How to get into Crisis PR (from someone who actually does it)
I get asked all the time how to get into crisis PR, and honestly, there’s no set path. Unlike traditional PR, where there are clear routes [internships, agency work, brand communications], crisis PR is a different beast. It’s messy, unpredictable, and requires a very particular set of skills [and no, not the Liam Neeson in Taken kind, I’m not cool enough for that].
Most people think it’s just about handling bad press, but it’s so much more than that. It’s about understanding people at their lowest, spotting reputational landmines before they go off, and strategising your way out of chaos, all while keeping your emotions, opinions, and sometimes even your morals in check.
I got into this because I found traditional PR boring. Writing fluffy press releases, pitching lifestyle stories, sending the same media alerts over and over, it just wasn’t for me. I couldn’t cope with one more forced “fun” PR event where everyone’s real goal is to get a photo with a branded backdrop and quietly remind their Instagram followers that they must be important.
I love helping people, fixing impossible situations, and proving people wrong. One of my favourite things is hearing someone confidently slag off one of my clients, fully believing something they read online, while I’m sat there thinking, right, give me ten minutes and I’ll ruin this whole storyline for you.
I also love learning about different cultures, people, and careers. I’ve read books on poker laws, magic, American football regulations, and random international legal systems, purely because I need to understand how different industries work to protect my clients properly. You’d be surprised how often a deep dive into something niche makes the difference between winning and losing a reputational battle.
And while people love to stay in their comfortable bubble, believing everyone thinks like them, my bubble gets popped weekly, thanks to my clients [unfortunately not in a glamorous way].
If you’re thinking about crisis PR, here’s what you actually need.
Common sense [yes, really]
It sounds basic, but you’d be shocked how many people in PR lack it. Crisis PR isn’t just media management, it’s reading situations quickly, making sharp decisions, and knowing when to act [or when silence is the best strategy]. If you overcomplicate things, miss the bigger picture, or get swept up in your own emotions, you’ll struggle.
You also can’t be afraid of the legal side of things. If you work in crisis PR, you’re going to be dealing with lawyers, a lot. I speak to client legal teams regularly, review statements for liability, advise on media risk, and sometimes sit in on virtual and in person hearings. You need to be comfortable with legal discussions, defamation risk, privacy issues, contractual obligations, regulatory scrutiny, and jurisdiction questions. A client’s crisis doesn’t exist in a vacuum, it intersects with law, money, brand value, and very real consequences.
In crisis PR, every word matters, because the wrong one can cost your client not just their reputation, but their case, their career, or millions in damages.
No credit, no recognition, no set working hours
If you like praise, public credit, or predictable working hours, this is not the career for you.
Crisis PR is the opposite of traditional PR, where people love case studies and “wins”. In crisis work, your best work is invisible. If you’re doing your job properly, no one should know you were ever involved.
Your clients won’t tag you in a glowing testimonial because they don’t want people to know they needed crisis PR in the first place. In fact, I don’t even let clients follow me, like my posts, or engage with me publicly. It’s not exactly difficult to work out what I do, my bio makes that clear. If a well-known name starts interacting with me online, fans and internet detectives will make connections, and suddenly that person’s crisis is no longer private.
People sometimes say, “That must drive you crazy, not getting credit”, but if that’s how you think, this job isn’t for you. If you need a public pat on the back, crisis PR will eat you alive.
I also have no desire to share photos with clients online [not that I’ve ever taken any]. I don’t need strangers knowing I met someone well-known. My job is to fix problems, not collect celebrity selfies for clout.
And beyond that, if I was the type to show off luxury hotels, fancy flights, or big-name clients, I’d never get a client again. The first thing public figures do when considering working with me is check my online presence. If I looked like someone treating the job as a backstage pass to fame, I wouldn’t trust me either.
Most of my work is seen by millions but only known by a handful of people, and honestly, I find that pretty satisfying. Knowing you’ve influenced major headlines, reshaped public perception, or quietly prevented a crisis from surfacing, and only a few people will ever know, that’s more rewarding than public credit.
Some of the biggest moments I’ve worked on are crises that never unravelled because of the strategies put in place, speeches heard by millions, headlines rewritten before they ever saw the light of day, interviews structured to shift a narrative, and removals handled quickly enough to stop a situation spiralling.
And when it’s all over, I don’t get a standing ovation. I either order a Deliveroo or go to someone’s home for a quiet celebratory dinner, privately, like a normal person.
Then there’s the working hours, or lack of them.
You’re effectively on call. A crisis doesn’t wait until you’ve finished dinner or had eight hours of sleep. I’ve written and approved statements at 2 am, dealt with breaking scandals on weekends, and worked across time zones because a client in LA needs something sorted before the UK even wakes up.
This job does not respect weekends, holidays, or personal plans. If you need strict work life balance, crisis PR will punish you.
Strong writing skills [and lots of them]
You will be writing a lot, and I mean a lot. On average, I write around 20,000 to 30,000 words per week, from statements to rebuttals, media responses, crisis comms, social strategy, and entire speeches. If you’re not comfortable writing at speed [and under pressure], this job isn’t for you.
I have a degree in English Language, not that I feel it helps much in this field. Writing well is the baseline. What actually matters is learning your client’s tone, style, and quirks so that anything written on their behalf sounds natural, right down to tiny details.
That includes switching between UK and US spelling without thinking twice. If I’m writing for a British client, it’s “apologise”. For an American, it’s “apologize”. If you slip up, it signals that something is off.
And if a client is European, it can get more complicated. Some countries teach British English, others American, and many people mix both without realising. I always ask what kind of English they learnt and what feels natural to them, because their audience will notice inconsistencies even if they don’t.
I have one client who mostly uses UK phrasing, then out of nowhere they’ll write “hamburger”, which is distinctly American. It’s a small detail, but in crisis PR, small details matter. If your writing doesn’t blend in seamlessly, people notice, and that alone can create a secondary mess.
You need to be able to match things like:
The exact words and phrases they use in everyday speech
Whether they write “haha”, “lol”, or nothing at all
Whether they use short, blunt sentences or long explanations
Whether they’d say “I appreciate that” or “Cheers”
One client might be a polished CEO, the next might be a chaotic influencer who types in lowercase with no punctuation. If your writing sounds even slightly off, the public will clock it, and you’ve just created a new problem.
Also, be prepared to have less of a social life than you’d like. I get calls at 2 am needing a statement out to the BBC, Sky News, or TMZ within 40 minutes. There’s no time for endless drafts or existential spirals. You need to handle pressure, make quick decisions, and be confident you’re not making things worse.
Being personable [but a chameleon]
Crisis PR isn’t about selling a product, it’s about working with people at their lowest. You need to read the room and adjust your style to suit different clients. Some want a therapist, some want brutal honesty, some just want someone else to take control so they can emotionally switch off.
You can’t walk in with one fixed approach. You need to become who they need in that moment, without losing your grip on the strategy.
The ability to put your personal opinions aside
If you can’t see both sides of an argument, crisis PR is not for you. You’ll deal with people who have been dragged, cancelled, and accused of things, sometimes rightly, sometimes wrongly. If your instinct is to moralise instead of strategise, this job will chew you up.
You’re not there to be a judge, you’re there to understand how different audiences react to different messages, and to work out the best way forward.
Also, if you fear being judged, it won’t work. People in your life will sometimes question why you’re helping certain people. But they only know what the public has been told, which is often a fraction of the real story, shaped by whatever narrative took off first. They’re reacting to headlines, clipped videos, and outrage cycles, often without researching anything at all.
If you can’t cope with that, you won’t last.
A willingness to study different professions
One day I might be working with a poker player, the next a magician, a rapper, or an NFL athlete. If you don’t take the time to understand their world, their industry, and their audience, you’ll give terrible advice.
I’ve read books on everything from gambling laws to the business of magic to American football regulations, because I need to understand how those industries function to protect clients properly. You need to be obsessed with learning, because in crisis PR, ignorance can turn into a very public mistake.
I once spent an entire weekend studying a feud between two high-profile rappers, breaking down slang, audience nuance, and what their fans actually responded to. By the time I was done, I could write in a way that blended in seamlessly. No one would guess the statement came from me, sat in London.
Understanding how Google and social media actually work
A lot of PR professionals still behave like newspapers and magazines define reputations. In reality, Google and social media are the battlefield. A damaging headline might disappear from social feeds within days, but if it ranks on page one of Google, it becomes a long-term stain.
Public perception isn’t shaped by what’s true, it’s shaped by what’s visible.
On top of that, platforms dictate what spreads and what disappears, which is why knowing policies, processes, and escalation routes matters. Removals, mass-reporting attacks, impersonation issues, coordinated harassment, shadow bans, takedown requests, it’s all part of modern crisis work.
Owning Honest London [my social media agency] means I’ve built relationships and operational systems that help manage narratives across both Google and social. Honest London manages brand accounts, while I personally handle public figure accounts [some with over 30 million followers]. At that level, one misstep can spiral instantly, so knowing how platforms actually behave in real time is essential.
You need to understand how to:
Control search results so accurate, authoritative information outranks misinformation
Remove or de-index damaging content via legal, regulatory, or policy routes
Navigate platform rules and escalation pathways for removals and appeals
Push high-ranking content that shifts a narrative without looking forced
Understand search intent, because how people Google something shapes what they believe
Limit the reach of negative content while amplifying a client’s preferred narrative
That’s what separates traditional PR from crisis PR. You’re not just responding to bad press, you’re shaping what the internet remembers.
General knowledge and keeping up with the world
You need to know what’s happening globally, politically, and culturally, because one tone-deaf moment can create a scandal out of thin air. A celebrity posting something clueless during a global crisis, a brand making a joke that backfires, a badly timed partnership announcement, it happens constantly.
If I’m writing for a politician, how could I do that effectively if I don’t understand current political context, public sentiment, and the issues people are actually living through?
If I’m advising someone involved in a financial controversy, I need to understand regulation, economic mood, and what corporate accountability looks like to the public.
I also work with people in the crypto world, and that’s not an industry where you can blag it. You need to keep up with market movements, regulation, and how sentiment shifts, because the gap between understanding and pretending is the difference between strategy and disaster.
Not being starstruck
A lot of public figures work with me because they don’t want a fan, they want a fixer. If you get giddy at the idea of working with famous people, this isn’t the career for you.
I’ve worked with A-list actors, chart-topping artists, high-profile politicians, and world-class athletes, but there’s nothing glamorous about it. We don’t get the red carpet version, we get the raw behind-the-scenes reality, which is usually stress, panic, and damage control.
Once, I sat with an actress [someone millions would recognise] who was in Alo Yoga joggers and a hoodie, no makeup, barely able to make a cup of tea because she was so anxious over a fake rumour that had spiralled. When you see people like that, it changes your perspective. They stop being “famous”, they’re just human, having a horrible day.
If you’re in this for glamour, parties, the idea of being “in the room”, or something to show off online, it’s not the job for you.
Crisis PR is about helping people in their most vulnerable moments, getting truth and context out, and giving them a way forward when everything feels like it’s collapsing.
The psychological toll of being cancelled and the role of crisis PR
Being cancelled is one of the most mentally damaging experiences a person can go through. The internet doesn’t just criticise, it dehumanises. It turns someone into a villain, strips away nuance, and amplifies the most extreme interpretation of events until the person at the centre barely recognises themselves.
I’ve had clients tell me they feel hopeless, utterly alone, and even suicidal. When someone is at that level, they don’t just need PR, they need someone who can think clearly when they can’t.
At the sharp end, crisis PR is part legal strategy, part communications expertise, and, whether people admit it or not, part crisis counselling. You’re often dealing with people in emotional freefall, their identity shaken, their world collapsed overnight, and they’re no longer thinking logically.
If you can’t handle being the calm anchor while someone else spirals, this work will break you.
You need to balance empathy with authority, reassurance with honesty, and calm with speed, without ever letting the client’s panic dictate the strategy.
Ignoring the noise and trusting your instinct
This is a big one. You will, at times, go against what your friends, family, and social circles believe. You’ll see headlines, TikToks, Instagram threads, and online pile-ons painting your client as the villain, and you’ll have to stay steady.
It’s easy to get pulled into the emotion of a public scandal, but your job isn’t to take sides. Your job is to look at facts, strip out hysteria, and make decisions based on reality.
I don’t share client details [NDAs exist for a reason], but there’s always a risk something gets out. A leaked email, a stray comment, being photographed with the wrong person at the wrong time, it happens.
Personally, I wouldn’t care. I’m not ashamed of what I do. People love judging crisis PR, but they don’t question lawyers, doctors, or therapists for working with controversial people.
The line I always hear is, “But you’re helping their reputation.”
So is a lawyer defending them, a therapist helping them process things, or a doctor treating them. They’re all improving someone’s position, legally, mentally, physically. PR is just the one people like to moralise about.
I’m not here to cover up crimes or spin lies. I’m here to make sure truth and context exist in the public record, and that narratives aren’t dictated purely by the most sensational interpretation.
I don’t protect lies. I protect clarity.
So, you think you tick the boxes?
Crisis PR isn’t just a job, it’s a way of thinking. If you thrive under pressure, can separate fact from hysteria, and don’t mind being effectively on call, it’s one of the most interesting, challenging, and oddly rewarding corners of the industry.
But how do you actually get into it?
There’s no perfect route, but if you’re serious, I’d suggest:
Don’t rely on uni [unless you’re studying something genuinely useful]
A degree won’t teach you how to handle a media storm. If you study, pick something that helps in reality, like media law, digital marketing, data analytics, or anything that teaches how information spreads online.Get into PR, any PR
You need to understand how the press works before you can manage a crisis in it. Work in an agency, corporate comms, digital, anywhere you’ll learn how journalists think and how stories get framed.Work somewhere that touches public figures
If you want the celebrity or public figure side, work in entertainment PR, talent management, influencer marketing, or adjacent industries. You need to understand how those teams operate and how audiences react.Try journalism [even small-scale]
If you want to understand media, be the media. Writing for a publication teaches you what makes headlines stick, how stories get traction, and what journalists actually care about.Get skills in marketing or digital strategy
Crisis PR isn’t just statements, it’s narrative control. Understanding digital strategy, search, and social platforms gives you a genuine edge.If you can, work with a real crisis PR firm, but be realistic
There aren’t many true crisis PR firms. A lot will write a statement and move on. If you find a place that actually does deep work [digital removals, narrative shifting, strategic crisis handling], you’ll learn fast.
When people, especially businesses, find themselves in crisis, they often get two opinions. More than once, I’ve been hired alongside a firm offering “crisis comms”, and the difference in approach is always interesting. Many firms are churning out generic statements [some clearly written by ChatGPT], which is mad in high-stakes situations where every word needs scrutiny.
Traditional firms often say my approach is “too high risk” because I don’t focus purely on damage limitation, I focus on fixing the root issue and reshaping what’s visible. I politely disagree [obviously], but it does make for entertaining internal debates. Playing it too safe often does more harm than good once public perception has already turned.
How I did it
I didn’t just wake up one day and decide to work in crisis PR. I built the skills over years, without realising that’s what I was doing. Truthfully, I didn’t even know this was a career.
I did an English Language degree [not that it helped much]. I took on temporary roles to learn broadly, I interned, worked in magazine houses, spent time as a journalist, worked in digital marketing, PR agencies, and SEO roles, all before I touched crisis PR properly. It took me over ten years before I even considered myself qualified enough to be genuinely good at this.
I always knew I wanted to run my own agency. I started out focused on social media, and then crisis PR quietly joined the party. The work found me before I went looking for it.
I discovered social media agencies from both sides, working for them and being a client. Most were overpriced, out of touch, and selling generic strategies that didn’t move anything. I figured, how hard can it be to just be honest? Turns out, that approach worked.
Along the way, I also ended up helping public figure friends navigate their own crises unofficially, long before I called it a career. I think people trusted me because I’m straight-thinking, not overly emotional, and not judgemental. I’ve always been the person friends come to when they need someone who can separate fact from noise and give a clear solution.
Hilariously, even in my personal life, I’ve always had the instinct to consider both sides, even when nobody asked for it. I’m not exactly girl-coded. My friends would be slagging off their boyfriends, expecting me to nod along, and instead I’d be sat there thinking, well hang on, what’s his side of the story? Meanwhile everyone else is in full agreement, no questions asked. It’s basically cancel culture in miniature, people believing the first and most trusted version without ever hearing the other. Ha.
I’ve also always been a bit of a dork. I love reading, learning, and deep-diving into random topics. Relaxing, to me, is reading a book on physics, not keeping up with celebrity gossip. I’m not the “I love celebrities” type, but I do love interesting things, and crises are interesting. The people at the centre of them are usually interesting too.
I didn’t realise it at the time, but I was already learning the exact skills I use now. Which is why I always say, you won’t learn this job in a classroom. You learn it by doing it.
Soooo…..
Crisis PR isn’t a normal job. You’re on call, expected to switch gears instantly, questioning your own morals at times, and constantly balancing high-pressure situations with very human reactions.
But if you stay calm in chaos, love problem-solving, and want to genuinely change the way reputations are shaped, it’s one of the most challenging and unusual industries you can work in.
You won’t learn this job in a classroom. You learn it by doing it, whether that’s in PR, journalism, digital strategy, or behind the scenes of a crisis where reputation is everything.
And if you do end up in crisis PR, be prepared to spend your life solving problems most people don’t even know exist, with no credit, no recognition, and definitely no set working hours.