Ostensibly, I’m on vacation. However, it’s raining, I have some inspiration, and I haven’t written a post in a while, so buckle up, here come some more machine learning opinions. I read some discussion about the size of NeurIPS, mostly around Andrey Kurenkov’s post at The Gradient, and wanted to weigh in.
I’ve been to three NeurIPS: 2016, 2017, and 2019. So, no, I haven’t really been around that long. NeurIPS 2016 was my first academic conference ever, so I didn’t really know what to expect. By NeurIPS 2017, I’d been to a few and could confidently say that NeurIPS felt too big. By NeurIPS 2019, I was no longer sure NeurIPS was too big, even though it had over 60% more attendees than 2017.
Before my first conference, I got some advice from senior researchers: if you aren’t skipping talks, you’re doing it wrong. I promptly ignored this advice and attended every talk I could, but now I get what they meant.
Early on in your research career, it makes sense to go to talks. You know less about the field and you know fewer people. As you become more senior, it makes less sense to go to talks. It’s more likely you know a bit about the topic, and you know more people, so the value of talks go down compared to the research conversations you could have instead. Conference organizers know this. Ever wonder why there are so many coffee breaks, and why they’re all much longer than they’d need to be if people were just getting coffee? Important, valuable meetings are happening during those coffee breaks.
In the limit, people attend conferences to meet up with the people they only see at conferences. As someone from the Bay Area, the running joke is that we travel halfway across the world to talk to people who live an hour’s drive away. It’s not that we don’t want to talk to each other, it’s that the conference environment provides a much lower activation energy to scheduling meetups, and it’s easier to have serendipitous run-ins with old friends if we’re all in the same venue.
In this model of a research conference, all the posters, accepted papers, talks, and so on are background noise. They exist as the default option for people who don’t have plans, or who want a break from socializing. That default option is critically important to keeping everything going, but they’re not the point of the conference. The point of the conference is for everyone in the research community to gather at the same place at the same time. If you’ve been to fan conventions, it’s a very similar dynamic.
If you take this model as true, then NeurIPS’s unofficial status as the biggest ML conference is incredibly important. If you could only go to one conference each year, you’d go to NeurIPS, because everyone else is going to go to NeurIPS.
And if NeurIPS is the place to be, shouldn’t NeurIPS be as big as necessary?
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Well, maybe. NeurIPS attendance is growing, but the growth is coming from different places.
Year over year, NeurIPS has been growing way faster than any of the PhD programs that could be feeding into it. I would guess it’s growing faster than the undergrads and master’s students as well. If the growth isn’t coming from universities, it has to be coming from industry and the broader data science community - a community that is much larger and of a different makeup than the traditional ML research crowd.
I said NeurIPS is about networking, but the question is, networking between who? It started as networking between researchers, because the makeup of attendees started as researchers. It’s been shifting ever since deep learning hype took off. It is increasingly likely that if you talk to a random attendee, they’ll be an ML enthusiast or someone working in an ML-related role at a big company, rather than someone in a PhD program.
And I should be really, really clear here: that’s not necessarily a bad thing! But people in a PhD program have different priorities from people working at a big company, and that’s causing a culture clash.
The size debate is just a proxy for the real debate about what NeurIPS should be. We’re in the middle of an Eternal September moment.
Eternal September is a term I really wish more people knew about, so here’s the short version. There used to be this thing called Usenet, with its own etiquette and social norms. Every September, new students from colleges and universities would get access to Usenet, and they’d stir a fuss, but the influx was small enough for existing Usenet culture to absorb them without much change. Then, AOL opened Usenet access to anyone who wanted it. Usenet culture couldn’t integrate the firehose of interest, and it became known as the Eternal September. The original Usenet culture disappeared, in favor of whatever culture made sense for the new users.
The parallels to NeurIPS are uncanny. A simple find-replace exactly describes what’s happening now, from the people saying NeurIPS is turning into a spectacle, to the people complaining they can’t buy tickets to a conference they really want to attend.
Despite their foreboding name, Eternal Septembers are not inherently bad. They are what they are. But generally, they’re good for people trying to join, and bad for people that are already there and like what they have.
So the real question is, who is NeurIPS for? Is it for the established researchers to talk shop? The newer researchers trying to present their work and build a career? The data scientist looking for new applications of ML research? Right now, it’s for all of them, and the organizers are doing their best to balance everyone’s interests correctly, which is an incredibly difficult job I wouldn’t wish on anyone. The one thing that seems clear to me is that a pure, academic-only NeurIPS untethered from industry is never going to happen. Machine learning is currently too economically viable for industry to stop caring about it. You don’t stop Eternal September. Eternal September is something that happens to you. The best you can do is nudge the final outcome the best you can.
It’s a crazy solution, and I don’t know if it even makes sense, but maybe NeurIPS needs to be split in two. Have one act as the submission venue, where people submit and present their research, with heavier restrictions on who’s allowed to attend, and have the other act as the open-to-everyone conference, with the two co-located to encourage some crossover. If NeurIPS’s growing pains are caused by it trying to be something for everyone, then maybe we need to split NeurIPS’s responsibilities. Except, I don’t actually know what that means.
I do believe that it’s something people should be thinking more about. So, consider this as a call to action. September approaches, and thinkpieces or blog posts aren’t going to change what happens when it does.