What Hillary can learn from Katie

Katie Couric isn't exactly taking the ratings world by storm and Rebecca Dana wonders in Slate whether there are some lessons here for the senator from NY. The issue, of course, is the public's willingness to accept a woman for what some consider to be the role of a father figure. Network data apparently shows a small but unmoveable number of viewers who simply don't want to get their news from a woman. Period. Dana says various sources put the figure at around 10 percent, which can make a big difference in determining who wins the nightly news war. And if you're Clinton, having 10 percent of the voters unwilling to cast their ballots for you under most any circumstance is a pretty huge liability. It can lose the election.

Of course, the two women come at these jobs with very different liabilities: Katie seems too soft, Hillary too brittle. But they've both staked claims in the same middle ground, taking pains to appear strong but not mannish, ballsy yet maternal. Both are bottle blondes (perhaps in an effort to mute their tough streaks). Both have gone on "listening tours" around the country, have undergone ambitious style makeovers, have opened their private lives to public scrutiny. And Couric and Clinton also share the occasional counsel of Matthew Hiltzik, a major New York City publicist who specializes in managing the public images of powerful and difficult women. (Despite these efforts, Couric and Clinton still ruffle feathers: Both are subjects of unauthorized biographies by Ed Klein, neither our era's greatest feminist nor our greatest historian, but a man with good taste in material.)

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One thing Clinton has decisively on Couric is the blessing of a boring and predictable wardrobe. Couric has been a sartorial flip-flopper in her first half-year on air, creating an easy focal point for chauvinists and her detractors. On the social circuit, she dresses like Carrie Bradshaw; in the daytime, she prefers turtlenecks and suits with strange collars. There's no telling what she'll wear on the news each night, except plenty of eyeliner. So far, Clinton, who found sartorial stability after some unfortunate choices early in her husband's White House tenure, has managed to keep people more or less focused on what's coming out of her mouth (nonapologies for her Iraq vote, subtle jabs at Obama, one off-pitch version of "The Star-Spangled Banner" during a campaign stop in Iowa, and the like). She has done this in part by steering clear of ambitious stylists, wisely opting for roomy pantsuits with jewel-toned T-shirts underneath. Katie, take note.

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The anchor tests well among urban women because she is perceived as having warmth and passion—not exactly two of Clinton's biggest strengths. Since September, the Evening News' ratings have improved among younger viewers and in larger markets, at least a few of which, including Tampa and Minneapolis, are, ahem, in swing states. Clinton may not opt to have an invasive medical procedure on national television, as Couric did in 2000 when she underwent a live colon cancer screening on the Today show. But the senator's cause célèbre, reiterated in a terse Feb. 7 press release, is health care. She could shoot for a Couric-esque side effect by upping the passion quotient a little.