Here Today, gone tomorrow? The gospel according to Karl |
Here Today, gone tomorrow? The gospel according to Karl
March 21, 2026 — 5:00am
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Back in 2018, the first time Karl Stefanovic left the Today program, he said this: “I never in my wildest dreams thought I would be good enough to host this grand show for so long.” It was a suitably humble observation from a man who, despite the occasional headline that might have suggested he was a bit of a boofhead, is regarded by those who know him as a very decent fellow.
But like all such moments in television, steeped in the personal and the specific, the haze of feelings obscures the deeper truth of the business: it is an ever-changing, impersonal medium which has turned the art of reselling the same ideas with new faces into a kind of hypnotic alchemy.
Indeed, when the day comes that Stefanovic leaves Today – sooner rather than later, if the breathless reporting is based on anything more than the wild imaginings of restless journalists – it will not be because of some dramatic behind-the-scenes Machiavellian twist.
Rather, it will be because in television it was ever thus. Lisa Wilkinson moved on. So did Tracy Grimshaw. Liz Hayes. Steve Liebmann. Patrice Newell. George Negus. Sue Kellaway. Fatigue is inevitable. If Stefanovic goes after 25 years with Nine, which is the owner of this masthead, he will have lasted longer than most. If you can say one thing about television, it is a fickle medium.
The momentum behind this story, however, stems mostly from Stefanovic himself, and the decision to shift his “brand” into so-called male-perspective podcasting. To that end, he’s using The Joe Rogan Experience business model as a loose blueprint: soft right-wing, anti-woke, say-it-like-it-is, mainstream-narrative scepticism.
You’d applaud it for innovation, were it not a carbon copy of scores of other podcasts that stepped into the space and gained significant early traction in President Donald Trump’s America, often in smarter ways. Which is not to say it won’t work. By any measure, it’s a hit.
But the audience data suggests it’s mostly a hit when Stefanovic hands the platform to right-leaning politicians (Pauline Hanson, Barnaby Joyce, Jacinta Price, Matt Canavan), delivering audiences up to and past 150,000 plays on the more provocatively titled clips.
Less popular are episodes on which the show depends to prove its balance and objectivity. Stefanovic’s chats with UFC fighter Alexander Volkanovski and chef Curtis Stone, for example, barely cracked 25,000.
ISIS brides, Kyle Sandilands and immigration all landed loud. “The government has completely let us down on petrol.” “We sold out our own people.” “If we let the Iranians stay, we open the floodgates.” “Climate change is bullshit.” And my favourite: “You can’t run the country on slogans.” There are currently 134 videos on the The Karl Stefanovic Show YouTube page that suggest otherwise.
Such disparity in audience week to week, and clip to clip, is revealing: there is an echo-chamber of hungry right-wing audiences looking to hear their views reflected back to them. And, on the off week when Curtis Stone is in the hot seat for the audio equivalent of a breakfast TV cooking segment, the audience is elsewhere, most likely listening to Joe Rogan, Theo Von or Andrew Schulz.
None of this is breaking news. The ebb and flow of the audience for similar programs in the US is the same. It is why those shows lean into the red-button issues that they do. Some eventually fall into an abyss of their own making. Others circle the drain, hanging on long enough to turn a profit before evolving into something new, but still familiar. Never say the media isn’t pro-recycling.
It is also late in the half-life of the genre. Voter fatigue with Trump Americanomics is reflected in audience fatigue with anxiety (or cringe) inducing media hyperbole. Even Joe Rogan is rolling back his endorsement of America’s hardline politics.
Stefanovic imagines himself as a more suburban version of Joe Rogan – a Joe Bogan, if you will, he has said – though whether he can fully transform himself into the character he’s trying to play for his YouTube audience remains to be seen. Rogan is not technically a “manosphere” podcaster, but his manosphere-adjacent podcast often platforms anti-feminist, misogynist and troubling viewpoints.
Is that really the new platform for the man who wore the same blue suit for a whole year – 2014 – to prove that women on television were held to a higher, unfair appearance standard? Or the man who said, “say yes to gay marriage, and let’s live happily ever after”. Or the man who said refugees have “given their blood, sweat and tears and handed down their values to the next generations”.
The truth is, television ultimately makes liars of us all. It might seem surprising to say that shock jock Stan Zemanek was, off-screen, the loveliest of men, well-mannered and very deferential to the women in his company. Or that Kyle Sandilands is, away from the microphone, a genuinely nice guy, personable and friendly.
Is the real Karl Stefanovic the guy who said (on TV) that in order to “move forward together hand in hand, arm in arm” then we need to change the date of Australia Day? Or is he the guy who said (on his podcast) he was “legitimately sorry” for encouraging Australians to take the COVID-19 vaccination shot? Like many people in the media ice-skating around an ever-moving spotlight, he will, ultimately, play the character he has been cast to play.
And there is a bigger risk than Stefanovic’s new audience finding out his views do not align with theirs on a raft of right-wing, red-pill topics.
When you’re rebranding into rage-bait radio, you discover just what a broad church it is. Joe Rogan, Chris Williamson (Modern Wisdom) and Brett McKay (The Art of Manliness) are soft touches. Nick Fuentes, Rollo Tomassi, Pearl Davis and Andrew Tate are far more dangerous. And broad churches become risky places when you can’t control the pulpit. Stefanovic is not those guys, but they come with the buy-in.
While speculation about Nine is a full-time job for some, renewed speculation about Stefanovic’s future was amplified by the headline-making departure of newsreader Georgie Gardner in Sydney, after almost 25 years of service at Nine. Such changes are often divined by the media’s soothsayers as signs of something larger. And perhaps they are. But a restructure of Today? It’s hard to tell.
The problem with superficial analysis is that all it ever reveals is the Sydney-centric nature of the national media. Widen your view, and you start to see all the other changes: Nine Queensland sports anchor Jonathan Uptin leaving after 31 years, Nine Melbourne weather presenter Livinia Nixon leaving after 20 years, and Nine Adelaide news presenter Kate Collins leaving after 19 years. Ten also lost Chris Bath as anchor of their weekend news.
Forget the toxic grooms, these are the men you should be paying attention to on TV
In the 1980s and 1990s Seven, Nine and Ten had dozens of newsreaders, personalities and presenters on hefty contracts. They had so many, at any given time, some were even warehoused. Nowadays, in stark contrast, even the hosts of major franchises are only contracted for the run of series.
Radio station 2GB may be open to signing Stefanovic to the kind of deal that Nine, in 2026, is unwilling or unable to. Rumours put it in the $3 million ballpark. He is also said to be in talks with ARN, which owns KIIS.
Factoring in Nine’s $100 million restructuring program, one thing is abundantly clear: television networks are adapting to real-world economics, and the reality that long-term, high six-figure and seven-figure talent contracts are no longer sustainable.
Before you rebuke Stefanovic, you may have to congratulate him for pulling the ripcord first.
Nine and Stefanovic’s agent were contacted for this story but declined to comment.
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