Whether you’ve watched the first four episodes or not, it’s highly unlikely that you’re unaware of HBO’s latest Sunday night special “Girls,” the semi-Judd Apatow produced show that critics and viewers of both genders have been touting as Gen-Y’s follow-up to “Sex & the City.” (This post isn’t about me telling you how indescribably relevant this program is to my life and how it’s poignancy makes it a must-see for men and women, but if you’re asking my opinion then, absolutely, you should give it a try.)

What’s even more worthwhile examining than the plotline itself is the cultural calamity “Girls’” 30 minute segments have been stirring through all echelons of the media, from The New York Times to YouTube, and how the show’s creator is navigating through it all. Initial reviews raved about Lena Dunham (the 25-year-old bumbling brunette/anti-hero who writes and stars in the show) for her ability to so accurately recreate the essence of a particular cohort and her self-deprecation in personally portraying the not-so-beautiful (but always comical) side of twenty-something life.

By the morning after episode two, the discourse morphed into a criticism of Girls’ lack of cultural diversity. Overnight, the show’s spotlight went from its pithy dialogue to its demographic flaws, from sentiments resembling, “The show’s characters were too ethnically homogenous,” to “How could a show be representative and encompassing of all Millenials’ if that cast excluded integral populations?” It wasn’t exactly an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico or a padded CEO résumé, but still a PR crisis in its own right.

I was too excited then, to listen to Lena’s interview with NPR goddess Terry Gross, to see how she would tackle the inevitable interrogation regarding the unplanned criticism. When the topic arose, I was relieved to her Lena’s heartfelt response, which can be boiled down to this final quip, “I did write something that was super-specific to my experience, and I always want to avoid rendering an experience I can’t speak to accurately.”

While I must admit that Terry Gross’ presence alone and the unmatched tranquility of her voice could make anyone reveal their innermost thoughts or most sacred secrets on air, the credit goes to Ms. Dunham for striking the optimal balance between honesty, sensitivity and chutzpah. She didn’t play the victim, protesting the naysayers in defense of her art, nor did she bow down to them, in hopes of squashing the debate.

So what does this mean for us PR folks?

On a client level, it’s a healthy model to follow when we find ourselves in crisis communication mode – the know-how to stay calm under pressure, the understanding that you cannot address every critic individually, and the aptitude to choose your words, and the venue for them, wisely.

And for us, as people who write and create and strategize for a living, we, like Lena, should be willing to defend our work, play it ever so cool in the face of scrutiny and, if possible, make all confessions on Fresh Air.

Judging from the response on Twitter and media blogs, journalists are wearing a recent CareerCast survey that ranked newspaper reporter as the fifth-worst job in America like a badge of honor.

Having spent a decade in newsrooms, that doesn’t surprise me. Journalists are a different breed who consider the long hours, stressful deadlines and angry readers part of the price they pay for the sake of the cause. It’s a martyrdom mentality that finds its reward in serving the public interest.

Many journalists feigned insult and gave us lots of reasons – many of them legitimate – why being a reporter is actually the best job ever. Of course, they also quickly pointed out that there are much, much worse jobs out there, including “anything in public relations.” Despite their industry turmoil and uncertain future, reporters always find comfort in the fact that they’re not doing PR. (Public relations executive was ranked No. 70 on the list of the 200 best and worst jobs of 2012, compared to No. 196 for newspaper reporter.)

Well, as someone who came over to the dark side, I’d like to give my noble-minded friends eight reasons why they should consider selling out.

1. You still get to tell great stories. Sure, you have to abandon objectivity, but that doesn’t mean clients don’t have compelling stories. Discovering and articulating a brand’s story can be every bit as challenging and rewarding as penning that 100-inch masterpiece.
2. You get to shape the story. It’s like a game of chess trying to anticipate what reporters need and which direction a story will head next. And seeing your pitch turn into a placement is every bit as satisfying as seeing your byline in print.
3. You get to be an advocate. While you might occasionally have to smile and make the BPs of the world seem like good corporate citizens, quite often you’re helping advance the agendas of reputable companies and organizations with missions you can embrace.
4. You still get to regularly learn something new. I might not get to dig for mastodon bones like I did when I was a reporter, but public relations does require becoming experts in clients’ industries and products.
5. You don’t have the emotional baggage. When I left journalism, one of the things I soon realized was how jaded I had become. There were days when I came home emotionally exhausted, perhaps after visiting a mother who just lost her teenage son to a gang war. Like cops, reporters often make light of tragedy as a coping mechanism. The unfortunate result can be a loss of compassion.
6. You get to be optimistic. This one goes hand in hand with No. 5. Instead of being an eternal pessimist, PR pros get to focus on the positive. Journalists will call that spin, but it’s an overall healthier worldview.
7. You still have constant deadlines. Let’s face it: Journalists thrive on them. Don’t worry; we still have those. We just don’t have a hole to fill in tomorrow’s paper.
8. You understand what makes a great story. Developing solid news judgment only comes from experience. So you can help us prevent those awful PR pitches that result in newsroom laughter once you hang up the phone.

There are certainly things I miss about being a newspaper reporter, such as election night and the thrill of chasing breaking news. And I certainly wouldn’t rank it alongside oil rig worker as among the worst gigs out there. But I do have to say that it is nice to move up the list.

Dave Parro is the Director of Communications at Aurora University, where he oversees public relations and editorial strategy. A former reporter and editor with Sun-Times Media, he holds a bachelor’s degree in journalism from the University of Illinois and an MBA from Aurora University. You may follow Dave on Twitter @daveparro.