By Lisa Wilkinson
I was lucky enough to get to know Andrew Olle towards the end of his all-too-brief life and, as a result, I confess to the uncomfortable feeling that if Andrew had been invited to deliver a lecture such as this, I suspect he would have very graciously declined - so humble a man was he.
But when I discovered I was the first female journalist to be so invited since Jana Wendt in 1997 it was a hard one to knock back. Yes, for those who are doing the maths, that's two female journalists in 16 years. Still, I suppose that's better than double the representation women are currently enjoying in our federal cabinet.
Illustration: Kerrie Leishman
My own entry into journalism is probably typical of many in this room. When I got my first job, I simply couldn't believe my luck. And after more than three decades in this profession, and despite tonight's honour I still think of myself as a magazine-junkie kid from the suburbs who lucked out big-time after answering a tiny three-line ad for a job at Dolly magazine in the Women & Girls employment section of The Sydney Morning Herald. And I can tell you, compared to the plethora of positions being offered up to the Men & Boys each day back then, that Women & Girls section didn't exactly trouble the printer for too much ink.
One interview, and a demonstration of my Sale Of The Century-like knowledge of every popstar Countdown had ever featured later … I had the job! My dream job. At Dolly. The very magazine I had spent all of my teenage years reading.
Looking back, I can't help but imagine how different that whole first-job-in-the-media scenario would be today . . . Would that job at Dolly even be advertised? Now all it takes is a mention on Mamamia, 10,000 likes on the Dolly Facebook page, a Leigh Sales retweet and bang! Aspiring editorial assistants for as far as the eye can see, all with their own blog, a LinkedIn page, tumblr site, and a perfectly produced showreel with 300 Youtube views, all packaged up with a selfie in the latest ASOS frock ready to strike a pose for the Sunday Tele social pages.
I kid you not - even in preparing for tonight's lecture, the most common question I was asked was not ''What are you going to say?'', but ''What are you going to wear?''
When you're a woman doing breakfast TV, you quickly learn the sad truth that what you wear can sometimes generate a bigger reaction than even any political interview you ever do.
I absolutely love co-hosting the Today Show and I do feel truly privileged right now to be part of such a great team - yes, even over the last month when we have somehow entered that disconcerting place where you somehow go from reporting the news to being it.
But as a woman in the media, it has long saddened me that while we delight in covering public issues of overt sexism - possibly the hottest topic in media over the last 12 months - the media itself can be every bit as guilty of treating women entirely differently to men. Why in so many areas of Australian life, are the rules of engagement still so different for women?
When I saw just a few month ago that Australia's most trusted publication, the Women's Weekly, ran a cover story, ''Why Women Hate Women'', I despaired, because I recognised the syndrome. I don't believe Australian women do hate women, but I despair when I see the same media that decries sexism and misogyny, itself engaging in it with such uncaring ease.
I despair that every time a female journalist is profiled in the press, her age is usually mentioned by the second paragraph, as if it is a measure of her sexual currency and just how long it will be, before it expires. And yet, does anyone here know or care how old Kerry O'Brien, Kochie, Tony Jones, Hugh Riminton, Ray Martin, Peter Overton or Laurie Oakes are? They are all brilliant at what they do, and the rule of thumb is that the more experienced they are, the better they are at their jobs. So why, so often, doesn't that same measure apply to women?
I despair when so many gossip magazines use ridicule of women as their stock in trade. How many times do we see female celebrities used as the mass bully targets, almost always based on their appearance?
I despair whenever I hear the words ''Post Baby Body'' accompanied by images of yet another celebrity who in four amazing weeks has managed to immediately wipe away any physical trace of evidence that she had ever been pregnant in the first place. And we're meant to aspire to that?
I despair when I see another ''Celebrities With Anorexia'' gossip cover complete with before and after paparazzi shots, calculated to show each one of them at their sad, tortured worst. It's pure voyeurism and ridicule masquerading as concern.
I despair when I see the young female radio DJ disappear from sight and unable to work, after being caught up in a prank call to a London Hospital, that saw a troubled nurse take her own life. Meanwhile her male co-host gets promoted and is given a major industry award by his employer as ''Top Jock'' of the year. Oh well, as they say, ''shit happens''.
I despair, when our federal cabinet of 2013, has just one woman to 19 men - and we women are told, even by other women, we must shoulder the burden of blame for this lack of female parliamentary presence due to our lack of ''merit'' … if only we were more talented, we're told, we might get half a chance of a look in.
I despair that so many young girls are growing up, held hostage via social media to the views others have of them, long before they even know who they are themselves.
I despair of the Instagram culture, where young girls learn to take off as much clothing as possible to generate the greatest number of ''likes'' from an audience too often made up of strangers. This is now the screwed-up arbiter of a girl's self esteem?
I despair when a retired male journalist called Geoff Barker complains that he can no longer watch the TV news because young female journalists who are simply - and competently - getting on with their job … are apparently TOO attractive for him to concentrate. Wake up, Geoff!
And, as a former magazine editor, allow me to speak on something I feel most passionately of all: I TRULY despair, every time Fashion Week rolls around and another parade of tragically skinny young women make their way down the catwalk. Every year! The designers blame the agents, the agents insist the girls are healthy, while the fashion editors hand the models yet another size six garment to wear in photos shoots because, and I'm quoting fashion editors here: it's the only size the designer samples come in! Meanwhile, former Vogue editor Kirstie Clements admits that she's seen models eat tissues to suppress their appetites so they can stay skinny enough to fit the clothes they're required to wear.
But I say no more excuses. We need a simple rule, a compact: we the editors of the women's magazines of Australia feel our duty is to present healthy images to the women of Australia, and this far outweighs any other consideration. Therefore, we will not display in our magazines clothes that arrive in a size six. If not our generation, then whose? If not now, then when? Because so many Australian girls are struggling. And this barrage of impossible, unattainable images is a big part of why. It is a betrayal, to use an old-fashioned term, of our duty of care.
To the rising generation of female journalists in the room, and those watching at home, I appreciate you have come into the media at a difficult time. I know the frustration and concern many of you feel, because a lot of you have told me.
The wonderful thing is - and I want to end on a positive note, there are actually are a lot of bright shining stars for us all to steer by.
I encourage you to look, as I regularly do, to the women I most admire in this wonderful profession: from Leigh Sales who had the unenviable task of stepping into Kerry O'Brien's shoes and now totally owns 7.30; to the easy charm of Liz Hayes and her ability to draw out unexpected admissions from her interview subjects.
Sarah Ferguson's every TV expose´ is cause to lean in so as to not miss a word, while Georgie Gardner's compassion is obvious in every news bulletin she delivers.
I admire Emma Alberici and Jenny Brockie's sheer professionalism and depth of experience, and Sam Armytage and Mel Doyle's extreme grace under pressure.
Annabel Crabb's quirky individuality is matched only by her sharp-as-a-tack political acumen, while Tracy Grimshaw picks up another bloody Walkley nomination every time she sits down for one of her signature interviews.
I admire the wonderfully incisive writings of Julia Baird and Wendy Squires, and Kate McClymont's forensic research and take-no-prisoners bravery.
Deborah Thomas has a seamless capacity to work across so many media platforms, while Fran Kelly possesses a warmth and piercing intellect as a broadcaster.
Mia Freedman's trail-blazing bravery is matched by her inspirational innovation in the online world.
Morag Ramsay has the capacity as a producer to make the complex comprehensible, while Jennifer Byrne's enthusiasm for every subject she turns her hand to is infectious.
I admire the gentle grace and warm wisdom the wonderful Caroline Jones brings on a Monday night, as this tribal elder and enduring pioneer of female journalists in this country introduces another episode of Australian Story. And of course, there is the incomparable Ita Buttrose.
All of these women are at the top of their game. These are women for whom public approval comes from their desire to be authentic and get on with the job. Their very lack of desire to be liked - hasn't that word changed its meaning? - is the very thing that drives their enduring and much deserved respect.
I am honoured to work in the same profession as them.
And I am so glad I answered that ad at Dolly Magazine.
This is an edited version of the Andrew Olle Lecture Lisa Wilkinson gave on Friday night.