When Netflix launched its dark comedy Sirens, featuring Julianne Moore as a controlling boss and Milly Alcock as her sharp-witted PA, I couldn’t help but laugh — and wince. I’ve lived that life.
My own career as a personal assistant has taken me across continents, working behind the scenes for celebrities and ultra-rich clients in homes that look like movie sets.
Think museum-quality art, oceanfront pools, private jets, and plenty of drama.
Long Hours, No Script, and Infinite Expectations
My job didn’t come with a director or a script, but it sure felt like a production.
Workdays often started at 7am and didn’t end until after midnight.
The unspoken motto? Get it done, no matter what.
These top-tier PA roles pay well — often starting at £100,000 — but the free time? Practically non-existent.
Three Worlds, Three Skill Sets
There are generally three types of high-end PA roles: for creative entertainers, A-list celebrities, and ultra-high-net-worth individuals (UHNWIs). Each demands its own unique skills.
You might need to manage a team, speak multiple languages, balance budgets, or arrange international travel.
But the real essentials? Humor, patience, and a sixth sense for what your boss wants before they ask.
From Gstaad to Lake Como: Life with the Ultra-Rich
One of my most memorable gigs involved a billionaire and his former actress wife.
They had five homes in luxurious locales — from Beverly Hills to the Bahamas — staffed by more than 80 people.
My prep included learning who’s who in their orbit, from butlers to Pilates instructors, plus a long list of personal no-no’s: no perfume, no black clothes, no garlic, and absolutely no heels.
Dress Codes and Designer Fixes
Thankfully, I was given a clothing allowance (no set budget, just submit receipts).
My usual Armani and black dresses were replaced with pastels, capri pants, and soft neutrals.
I channelled Jackie Kennedy at Hyannis Port, right down to switching my perfume to a less-offensive Clarins fragrance..
Planning the Endless Summer
Rich clients follow the sun. That meant planning elegant dinners under the stars, restocking cosmetic fridges with Clé de Peau, booking Pilates at dawn, and constantly rotating personal trainers.
Even the smallest crisis could escalate — from wild boars destroying a garden to a broken designer vase an hour before guests arrived.
Health Obsessions and Chicken Salads
Wellness was a full-time job. From booking Mayo Clinic visits to restocking vitamins, I worked alongside in-house doctors who monitored blood pressure and dished out dietary advice.
Dining was either five-star or strictly chicken salad. There was little in between.
When Flowers or Fur Become a Crisis
Flowers were a battlefield. One misplaced orchid arrangement sparked an epic meltdown. Pets, too, brought stress.
Knowing how to remove cat stains from Italian suede became an unexpected skill.
And don’t even get me started on the internal politics between housekeepers, chefs, and chauffeurs.
The COO of the Household
As the PA, I often knew more than the family did.
I managed household staff, resolved arguments, and ensured the principals were always content.
Christmas bonuses were directly tied to facetime, and yes, those bonuses ranged from Chanel bags to tropical getaways.
Bedlinen, Gossip, and Couture Demands
Luxury bedlinen was practically a religion. I sourced custom D. Porthault sheets and took requests for couture items to be flown via private jet.
Sometimes, the item didn’t even get worn.
Meanwhile, I kept a close eye on gossip columns, knowing a bad photo could ignite a crisis. Getting it removed from online was part of my job.
The Reality Behind the Glamour
From racing to find a rare Hermès coffee cup to booking last-minute hotel suites during peak season, I became a master of the impossible.
I’ve been to A-list parties, received lavish gifts, and ticked dream destinations off my bucket list.
But it was also exhausting, claustrophobic, and, at times, surreal.
Knowing When to Exit the Party
In the end, most PA gigs don’t last forever. Like The Devil Wears Prada, there’s always that final straw moment when you metaphorically (or literally) throw your phone into a fountain.
The best advice I can give? Know when to leave. Your sanity is worth more than a monogrammed Pratesi pillowcase.