Sirens, the Netflix series starring Julianne Moore and Milly Alcock as a PA to her wealthy, controlling boss, is described as a dark comedy, which is how in hindsight I would define many of my own former personal assistant roles.
These have taken me around the world working for A list celebrities and ultra-high-net-worth individuals (UHNWIs). I was privy to a lifestyle not dissimilar to the fictional world of Sirens, where the setting was invariably cinematic in enviable Hollywood Regency-style homes surrounded by museum-worthy art (by Hockney, Chagall et al), gorgeous gardens, fabulous infinity pools and private-access beaches.
There was no script or director to my work days, but there was always drama. Yes, my hours were long, often from 7am until well after midnight, but the days were never boring. Get It Done was the overriding mantra.
It’s a rule of thumb that the higher you’re paid as an executive assistant ( as these high-end PA jobs are known), the less free time you have. Salaries for senior roles start at £100,000, more if based in the US (Sorted is the go-to agency for the most covetable roles; sorted-pa.com). Routine jobs range from buying cars to purchasing houses, overseeing interiors renovations, shipping artworks, sorting out complex family travel arrangements, dealing with truculent teens and sourcing gifts, lots of gifts. (Though I never sent anything so naff as the fruit basket which looms large in the first episode of Sirens.)
There are three distinct types of high-end PA roles – for entertainment creatives, celebrities and ultra- high-net-worth individuals. They all demand different ‘fixer’ skill sets, from fluency in multiple languages to accountancy prowess, in addition to endurance skills, empathy and exquisite taste. Having a healthy sense of humour also helps.
I still recall touching down in the Bahamas for one role, looking after a billionaire and his former actress wife, who modelled herself on the fabled American society ‘swan’C.Z. Guest (known for her elegance and close ties to celebrities such as Truman Capote). They had a combined staff of 80 working across five houses in jet-set outposts such as Gstaad, Cap d’Antibes, the Bahamas, Beverly Hills and Lake Como, plus a yacht moored in Cannes.
I had an intensive three-month preparation, which included getting up to speed on all the characters involved – from estate managers and suppliers to the wider family and inner circle of friends and agents – and familiarising myself with a list of their highly specific personal dos and don’ts. The latter included no strong perfume, no fake jewellery, no long nails, no heels, no black clothing whatsoever and no eating garlic or other spicy foods which might, heaven forfend, result in lingering, malodorous scents.
I was given a wardrobe allowance (there was no specific amount, I just had to forward receipts – the dream!) to help adhere to these rules. While not quite dressed like a doily (like Milly Alcock’s character Simone DeWitt who favours Lilly Pulitzer x Goop dresses), I swapped my LBDs and Armani suits for pleasing pastels, refined neutrals and quiet luxury staples – palazzo pants from Me+Em, Cos white T-shirts, Tod’s driving shoes, Uniqlo cashmere, and Rae Feather linen blouses.
My style muse was Jackie Kennedy at Hyannis Port – think shift dresses, flat Chanel-style pumps, crisp, white shirts and capri pants. I archived my signature Creed perfume for the non-offensive summer classic Clarins Eau Dynamisante.
Apart from the ski season, UHNWIs follow the sun throughout the year so they are always ‘summering’ (if you’re not using it as a verb, you’re not truly rich).
This means there are endless al fresco dinner parties to arrange (in which you have to reinvent the blue and white tablescape), beach club reservations to be made and bikini bodies to be maintained. Scheduling a roster of personal trainers was a relatively easy part of the role (despite frequent time changes), as was maintaining a well-stocked cosmetics fridge filled with pricey Clé de Peau and Sisley products for private beautician visits.
Managing unforeseen incidents was par for the course, especially timed before guest arrivals, from broken antiques, or chasing wild boar running amok in the flower beds, to sorting out wardrobe malfunctions and internecine staff squabbles.
High rollers have an obsession with their health and longevity, so a large part of my role was co-ordinating check-up appointments with the Mayo Clinic or detox stays at Clinique La Prairie in Montreux, Switzerland, in addition to stocking the medicine library with a supply of vitamins and homeopathic remedies to rival Boots.
I worked alongside live-in medics who were on hand to test blood pressure and advise on diet. When not dining in top restaurants in Mayfair, LA, or St Tropez, menus were often bland and repetitive (I rarely order a chicken salad without having flashbacks), which resulted in an endless rotation of disgruntled and highly trained culinary staff who were unable to flex their Cordon Bleu skills.
In addition to food, flowers, felines and family issues often created the most challenges.
Rule 1: Always befriend a fabulous florist and never underestimate how the wrong flowers can detonate a crisis (one former boss once had an epic meltdown because a table centre of orchids did not match her Thanksgiving aesthetic). Essential to a PA role is knowing your ranunculus from your peonies and their nuances of colour – do you want Sarah Bernhardt or Duchesse de Nemours or Madame Claude Tain?
Rule 2: Know how to clean up cat hairballs or similar pet stains, especially from bespoke Piero Lissoni suede sofas (an enzyme-based cleaner such as Nature’s Miracle works wonders).
Rule 3: Befriend the driver and estate manager (Jose in Sirens). Politics within these residential roles is always tricky, but getting along with key team members such as the housekeeper and butler is crucial.
I’d describe the role as that of a mini COO (Chief Operating Officer). You’re privy to information that, often, family members are unaware of and, while not trained in HR, often have an extensive (uniformed) household staff to co-ordinate and organise, not always successfully.
There is a lot of backstabbing. Everyone wants the ear of their employer and as much face time as possible to ensure a better Christmas bonus. These can range from designer bags to all-expenses-paid holidays in the Caribbean or substantial cheques.
The most important rule is ensuring your boss is happy. The level of intimacy in Sirens is striking. Fortunately, I never shared chewing gum or a bed with any of my principals, but I did listen to my fair share of pillow talk.
Invariably, they were obsessive about bedlinen; I fed their addiction by happily ordering sets of D. Porthault, Frette and Pratesi monogrammed sheets.
Unlike Simone, I rarely called my bosses by their first name – it was usually Madame or Sir – erring on the side of professionalism rather than acting as an accomplice. Trawling the papers to see if my principals were mentioned or photographed in gossip columns was another aspect to one role. They would go berserk if there was a bad photo and demand I get the editor to remove it from any online inclusion. If a photo passed muster, I would track down a hard copy and have it framed.
To ensure Madame looked the part, an insider knowledge of fashion, especially how to maintain couture items, was essential. I ordered bespoke blouses and shirts from Charvet in Paris (if you know, you know) and Caraceni suits for Sir. ‘Overnighter’ fashion requests were frequent – one such was memorably arranging a PJ (private jet) to pick up a bespoke Armani Privé suit from Milan and fly it out to LA in time for an anniversary dinner, which in the end was not worn! Another overnighter was for limited-edition boots to be delivered from another country. Sourcing Hermès handbags and having them delivered on PJs was a frequent ruse, too, so that the usual taxes would not be paid.
Of course, there was outrageous behaviour. Living in such claustrophobic conditions, you see the principals at their lowest ebb and on their most sparkling form. There was one couple’s fierce and furious frequent bickering and love of bling, especially Cartier and Bulgari. Another couple, when not hosting guests, loved to wear long T-shirts all day without underwear, claiming that going commando was much healthier, thus reducing the risk of fungal infections. (The staff group chat would blow up when flashes of genitalia were sighted.)
‘Get me out of here NOW!’ was another regular order once delivered when the principal was stuck in a private jet on a runway in Texas which was deemed too hot. One colleague recalls an order to buy a black taxi so that her boss could travel in the bus lane incognito and get around London quicker. This proved to be fairly easy, though the customisation of said taxi was more problematic.
Sourcing the impossible – be it a ticket to a sold-out show, a suite in a booked-out hotel, an invitation to the Met Gala, or a cover story for a glossy magazine – were sometimes demanded. Fortunately, when my own contacts were unable to help, I had BBB – Battered Black Book – an under-the-radar digital members’ club created to support the PAs of private clients, giving them access to a discreet community of curated providers.
BBB helped me get a last-minute booking at the posh Hotel Hassler, Rome, in peak season when all suites were taken, as well as sourcing the equivalent of hen’s teeth – a replacement limited-edition Hermès coffee cup no longer in production.
Many would say my masters degree in languages was wasted in these jobs but it was a different sort of education that I wouldn’t have missed. In addition to honing my resilience and emotional intelligence, they provided a glimpse behind the curtain of another lifestyle.
I’ve been at parties with A-listers, ticked off many places on my bucket list and been lavished with gifts – especially jewellery, from diamond earrings to Marco Bicego pieces. However, I never lost sight of reality.
Nearly always, these roles end like The Devil Wears Prada, with the PA literally or metaphorically throwing her phone in a fountain, her integrity intact. Knowing when to leave the party is the best advice I can give others who are tempted to join the ranks of Simone DeWitt and her ilk.
- Alexandra Gilmore is a pseudonym.
