Seth Shostak, Senior Astronomer
SETI

In the entire world, there are fewer than two dozen people who have the same job I do: to search the cosmos for signs of intelligent beings beyond Earth.

Not only does this make for an unusual business card, it's also a pretty exciting line of work. After all, most people go through life sweating the small stuff: how do I close a deal, make an appeal, or cook a meal? To prove that in a galaxy of 400 billion stars, humans aren't the only thinking species, would be one of the most stunning discoveries of all time. It's nice to work on this sort of "big picture" question.

It may surprise you to learn that half of all Americans believe that aliens not only exist, but are visiting our planet - skipping through the skies in their spacecraft, or temporarily parking their saucers while they engage in unwanted breeding experiments with the local citizenry. This widespread belief is probably caused by overexposure to "The X-Files." Few scientists (including me) think the extraterrestrials are among us. Good evidence for alien visitors is, in a word, lacking.

Instead, my colleagues and I use specialized telescopes to scan the skies for radio signals or flashing laser lights that come from distant worlds. It's all very similar to what Jodie Foster did in the movie "Contact."

You might think that a research scientist wouldn't care much about clothes. Indeed, it's said that when someone once pointed out to Albert Einstein that his socks didn't match, he replied that "it would be a shame if the packaging were better than the meat."

Einstein could get away with such sartorial sloppiness, but we lesser types cannot. Indeed, because of the public's great interest in my work, I'm frequently asked to give lectures and television interviews. If Ted Koppel or Bill O'Reilly are going to grill you on the tube, ill-fitting jeans and a sweat shirt stained by sloppy eating habits - standard attire in the lab or at the telescope - won't help your cause (and will probably displease your Mother).

Fortunately, I met Jhane Barnes long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away. At the time, what I knew about men's clothing was that you wear the white stuff underneath. Jhane was soon instructing me on the enormous difference between clothes that merely packaged my less-than-perfect bod, and those that offered real image enhancement. I still remember the first time I wore one of her shirts: an elevator operator (yes, an elevator operator!) startled me with the unsolicited observation, "nice shirt." OK, not exactly Shakespearean, but it made my day.

Since then, I've felt a bit like Clint Eastwood (although lamentably, I don't look like him). Jhane Barnes makes a lot of my days with clothes that do more than impress colleagues, TV producers, and the occasional elevator operator. Sure, they make me look as good as the laws of genetics will allow. But something I really appreciate is how comfortable Jhane's clothes are, and how well they travel. I spend two weeks of every month unnaturally folded up in an airline coach seat, en route to yet another conference, observatory, or speaking gig. When I get to wherever I'm going, I can't help but notice that Jhane's clothes have weathered the trip better than I have. Believe me, for someone who thinks an ironing board is some sort of bureaucracy for regulating the steel industry, this is a positive godsend.

We haven't found the extraterrestrials yet. I'm optimistic, however, that it may not be very long before a tell-tale signal from space is picked up by our instruments. If Hollywood aliens are any guide, the extraterrestrials could be hairless little gray guys with big eyes, who wear - no clothes. Well, such immodesty is their business. I, for one, prefer the idea of finding a signal while decked out in truly elegant duds. Clothes may not make the man, but they sure make an impression.

Past articles
Marc Kaiser