Watching Sirens, the Netflix dark comedy starring Julianne Moore and Milly Alcock, might seem like escapist fiction—but for anyone who’s worked as a personal assistant to the ultra-wealthy, it hits surprisingly close to home.
I know, because I’ve been there. The drama, the luxury, the emotional tightrope walk—it’s all real.
And just like in Sirens, no two days are ever the same.
Life Behind the Golden Gates
My career as a high-level PA has taken me all over the world, serving A-list celebrities and ultra-high-net-worth individuals (UHNWIs).
Think jaw-dropping art collections, oceanfront estates, and garden parties that look like movie sets.
There were no directors or scripts, but drama? Always.
The unofficial motto? Get it done—no matter what.
My day usually started at 7am and didn’t end until the early hours of the next morning.
Sure, the salary was enviable (six figures and up, depending on your base country), but every pound or dollar earned came at the expense of personal time and peace of mind.
From Errands to Emergencies
The tasks? Endless. Buying cars, coordinating private jet travel, managing home renovations, calming teenage tantrums, and sourcing gifts that actually impress.
And no, I never sent a fruit basket like the one featured in Sirens—I had standards.
There are generally three types of high-end PA roles: for creatives, celebrities, and billionaires.
Each comes with its own quirks, and all require superhuman patience, excellent taste, and emotional resilience.
Dressing the Part… With a Few Rules
I’ll never forget one particular job in the Bahamas, working for a billionaire and his glamorous actress wife.
They had five homes scattered from Beverly Hills to Lake Como and a yacht moored in Cannes.
Before I even set foot in their circle, I went through a rigorous three-month prep—learning everyone’s name, pet peeves, and non-negotiables.
The wardrobe rules alone were intense: no perfume, no heels, no black, no garlic (yes, really).
I was given a clothing allowance to overhaul my entire look, trading my sleek blacks for pastels, quiet luxury, and Jackie Kennedy-inspired capri pants.
Even my signature perfume had to go.
The Eternal Summer and a Fridge Full of Skincare
For these clients, “summering” is a lifestyle. It meant beachside dinner parties, bikini-ready body maintenance, and an endless carousel of beauticians and personal trainers.
My job was to schedule it all and keep the cosmetics fridge stocked with Clé de Peau and Sisley.
Health was another obsession. Many of my clients were regulars at longevity clinics like Clinique La Prairie in Switzerland, and our medicine cabinet could rival a pharmacy.
In some homes, we even had live-in medics to monitor blood pressure and consult on meals.
Crises, Cat Hairballs, and Flower Fiascos
Unpredictability came with the job. I’ve dealt with everything from antique mishaps and wild boar invasions to pet accidents on luxury suede sofas.
Rule number one? Befriend the florist.
Trust me—using the wrong color orchids at Thanksgiving can spark a meltdown.
Rule two? Know how to handle cat-related disasters.
Rule three? Stay tight with the driver, housekeeper, and estate manager.
Politics in these households are no joke, and alliances matter.
From Pillows to Paparazzi
You learn a lot about your employers—often more than their families know.
While I didn’t share beds or chewing gum like the characters in Sirens, I was privy to pillow talk and quirks galore.
I’ve sourced monogrammed linens from Frette, helped edit out unflattering paparazzi photos, and arranged same-day PJ flights to deliver outfits that were never even worn.
Need a sold-out handbag or a hard-to-find Hermès teacup? I had a digital members’ club—BBB, or Battered Black Book—to handle the impossible.
My master’s degree in languages may not have been used traditionally, but the experience was a whole education on its own.
Lavish Rewards and Knowing When to Walk Away
Was it worth it? In some ways, yes. I’ve been gifted diamond earrings, traveled to every dream destination, and mingled with the glitterati.
But the emotional toll is real, and burnout lurks behind every glittering event invite.
These jobs often end in a moment of clarity—like in The Devil Wears Prada—where you metaphorically (or literally) throw your phone into a fountain and reclaim your life.
That’s what I eventually did, integrity intact and memories in tow.