Steve and Deonie ‘Dee’ Allen’s fates were sealed when their respective dogs, two kelpies, spotted each other from across a marina in Brisbane, Australia and became friends. The pair were living on boats three berths down from one another – and the rest, as they say, is history.

Twenty-two years later they are happily married, with one boat, two PhDs and parallel careers as microplastic-pollution researchers at Dalhousie University in Halifax, Canada, and the University of Birmingham, UK, respectively. The Allens, as many in the field will attest, are an infamous double-act, sharing work and hobbies, and travelling the world together for their sailing hobby and for research.

They literally finish each other’s sentences – and e-mails – and they are indubitable proof that yes, it really is possible to work with a romantic partner without growing to despise them.

In the Allens’ case, Steve says, “It means we are a complete mobile research unit.”

Romantic duos are by no means uncommon in science. A 2008 study by researchers at Stanford University in California suggests that around 40 per cent of women and 34 per cent of men in academia are in a partnership with fellow academics. Among scientists, 83 per cent of women and 54 per cent of men in academic couples are partnered with another scientist.

There are clear benefits: a support system and a shared understanding of all work’s stresses, including the highs and lows of a career in science, are implicit. And couples who collaborate report higher productivity levels.

“The fact we share the same project goals and workload allows each of us the chance to explore new methods or equipment while the work progresses, which is priceless in order to keep up with the field,” says Steve Allen.

When the Covid-19 pandemic hit in 2020, Justine Ammendolia and Jackie Saturno were able to turn a period of travel restrictions and cancelled plans into a creative, collaborative project. Stuck at home in Toronto, Canada, Ammendolia and Saturno, both environmental scientists, quickly noticed the growing number of face masks littered around the community.

“It became our weird idea of a date night, walking around the community picking up garbage,” jokes Saturno, who is currently a network manager at an eco-forestry programme in Halifax, Canada, called the Family Forest Network.

Justine Ammendolia and Jacquelyn Saturno conducting fieldwork near the Humber River in Toronto, Canada.

The couple hatched a plan to monitor plastic waste in the area, turning it into research. “It began as grassroots, informal project, but we eventually picked up funding dollars,” says Ammendolia, a PhD student at Dalhousie University. From there, they started a consultancy company and were contracted by the federal government to produce a report on the scale of the issue.

Ammendolia and Saturno met as undergraduates at the University of Guelph in Canada, around 12 years ago, and have worked together in both official and unofficial capacities ever since. “Our strengths play off each other,” says Ammendolia. “Scientifically, we’re pretty streamlined. Emotionally, we balance each other: Jackie is more laidback, calm and collected, and I will admit to being a bit of a firecracker.”

Key to their success in working together, Saturno thinks, is a willingness to “put egos to one side”. “Otherwise, things can unravel,” she says. “We’re always checking each other’s balances, but in a respectful way. We like to make sure that we have a sound project and we’re not just each other’s ‘yes’ person.”

Like many couples in science, Meaghan Creed and Alexxai Kravitz met at a conference. Both are now associate professors at Washington University School of Medicine in St Louis, Missouri. “We were in the same scientific circles and interested in similar research questions,” says Creed. “It was great to meet someone who thought and cared deeply about the same questions that I spent a significant proportion of my time thinking and caring about.”

In 2019, the couple were recruited to the same institution, and their laboratories are now adjacent. As a result, they frequently undertake collaborative projects, and they share a lab manager and meeting schedule.

Getting to this secure point in their careers wasn’t easy, however. When applying for positions early on, Creed says, she was advised to keep quiet about the ‘two-body problem’ in interviews and wait until she had been offered a job to disclose that her partner is also an academic.

“This is great advice, but didn’t work for us, and just led to a lot of disappointment and frustration,” she says. Creed and Kravitz were seeking two tenure-track positions, and many public institutions couldn’t offer a second such position without a lengthy approval process. It would also require an institution to conduct another full candidate search.

Although Kravitz was willing to take a step back from the tenure track to maximise the likelihood of them finding two jobs together, “that ended up not being necessary”, says Creed. On reflection, she thinks “it helps to be flexible and to emphasise the value you bring together”. “I think we got lucky,” Kravitz adds.

Luck, in many cases, seems highly dependent on the attitudes of those doing the hiring. When Creed and Kravitz were looking for job opportunities in the same city, the dean of Washington University School of Medicine heard through word of mouth that the couple were ideally looking for a career ‘package deal’.

“He saw the opportunity to make two great hires for two open positions in different departments,” says Creed. “There are at least five other couples in our research sphere here at Washington University, so I think the institute sees attracting scientific couples as a strength.” But not many institutions take such a proactive approach.

The two-body problem comes with well-documented challenges. For one, finding the right position in the right location can be twice as difficult when you share a speciality and are effectively competing with your own partner for roles. “Scientific funding does not typically support couples working together,” says Dee Allen. “Because we are so close in our subject matter, there’s normally only ever one job going, not two.”

The Allens’ solution has been to pitch themselves to prospective employers or grant funders as a two-for-one package that produces what they think equates to the work of three people, owing to the long hours they rack up together, with inevitable late-night and early-morning brainstorming sessions.

The result is that they will often end up working together on one project for one salary — something they don’t necessarily recommend to others. “But it works for us,” says Dee. “It’s also much more fun researching together and allows us to get the work done in the most effective way.”

• A Nature report