially also means embracing uncertainty. Academia is unpredictable—whether it’s the job market, the funding landscape, or institutional politics. Scholars who adopt an entrepreneurial mindset don’t just react to challenges; they find ways to navigate them strategically, leveraging what they have to create new possibilities.
Many academics resist the idea of entrepreneurial thinking because they associate it with commercialization. How do you address those concerns?
Entrepreneurial thinking isn’t about turning scholarship into a commodity or chasing profit. It’s about maximizing the impact of your work.
Academics already do this in many ways—whether it’s crafting research projects, securing funding, or engaging with public audiences. Thinking entrepreneurially simply means being more intentional about how you position your work, build relationships, and create opportunities.
Scholars don’t have to choose between intellectual integrity and practical impact. They can—and should—do both.
You had a non-traditional path to academia, having worked in consulting and start-ups. How did those experiences shape your approach to scholarship?
My experiences outside academia profoundly shaped how I approached my PhD and my career as a scholar. In consulting and start-ups, you quickly learn that success isn’t about following a fixed path—it’s about identifying problems, generating solutions, and adapting when things don’t go as planned.
That mindset helped me during my PhD because I never assumed that there was only one way to be an academic. I sought out opportunities beyond my department, collaborated with scholars in different fields, and experimented with different forms of writing and public engagement. I also didn’t see academia as the only valid career option—I viewed it as one of many possible paths where I could do meaningful work.
Many graduate students struggle because they’ve spent their entire lives succeeding in structured environments with clear expectations. But academia—and life—isn’t structured that way. My time in the private sector prepared me for that reality. It taught me to be proactive, to seek out mentors and collaborators, and to take ownership of my intellectual journey rather than wait for someone else to tell me what to do.
You talk about shifting from being a consumer to a producer of knowledge. Why is that mindset shift so important for academics?
This shift is crucial because it transforms how scholars engage with their work. Many graduate students enter their programs thinking that their job is to read, absorb information, and become experts in a field. But the real task of a scholar is to generate new knowledge—to contribute something original to their discipline and beyond.
When you start seeing yourself as a producer of knowledge, everything changes. Your reading becomes more purposeful because you’re looking for ways to build on or challenge existing ideas. Your writing becomes more than just an academic requirement—it becomes a way to shape conversations and influence thinking.
This shift also empowers scholars to take charge of their careers. Instead of waiting for external validation (a job offer, a publication, tenure), they can actively shape their trajectory by putting their work out into the world, engaging with different audiences, and seeking out opportunities to make an impact.
The book also discusses issues of inequality in academia, particularly for first-generation, low-income (FLI), and BIPOC scholars. How does an entrepreneurial mindset help these groups specifically?
FLI and BIPOC scholars often face structural barriers in academia, from limited mentorship to financial constraints. But these scholars also tend to have lived experiences that make them naturally entrepreneurial—they’ve had to navigate uncertainty, advocate for themselves, and find creative ways to succeed.
An entrepreneurial mindset helps these scholars see their backgrounds as strengths rather than deficits. It encourages them to leverage their unique perspectives, build supportive networks, and create opportunities that align with their values.
What do you hope readers will take away from The Entrepreneurial Scholar?
I hope readers come away feeling empowered to take ownership of their academic journeys. Academia can feel rigid and confining, but there is always room for creativity, agency, and innovation.
I want scholars—whether they are PhD students, postdocs, or faculty—to recognize that they have more control over their careers than they think. By embracing an entrepreneurial mindset, they can navigate uncertainty, create opportunities, and make meaningful contributions both inside and outside the academy.
At its core, this book is about reimagining what it means to be a scholar in the 21st century. I hope it helps readers see that scholarship isn’t just about following rules—it’s about creating something valuable and putting it into the world.
Ilana M. Horwitz is assistant professor of Jewish studies and sociology and the Fields-Rayant Chair in Contemporary Jewish Life at Tulane University. She is the author of God, Grades, and Graduation: Religion’s Surprising Impact on Academic Success.