Crisis PR Without the Circus: Why Privacy Comes First

In crisis PR, confidentiality isn’t just nice to have—it’s the foundation. When clients come to me, they’re often in the midst of the hardest, messiest moments of their lives. They need somewhere safe to work through it all, not another spotlight. Real crisis management happens quietly, behind the scenes, so they can find stability without added public scrutiny.

I’ve seen PR firms that treat these personal struggles as PR opportunities, with contracts that require clients to follow them on social media or even take photos together. But fans are savvy—they’ll analyse who a celebrity follows, and for some of the high-profile clients I’ve worked with, there are active online forums dissecting every follow. My bio literally states what I do, so it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out. For that reason, I don’t allow my crisis clients to follow me. Their privacy should be protected, not subtly broadcasted through social media.

For me, the goal is simple: keep their struggles out of the spotlight, not parade them in it. In more than a decade of working with public figures, I’ve never once asked for a photo with a client. I don’t do this for clout; I do it because I genuinely love the job. I’m fascinated by the psychology of shifting public opinion on the most random topics or situations, and I love the variety of people I meet. Every month, I dive into a new world—whether I’m learning the ins and outs of some obscure European political system or brushing up on the rules of poker. I’ve read the most unexpected books for this job, and it never gets old.

And honestly, my friends wouldn’t care less about the clients I’ve had in films, the Billboard Top 40, or any politicians. They’re far more excited about the cast of 90 Day Fiancé or Sister Wives. I’m also incredibly uncool—I avoid networking events like the plague and can’t stand PR gatherings where it’s just a name-dropping contest. I’d honestly rather be at home with a Nando’s Deliveroo than trying to impress anyone.

A celebrity’s crisis might be a headline for the public, but it’s often life-shattering for the person going through it. And here’s the truth: the public rarely knows the full story and is usually wrong about what actually happened. Broadcasting involvement only fuels speculation and exposes clients even further. True crisis work means putting respect and privacy above all else, so clients can recover without the world watching.

Some of the work I do ends up being seen by millions, which is surreal (and shit scary). It’s a rewarding moment to step back and quietly think, we did that, knowing the impact that careful collaboration with the client (and sometimes their team) can achieve. Seeing a positive reaction reminds me why I do this work, even if it’s all behind the scenes.

Confidentiality isn’t a perk in crisis PR—it’s non-negotiable. I’ve built my career on quiet results, not on collecting names or promoting client lists. While some of their struggles might already be public, the underlying issues, personal details, and everything that led to this point remain private. I handle the public side when needed, but never as a tool to promote myself. It’s about respecting their trust and helping them move forward without exposing the full story behind their challenges.