Karl Stefanovic talks weed, women and why he’s bringing back the bloke

TV larrikin and Today co-host Karl Stefanovic gets a modern makeover and talks weed, women, getting merry on TV and why he’s bringing back the Aussie bloke.

IT WAS, to be blunt, most unlikely. Karl Stefanovic – Today co-host, journo, joker, occasional Logie drunk, sometime Logie winner, proud (implanted) Queenslander and prominent Aussie bloke – as a caped crusader for feminism.

OK, so the cape was actually a navy suit (a Burberry knock-off, no less), a two-piece affair worn daily on-air for a full year (“except for a couple of times due to circumstance”) to highlight the prevailing sexist attitudes draped over female TV presenters. In this case, the 40-year-old’s astute offsider, Lisa Wilkinson, now departed Today newsreader Georgie Gardner and her successor, Sylvia Jeffreys.

The stunt went global – Stefanovic surely fulfilled a dream by making it to Icelandic prime time – while the suit went straight to the cleaners. And then cleaned up for the White Ribbon charity organisation, when it was auctioned off for a hefty $10,000.

Sitting in the sun-filled courtyard of a Sydney photo studio, surrounded by ferns and a smattering of wooden furniture, Stefanovic largely deflects the praise that walked alongside his suited stance. He’s heard it, seen it, read it. Yes, he’s proud, why shouldn’t he be? He drove a necessary narrative; started a conversation.

Some (to be clear, not Germaine Greer) muttered and mumbled about it being little more than a pushy personal PR exercise. It wasn’t. Far from it. It was simply Karl being Karlos (a moniker he slathers on sentences, unafraid of the third person); a man au fait with certain feminist leanings as they relate to his displeasure of the treatment of women generally, friends and colleagues specifically. It spoke, ultimately, of his respect for women.

Karl Stefanovic gets a Cary Grant-style makeover on the cover of Sunday Style magazine. Photography: Damian Bennett. Styling: Barnaby Ash.

Here, today, it’s actually men on Stefanovic’s mind. Not so much co-host Richard Wilkins’, ahem, big hair, rather Karlos The Crusader 2.0 is pulling the trigger on the state of the Australian male.

“I think they’ve gone soft,” he says, unapologetically. “I think they’re confused. I think their idols, a lot of whom are only in their twenties, are confused and male identity is being watered down.”

He’s not alone in his thinking. A male identity crisis allegedly cloaks the 21st-century fella: he’s too soft, he’s too hard; too emotional, too far removed from feelings.

Run through today’s Rolodex of prominent men, those currently looked upon and idolised from afar, and you’ll find it’s a beguiling bunch of the intelligent, the idiotic and the insignificant; a motley crew characterised by anyone from Malcolm Turnbull to David Beckham, Louis C. K. to Harry Styles, Christian Grey to Buddy Franklin and Robin Thicke. Or worse.

Being a man, we’re told, was once a linear and simple path. “You left school, got a job, got married, had children, drank heavily, played golf, had an aborted affair, never spoke about your feelings under any circumstances, and died of a heart attack aged 56. Easy,” read The Guardian last month.

Karl Stefanovic for Sunday Style. Credit: Damian Bennett and styling by Barnaby Ash.

As Stefanovic sees it, men, specifically Australian men, need to reclaim a certain sense of their former selves. That’s not to suggest a return to philandering ways that render women secondary, but he wants to bring back the much-loved ‘bloke’.

“If I see another shaved chest I’m gonna flip out,” he says by way of denting any lengthy, cerebral discussion with familiar, unabashed banter. “I have hair on my chest.” He pops the top three buttons of a slim-fitted blue shirt (lowering one would have been adequate) to reveal a thick black thatch stitched to his front. “And I’ve got some on my back.” Thankfully, no show-and-tell moment is forthcoming here.

“Grooming as a thing is fine, as long as you don’t let it alter your personality. Be respectful of women, love them and cherish them, nurture them and look after them, but don’t lose being a man.” That apparently means no pre-mixed beverages (duly noted) and the occasional punt.

“I lament that down the pub these days guys are drinking Vodka Cruisers – I mean, watermelon Cruisers? Give me a break.” Apparently, a pint of Carlton is the order of the day, so, too, a bet on a horse. “Responsibly,” he adds.

“Look, I like being a man. And I like being a bloke.” Such words come as no real surprise, not after last year’s cookbook, Karl Cooks (featuring such chapter headings as, ‘Hangover Cures’, ‘Date Night with the Missus’, ‘Backyard BBQ’ and ‘When the Wife’s Away’) and not after learning this TV type uses his 2011 Gold Logie to lever into beers with the boys most Friday nights (thanks to The Block host and fellow Nine stalwart, Scott Cam, who modified the effigy to include a bottle opener in its base).

“I just think that over the last decade we’ve become so preoccupied, and rightly so, with trying to ensure that women are OK with us and that we’re OK with women, but I think we’ve done that now. Yeah, there’s still a long way to go for women in this country, in this world; but I think as men, well, you don’t have to give up being a man, or give up the elements of being a man.”

Real mean give flowers. Photography: Damian Bennett. Styling: Barnaby Ash.

It’s lucky Stefanovic is a man for all men. Here, on set for Sunday Style, he’s surrounded by them, gifted a ‘GQ makeover’ that involves men nestled tightly into his orbit, each one preening, poking and prodding. His banter is largely self-deprecating, all-inclusive and fluid; a skill honed after 21 years on air, in a world where filling time is a must.

Today’s conversation slopes from questioning the importance of pocket squares to the NRL’s latest scandal and a decent dissection of Malcolm Turnbull’s obvious posturing on the previous night’s Q&A.

As for the quirky props – that was his idea. “I just can’t imagine anyone sitting out there on a Sunday, drinking their coffee, buying into me as a high-fashion person. My immediate thought was they’ll think I’m a tosser of monumental proportions, so I wanted to lighten things up. I don’t mind taking the piss out of myself; any time, anywhere.”

True. His 10-year tenure at Today has proven such – that cringe-worthy Dalai Lama joke, that Schwarzenegger impersonation, that unforgettable post-Logies performance.

But as much as there’s buffoonery (“I don’t actually think I’m very funny”) there is also brilliance: his ability to recently hold the PM to account (“No one’s buying what you’re selling”), his eight continuous hours covering the Malaysia Airlines crash in the Ukraine, his ownership of Nine’s Brisbane flood coverage and similar efforts attached to the Japanese tsunami and Christchurch earthquake, all examples of his professionalism.

“I take huge enjoyment out of making people smile and laugh, and huge enjoyment out of making people feel something,” he offers. “We’re modern-day entertainers, but we also inform and are expected to do great breaking news. And I take that extremely seriously when I’m doing it, as seriously as anyone in the news game. I want to be the best that I can be.”

Straight news acted as Stefanovic’s small-screen entrée. He was on a fast track to fame with Nine, moving from Brisbane reporter to back-up newsreader before being tapped as the network’s US correspondent in 2003. Good mate and network boss, David Gyngell, “Gyng”, promised a full-time 60 Minutes gig immediately after his time Stateside. Instead, the 2005 retirement of Steve Liebmann saw Stefanovic flown into Today alongside Tracy Grimshaw, a job he admits to finding initial difficulty with, when asked to deliver more than a straight dissection of the daily headlines.

“To be completely honest, the first three to four years I did everything in my power to get off the show. It was too hard, I was copping it royally in the press and it was a big adjustment to make [from being a straight journalist]. Maybe I was just too young, I was only 30; maybe it was the fact I’d always wanted to do 60 [Minutes]? For me, it was always about getting 60. That was the goal as a kid,” he admits.

That initial desire first flickered into possible reality after he had to wedge dreams of becoming a fighter pilot into the bottom drawer at high school. “When maths became a series of letters, not numbers, I knew the Top Gun dream was over.”

He never got to be Top Gun - but he did get a GQ makeover... Photography: Damian Bennett. Styling: Barnaby Ash.

While his mum may have “dropped him off” 40 years ago in Sydney’s Darlinghurst, it was in Queensland that Stefanovic was raised, moving north with the family at 18 months old; first to Brisbane, then to Cairns where he completed his schooling.

Combined journalism and business studies at the Queensland University of Technology meant a return to the Queensland capital, and a post-degree placement at WIN TV. It was there Stefanovic fell deeply in love with news, “the energy, the journos running about putting things on tape and pulling things together. I knew then it was what I wanted to do.”

It was also at WIN that he first inhaled (decent) marijuana. “That was the first time I really had it when it wasn’t just grass clippings. I remember someone just handing it to me and saying, ‘Here, you need to loosen up, Preppy.’ I had a lot of laughs.”

See, that’s the other thing about Stefanovic: he speaks his mind, says what he feels and doesn’t alter history to better fit his current, high-profile standing. It may sometimes be to his detriment, but in a world of prying PR ears and cookie-cutter media players, his is a refreshing approach.

“Look, I’ve never had a drama with people smoking marijuana. I’ve never seen a violent person on weed. Obviously the jury’s still out on the long-term medical effects of it, but a joint with friends, I’ve always thought, is just great fun. We do stupid things as adults, but I’ve never thought of that as one of them.”

In discussing his wife, Cassandra, Stefanovic’s love becomes obvious, his eyes crinkling at the contentment they share. They met in Queensland – she too a journo destined for a high-profile career, arguably one that would have eclipsed his. But kids intervened: Jackson, 15, Ava, nine, and River, seven. She swapped out reporting duties for nappies, school runs and to support Stefanovic’s rise up the ranks.

“She gave up a promising career at the ABC and I’m forever thankful and tremendously appreciative of that. Cass wanted to be at home, and wants to be there now, and we’re very lucky to be in a financial position where we can do that. But should she ever want to go back to work, then of course she can,” enthuses Stefanovic.

Karl Stefanovic with wife Cass. Photography: Belinda Rolland.

Cass wears the pants, and home life sees Stefanovic running on a little less energy than that which greets Australian audiences Monday through Friday. That said, he cherishes the time together and admits a full-time 60 Minutes spot, living largely on the road, would be too selfish at this juncture.

“People say it’s about quality time, but I think it’s quantity. I like to be there for the kids when they fall down, to be present when they come home from school, crying because someone has hit them or said something nasty. It’s important to be there when that happens and 60, well, it’s a long time away.”

Weekends en famille mean the usual slapdash of Saturday sports, time spent teaching cricket and some solid ping-pong sessions (“they call me Li Na”) in the garage of the family home on Sydney’s leafy North Shore.

“Do I let the kids win? No way. Not a chance. Life is too hard to sugar-coat anything; life lessons are important and they start at home,” he says, chuckling.

But what of the life lessons his kids surely take from his various TV exploits? How hard is it to set an example given the more mischievous moments etched permanently on Stefanovic’s public record?

“That’s hard. Really hard. I mean, when I say to my 15-year-old son, ‘Don’t go and get pissed,’ he’s like, ‘Dad – where do you want to start on YouTube?’”

While alcohol has for so long acted as oil fuelling the daily cut and thrust of newsrooms, drinking, Stefanovic maintains, has never been a problem. Still, he’s wary of partaking in public and admits he’s no fan of the man he becomes when drunk proper.

“I have fun up until the point I have too much. And I don’t particularly like the person I become. I’m a pain in the arse and just talk and talk and talk and talk and talk about myself. It’s almost like being at confession. But as you get older there’s a certain amount of navel-gazing that goes on, and so I don’t drink as much as I used to. I don’t like losing control.”

Control wasn’t exactly lost on that now infamous post-Logies broadcast from the Crown foyer in 2009, the other time that Stefanovic’s antics went global.

The memorable appearance actually reads quite simply: TV presenter went to Logies, got pissed, had fun with friends and colleagues, rocked up to work for a 5.30am show on little to no sleep and laughed more than usual. Not too headline-worthy, you wouldn’t think.

“Yeah, but there was definitely some serious concern about the ramifications for me at a professional level. I was worried.”

Karl Stefanovic on screen with co-host Lisa Wilkinson. Source 9 Network

Phone calls came in. First, Gyng. “He said to be careful but that no-one would care, that he didn’t care and that it was the most human he’d seen me. He told me that whatever happened, I just had to ride it out.”

Then lobbed radio broadcaster and close friend, Alan Jones. “‘What’s this Today Tonight story?’ he asked me. [The now axed Seven Network public-affairs program pulled together a piece denouncing Stefanovic’s early-morning actions.] I said I didn’t know. And then Alan was like, ‘Well, 1.4 to 1.5 million people are about to know who Karl Stefanovic is. Damage to you? Nil.’”

There was another call made to Karl that day, from an equally senior figure; a bloke named Tony Abbott.

“No-one knows this, but Tony rang me and he said [Stefanovic walks into a loose impression of the now PM], ‘Maaate, as someone who, ah, as someone who recently got into trouble for being a little tipsy at a work function, I just want you to know that I sympathise with you.’”

In replaying his moment with Abbott, Stefanovic toys with a delicate red string bracelet coiled tightly around his right wrist. He stops and quips, “It was a gift from my daughter. It’s a bracelet that says love. A lot of people think it’s Kabbalah. It’s not… Not that’s there’s anything wrong with mystic Judaism.”

And nor is there anything wrong with this well-rounded, intelligent and unashamedly Aussie bloke. Cheers.