Black Nikes and purple hoods are so 1990s

This weekend I was invited to the Journalism School's annual awards dinner (yes, in a decidedly disturbing omen for the future of the free press, yours truly was deemed one of the five most accomplished students the school is turning out this year–and believe it or not, I didn't even have to submit a photograph), and though they couldn't even pick up the alcohol tab and our director, entertaining host though he was, mispronounced my name, the speeches given by alumni award-winners were actually quite interesting.

In particular, one spoke about how the reporting profession has become a veritable cult, wholly righteous in its view that everyone else is a liar and an enemy, and going after everyone else is the only way to tell the truth and make a proper difference in the world.

And if you ever leave the "cult," and for instance start working in government or for a non-profit (basically, anything with a stated interest other than "objectivity," which is pretty much impossible, not to mention arguably undesirable), or start entertaining the notion you're just telling and selling good stories like those in the creative professions, you're a traitor.

This cynical attitude, she argued, was probably driving some fine people away from or out of the field, and those in charge would be best advised to stop pouring the poisoned Kool-Aid and re-evaluate their collective mentality.

And as I'm beginning the dreaded career search, I see more than a little truth in that–in how I have to be concerned that whatever I do, the more interesting and compelling I'll find it, the more it could conceivably disqualify me for a "real" or "serious" reporting position somewhere down the road by imprinting the dreaded "bias."

So, you basically have to either risk it and go after something you want, or settle for starting as a bottom-rung reporter at a third-rate smalltown newspaper. And call me crazy, but the thought of my byline gracing the local section of the Turtle Lake Times, fine a publication as I'm sure it is, just doesn't set my soul atwitter.

And I was glad I got out of that awards reception when I did, because if one more older man came up to me and remarked how amazing it was that all five of the senior award winners were women, I would have been forced to start spouting off like one of those raging, anti-door-holding feminist harpies.

I have no firsthand experience with the advertising/PR side, but there were always plenty of guys in my reporting classes. Each one had the same opportunities any of us did to do well in our classes and pursue jobs and internships (and if recent talk of "gender balance" being skewed toward female applicants in higher education, causing girls to have to work harder to gain admission relative to their minority male counterparts are to be believed, they had an easier time getting into this university in the first place).

I know the gentlemen in question probably thought they were giving compliments, but what does our gender matter? I would hope we were judged the best on the basis of the work we did–we just happened to be female.

And so it should be–if we are joining a cult, at least we might be able to improve the dress code.