What It's Really Like Working in Crisis PR: The Questions I Get Asked Most

I get asked about crisis PR all the time. Sometimes it’s by people who want to get into the industry, sometimes it’s by friends trying to understand what I actually do, and quite often it’s from someone who’s just been unexpectedly thrown into the spotlight and needs help fast.

So I thought I’d answer some of the questions I get asked most - from how I got started, to what I will and won’t take on, to the reality of working with people at some of the lowest points in their public lives. Whether you're curious about this line of work or quietly wondering if you might need it one day, here’s a bit of insight into what crisis PR really involves.

1. How did you get into crisis PR?

I’ve got over 10 years of experience working with public figures, though I didn’t start out in crisis PR directly. I always knew I wanted to run my own business one day, but I didn’t want to go in underprepared. So I deliberately took on a mix of temporary jobs to build up a broader understanding of marketing and media before going out on my own.

I worked at SEO agencies, B2B and B2C companies managing social media, and even did a few years at a prominent fashion magazine, which is where I first started crossing paths with well-known names. I’ve worked at PR firms, social media agencies, and even briefly at an influencer agency, though that one only lasted a few weeks before I walked out. It was hands down the rudest environment I’ve ever worked in, and I’ve done some pretty grim jobs.

But all of it gave me a well-rounded view of how digital marketing actually works. When you’re managing a crisis, you need more than just press contacts - you need to understand SEO, social media mechanics, audience behaviour, platform policies, legal processes, the current news, and how fast things move online. I didn’t want to specialise in one narrow area and be clueless about the rest. Ironically, the final push into launching my own thing came when I was stuck in a job I completely hated being screamed at by my manager for a mistake he made. It was the final “fuck this” moment I needed.

2. What’s the difference between crisis PR and traditional PR?

Crisis PR is an entirely different world to traditional PR. I would never recommend someone in a serious crisis go to a traditional PR agency, it’s not what they’re built for.

Traditional PR is about pushing out positive press, product launches, interviews, campaigns. Crisis PR is reactive, messy, fast, and deeply personal. It’s not just about what to say, it’s about timing, legal risk, emotional damage, and often, stopping things from getting worse before they even reach the public.

Anyone who says “just put out a statement” probably doesn’t know what they’re doing. Especially if they suggest an apology when you’re actually innocent, which is surprisingly common and a huge mistake.

Done properly, crisis PR involves discretion, speed, legal sensitivity, and frankly, a lot of emotional support. You end up working closely with lawyers, sometimes the police, and even in courtrooms. You’re doing press removals, social media takedowns, liaising with platform contacts, trying to reverse bans, or bury false narratives before they spread. And the discretion part really does bleed into your personal life. I’ve signed so many NDAs at this point that I’ve lost count. But it does make your social life quite awkward when someone asks who you work with and you just have to smile and say “I can’t say, sorry.”

3. What kinds of crises do people come to you with?

It really varies, and just when I think I’ve seen it all, someone calls with something completely unexpected. I’ve worked on false accusations, leaked messages, team fallouts, brand meltdowns, public scandals, and even corporate restructuring issues like redundancies. The one thing they have in common is that no one ever thinks it’s going to happen to them.

A lot of it is false accusations, or at least, that’s what I’m told. Then it’s on me to decide whether I believe the person or not, and whether I want to take the case on. Sometimes it’s straightforward. Other times it’s ethically messy.

No two days are ever the same. One minute I’m studying the rules of professional poker for a case, the next I’m learning about the legal system in some random European country because of a client’s situation there. I’ve stopped trying to predict what my week will look like, every crisis feels like a different jigsaw puzzle. That’s probably why I find it so addictive.

4. Do you have any limits on who you'll work with?

Yes, there are some obvious hard lines. If someone has been found guilty of grooming or a violent offence, I won’t take them on. That part’s clear-cut. But the reality of this work is that most people reach out to me before anything’s gone to court, when the public is speculating and the facts aren’t yet confirmed.

In those cases, I don’t go by what the internet is saying. I go by what the police say, and whether someone has been found guilty. If they haven’t, and the conversation feels respectful and safe, I’ll usually give them the benefit of the doubt. There’s a huge amount of gut instinct involved in this work - and I’ve definitely turned people down just because something felt off, even if I can’t explain exactly why. There might be people I’ve said no to who are completely innocent, but I just didn’t feel comfortable working with them. And on the flip side, I’ve had people reach out over some ridiculous cancellation or rumour, but if they’re rude on the call or difficult to talk to, I still won’t take the job. I really struggle to find the desire to help people who don’t even have basic manners with someone trying to help their situation out.

Then there are the more personal limits, things that aren’t illegal, but I just don’t want to be part of. Family vlogging is one of those. I’ve had quite a lot of people reach out asking for help with their channels, but I’ve seen the long-term impact this kind of exposure can have on kids, and I don’t agree with it for a number of reasons. So even though there’s nothing “technically” wrong with it, it’s not something I’d feel comfortable supporting.

5. What’s the first thing someone should do when they’re being cancelled online?

First of all, it’s completely normal to feel panicked. You might feel shaky, sick, no appetite, overwhelmed, and if you’re British, this is the time to sit down with a cup of tea and try to take it in. The stress response is real, and you’re not overreacting. But what you do next really matters.

The best advice I can give is: don’t react emotionally. Don’t rush to post something. Don’t go trawling through TikTok comments or Reddit threads. Stay offline, breathe, and focus on calming down. Emotional reactions are almost always what make things worse, people say things they later regret, and then that becomes a whole new headline.

Instead, start gathering evidence. Screenshot anything relevant. Check the platform’s reporting and privacy tools. And seek professional help before you say anything publicly. If it’s a serious allegation or something with legal weight, you’ll need a lawyer and a crisis PR expert. If it’s more of an influencer scandal or a rumour gone rogue, PR alone might be enough, but either way, don’t try to go it alone. It’s key to gather evidence because if you contact me for example, the first thing i’ll ask is… Have you got any evidence to prove your innocence. I’ll also need accurate timelines, which I completely respect is hard to figure out when you’re very stressed.

6. What’s the most common mistake people make in a crisis?

Posting impulsively. Hands down.

People panic, get angry, and react in the heat of the moment, and then you’re left cleaning up two problems instead of one. It’s like going food shopping when you’re starving, you’re impulsive in decisions and end up buying the entire store.

Other big ones: admitting guilt when you’re not guilty, apologising when you haven’t done anything wrong, and ignoring smaller platforms. Just because someone’s making a TikTok about you and not writing for The Times doesn’t mean it won’t go viral. And dragging in your mates to defend you is another classic misfire.

But the worst mistake people make, in my experience, is trusting their friends over professionals. Your mates aren’t lawyers. They’re not crisis PR experts. They might know you well, and they’ll definitely say they know you better than anyone - but that doesn’t mean they know how to handle a reputational crisis. And quite frankly, that part doesn’t matter.

What I see far too often is friends slagging off my strategy or a lawyer’s advice, and then pressuring the person into doing something completely different. It’s so weird, but it honestly happens all the time. I’ve even had to start flagging it on the first call. I’ll go through the basics of what to expect, and one of the first things I say is: don’t take strategic advice from your friends. Use them for emotional support. Let them take you out for dinner or sit on the phone with you when it all feels overwhelming. But do not let them direct your public response. They’re not seeing the full picture, and they’re usually reacting to whatever their own algorithm is feeding them.

I’ve had clients follow their friends’ advice out of guilt or pressure, and then spend months working with me to undo the consequences. And in every single case, the friends have been wrong. Not once has someone’s mate turned out to be secretly better at PR than the people actually trained to do it.

7. What’s the emotional toll of doing this kind of work?

It’s not glamorous, despite what people think when they hear the word “celebrity.” You’re speaking to people during some of the worst, most stressful days of their lives. That takes a toll.

There are no office hours, I get texts at 2am. I live in London but a lot of my clients are in the US, so time zones are brutal. Boundaries blur. I’m not just a publicist or strategist. I end up being their sounding board, their emotional support system, sometimes the only person they feel they can talk to. I’ve been in the caribbean on holiday and while sitting in a hot tub, crafting a response on my phone while the hotel pool quiz is going off. I experience such a stress if a flight’s wifi isn’t working - those hours being completely offline is incredibly stressful sometimes. (British Airways, Lufthansa, and Air France, SAS, Swiss, and Norwegian are the best European airlines for wifi in my experiences)

With clients, it can be a weird kind of closeness that develops, because they’re scared and vulnerable and completely exposed, and you’re one of the few people in their corner. But it does mean your personal life takes a hit, you wake up to stress texts many days of the week, and it’s hard to switch off when you know someone’s sitting at home feeling publicly hated. You can be having dinner with friends and feeling your phone vibrate and I’m someone who hates looking at their phone when out, I personally find it rude, so it eats me up quickly checking it’s not a client.

8. What do you wish people understood about being ‘cancelled’?

Most of it’s performative. The outrage is usually theatrical. TikTok, YouTube, the media - they all monetise drama. And the people commenting are often part of a very small, very loud minority. Most people don’t care. Most people scroll past.

But the online world doesn’t feel small when you’re in it. It feels like the whole world hates you. That’s the illusion. And it’s dangerous. It makes people spiral. What I’ve learnt is that audiences are more nuanced than we give them credit for - and most cancellations don’t translate offline. Unless you’re a major headline name, the real world usually just gets on with its day.

9. How do you rebuild someone’s image after a scandal?

There’s no formula, but there is structure. The first step is identifying what damage has actually been done… not just online noise, but real-world impact. That might mean analysing press coverage, search results, sentiment tracking, platform moderation, or legal issues. Then I look at who still believes in them, what audiences they've lost, and which parts of their reputation are salvageable, versus which ones we need to walk away from entirely.

Sometimes the right move is silence. Sometimes it’s a quiet reset. Sometimes it's a complete redirection into a new space or industry. But it's never about simply defending someone and hoping for the best, it's about giving them a credible path forward that makes sense to the public and feels aligned with who they are now.

A good rebuild isn’t just reactive. It’s proactive. I’ve worked with people where we’ve taken the worst period of their life and used it to reposition them in a completely new lane, with more respect than they ever had before. That’s the aim. I’m not just trying to get someone out of trouble. I’m trying to put them in a stronger place than they were before it started, and that’s what makes the work worth doing.

10. Can someone come back from anything?

Most people can come back - especially if they get good advice early on. They might come back stronger. Or they might just carry on quietly with a smaller audience, but still live a perfectly normal life.

But of course, there are limits. There are people like Diddy or R. Kelly who aren’t coming back. I’d be surprised if Kanye ever has a conventional career again. On the other hand, someone like Chris Brown still has a career, and I genuinely don’t understand how. It’s shocking that he can still perform while others get cancelled for far less. It just shows how inconsistent public reaction can be, and how much of it is shaped by platform, audience memory, and timing.

11. What kind of clients do you enjoy working with?

I like people who are open-minded, self-aware, and ideally a bit different from me. I’ve worked with so many singers, actors, and politicians that it’s refreshing when someone from a totally unexpected profession reaches out, it gives me something new to learn and a new audience to figure out.

I also like people who trust me. It sounds basic, but it’s frustrating how often I’m hired and then ignored in favour of a friend’s advice. The best clients are the ones who are honest, curious, and willing to take direction - even when they don’t love what they’re hearing.

I also weirdly enjoy working with controversial figures. They tend to be more open to bold strategies, and ironically, they’re often the most polite and respectful clients I have.

12. Is it hard to defend someone you don’t personally like?

Not really - it’s a job. Think about any workplace. You’ve probably had a boss or colleague you didn’t like, but you still did your job properly. This is the same. It’s about facts, fairness, and stopping things from spiralling.

I’ve worked with people whose political views are completely different to mine. That doesn’t matter to me, as long as I feel I can do good work for them, I’ll take the job. If I can’t, I won’t. It’s that simple.

If you’re looking to work in crisis PR, it’s pretty obvious that you’ll be helping people who’ve been cancelled. That’s the whole point. They’re not always going to be charming or well-liked. But if you need to like or agree with someone to help them, this isn’t the job for you.

13. Why do you keep your clients private?

Because it’s not about me. If I start shouting about who I work with and what I’ve done for them, it makes their statements feel fake. It breaks the illusion. No one wants to see a celebrity’s apology and then find out I drafted it and arranged the charity partnership behind it. Even though people know public figures get PR help, it still feels better when it looks like it came from them.

I’ve never taken a selfie with a client, never forced someone to follow me, and never made them pose next to a logo. I’m not interested in using their name to sell myself. I get my work through word of mouth, and I’d much rather be known for doing a good job than for forcing famous people to pose with me. Just the thought of it makes me cringe. I’m fully aware some PR people expect the public person to credit them online, personally I just found that ridiculously self-centred and unprofessional.

I always explain that my clients don’t hire me to build my own reputation, they hire me to fix theirs.

14. Is it ever your job to lie for a client?

Absolutely not.

I’ll reframe things to protect them, or delay harm, but I won’t lie. We control the narrative - not the facts. I do a lot of behind-the-scenes work editing press pieces where details are factually wrong, or requesting removals that are misleading. That’s part of the job. But inventing stories or covering something illegal? No chance. That would destroy my reputation with journalists, and I like being able to sleep at night.

15. Can someone fake their way through a PR comeback?

Some have, and probably always will. But it’s risky.

Audiences are far more perceptive than they used to be. I’ve had clients lie to my face, missing out crucial context that completely changed the story. I’ve learnt to spot it better now, but I’ve definitely been fooled before. You can’t take it personally. People lie when they’re scared.

If someone is faking it, they’re relying on a lot of things going right, that no one sells a story, that no private messages leak, that NDAs hold, that no journalist digs deeper. The internet has a long memory and a very short fuse. If you're lying, you’d better hope no one checks the facts.

16. What makes someone good at crisis PR, versus someone who just says they do it?

There’s a big difference between someone who knows how to write an apology and someone who actually understands crisis strategy. A good crisis PR expert knows when to do nothing, and that’s often the most powerful move. You need to be able to manage legal and public fallout at the same time, which means understanding how Google works, how social media platforms operate, how the press picks up a story, and how public psychology shifts over time.

It’s not just about being a strong writer (though switching between English and American tone definitely helps). It’s about knowing how to research what’s actually being said about a client, and how to change that narrative in a strategic, not reactive, way.

You also need a solid network, not just journalists, but lawyers, social platform reps, sometimes even therapists. Crisis PR puts you in some very dark conversations, and you’re often one of the few people a client trusts. Being empathetic is essential, but so is staying calm when the pressure is extreme.

And, importantly, you need to be comfortable staying out of the spotlight. If you’re in this job because you love celebrity and red carpets, you’re in the wrong profession. Traditional PR or talent management might be more your thing. My version of glamour is getting someone through a legal hearing without media coverage. I don’t get invited to film premieres. I get invited to courtrooms.

17. What does a typical day look like for you?

Every day is different, but not in the dramatic way people imagine. There are no sirens that go off when a crisis hits. It’s usually just a panicked phone call and a calendar thrown into chaos.

Most of the time, I’m sat in my office reviewing legal statements, scanning courtroom documents, reading through hearing transcripts, or rewriting drafts from lawyers to make sure the language lands clearly from a PR perspective. I’ll also be writing emails to journalists and producers, chasing removals, analysing search engine results, mapping out narrative strategies, or editing Instagram captions for clients trying to get back online without sounding too flippant.

Some days involve preparing internal and external communications for a company going through redundancies. That includes writing the official public statement, as well as drafting sensitive emails to staff who are leaving and shaping messaging for those staying on. Other times, I might be helping an LA-based artist prepare for an upcoming interview we’ve arranged, reviewing scripts for a documentary, or advising a founder on how to respond to a viral post calling out their business. In between all of this, I run a social media agency and a booking company, and manage a team across both.

Sometimes I’ll fit in a working lunch with a politician. Sometimes I’ll get as far as a cup of tea before I’m dragged into something entirely unexpected.

The client mix changes so often that it can be tricky to plan a day in advance. Someone might call with a fresh PR disaster that needs a strategy within the hour. That can mean moving everything around and working into the evening, or taking calls late at night because of the time difference with clients in the US.

It’s not as dramatic as it sounds, though. You really are, for the most part, just texting, reading, and writing… with some calls dotted in throughout the day. That means you can plan ahead, and I often try to carve out a few quieter days once a month just to reset and have a breather. But I’ve actually been approached by a few documentary makers over the years, all asking to film the reality of crisis PR. The problem is, they usually want access to clients and seem to expect some kind of Selling Sunset setup. What they’d actually get is no clients, no heels, just me sat at my iMac typing, with a Toy Poodle staring at me. Not quite the drama they were hoping for.

18. What do you actually say to someone when they call you in a panic?

The first step is just listening. They’re usually in a state of shock, scared, or rambling through adrenaline, so I just try to calm them down enough to get the facts straight. Then I lay out clear boundaries and immediate steps, usually starting with what not to do. Don’t post, don’t engage, don’t try to fix it yourself.

You have to show a huge amount of emotional intelligence. The technical side of the job… platform policy, SEO, media strategy - that I can do with my eyes closed. But managing the emotional weight is something else entirely. You can be naturally empathetic, but it’s draining hearing people’s darkest thoughts back-to-back all day. I’ve had evenings where I’ve just crashed at 8pm because I’m emotionally wiped from how heavy the calls have been.

People are placing so much pressure on you to fix something that feels impossible to them. That’s why crisis PR isn’t just about expertise - it’s about being calm, grounded, and able to hold the weight of someone else’s fear without letting it consume you.

19. What do people misunderstand about crisis PR?

People assume I’m here to spin lies or make things disappear, but more often than not, I’m just trying to get the truth heard. Usually the internet hears one version of a story first, and once that version spreads, it becomes incredibly difficult to shift the narrative. If an angry ex or disgruntled former colleague posts something, and it catches fire, the damage is done before you’ve even had a chance to speak.

That’s the hardest part. You’re constantly chasing a story that’s already out there, trying to reframe it when most people have already made up their minds. It’s exhausting, because people believe the first version they read, no matter how ridiculous it is.

And while people imagine this job as drafting dramatic statements or appearing on TV, the truth is most of my work happens in silence. Under NDA. Behind the scenes. You could do an extraordinary job and feel genuinely proud of it, but you can’t tell anyone. So I celebrate quietly, usually with my toy poodle. That’s as glamorous as it gets.

20. What advice would you give to someone wanting to get into crisis PR?

If you’re celebrity obsessed, you can’t do crisis PR for public people.

Crisis PR isn’t a job you can jump into straight out of a comms degree or a year at a PR firm. Unless you end up in one of the few big agencies with a specialist crisis department, and even then, you’ll likely be drafting neutral statements or assisting on internal issues. It’s rarely the kind of high-stakes, public-facing work people imagine.

To do this properly, you need a working understanding of how everything connects. That means media cycles, search engine mechanics, social platform policies, legal comms, audience psychology, and influencer behaviour. You’re not just reacting to headlines. You’re managing how someone appears across the internet, often while a legal team is breathing down your neck or a tabloid is preparing a follow-up.

There’s no linear training route for this. You build the skills through exposure, common sense, and figuring it out as you go. You need to be calm, logical, and emotionally resilient. If you consider yourself quite an emotional person, this probably isn’t a good fit, at least from a mental health perspective. You’re working with people who are panicking, crying, and sometimes having suicidal thoughts. They’re not hiring you to feel everything with them. They’re hiring you to stay calm, hold space, and think clearly.

And you absolutely cannot bring your personal problems into the work. When my mum passed away, I had a client call me in tears the very next day. I was not in a good place, but I listened and supported them, because that’s the job. It wasn’t their responsibility to comfort me. And while their situation felt minor compared to what I was personally going through, stress is still stress. It hits the body in the same way. That was one of the hardest moments I’ve ever had professionally, but I wanted to show up for them. You take on emotional responsibility in this job, and a lot of people underestimate how draining that really is.

You also need to make peace with invisibility. There is no big win moment. You don’t post about your work, you don’t name-drop, and you don’t get applause. You might save someone’s entire public life, and no one will ever know. If that bothers you, this job is not for you.

And then there’s the pressure. You’re not just handling a statement or a news cycle. Someone, often with a public career, is handing you their livelihood and asking you to protect it. It’s their income, identity, mental health, and personal safety, all resting on your ability to make the right calls. That weight is very real.

Also, think carefully about the life you want. If you work for a PR agency, you’ll probably get to switch off at 5pm and pick things up the next day. If you’re trying to be an independent crisis PR expert, you don’t get to clock out. There’s no such thing as a normal day. You wake up to stress. You cancel plans. You respond to 2am messages. If that sounds unmanageable, it probably will be.

It’s an intense and often thankless job. But if you’re built for it, and you care more about the work than the recognition, it can also be one of the most meaningful things you’ll ever do.

21. What kind of person thrives in this job?

People who are emotionally steady. If you’re the one your friends call when they’re spiralling, that’s usually a good sign. You need to be able to absorb panic without echoing it. This job isn’t about being the calmest person in the room once a plan is in place. You need to be the calmest person in the room before a plan even exists.

The people who thrive tend to be strategists, not stars. This role is not public-facing. If your goal is to be visible or praised, you will hate it. The best crisis PR work is completely invisible. If your name is out there, something’s gone wrong.

When I say “don’t make it about you,” I don’t mean people are announcing their client list online. I mean they get too socially or emotionally entangled. They start posting cryptic things, trying to signal involvement, or letting their personal opinions influence their advice. It’s subtle, but dangerous. You are not part of the story. You are there to fix it.

Empathy is essential, but it has to come with boundaries. You’ll want to cry with clients. Sometimes you will. But if you crumble every time someone tells you they’re not coping, you can’t be the support they need. You have to hold space for people while staying grounded yourself.

You also have to be naturally logical. This is not a job for people who need things to feel fair or consistent. You’re dealing in grey areas constantly. Something legally harmless can look awful in public. Something morally justified can still ruin someone’s reputation. If you can’t handle contradiction, you’ll burn out.

And then there’s the personal judgment. You will hear people insult your clients, confidently, casually, (as if they’re experts on the situation) and often based on things that simply aren’t true. I often work on major cases that are in the public eye, and I regularly hear those names brought up. I just bite my tongue and say nothing. You can’t correct people, because then you’re outing yourself. People also love to speculate. They’ll throw names at you, push for a reaction, or ask questions they know you can’t answer. It’s uncomfortable, and it never really stops.

New people in your life can be especially difficult. There’s often very little respect for the boundaries of the job, or for how serious some of these NDAs really are. Some of the things I’ve signed have genuinely scared the shit out of me. And yet I’ll still have someone sit across from me and say, “But how can I believe you work with celebrities if you’ve got no photos with them?” People expect evidence for everything. Even when it’s obvious why you wouldn’t share it.

You wouldn’t ask a ghostwriter for proof they worked on a bestseller. You wouldn’t expect a lawyer, doctor, or therapist to provide a list of who they’ve helped. But for some reason, in PR, people think you should prove it. And if you don’t, they take it personally.

I’m quite an honest and awkward person by nature. So when I’m being hounded and questioned like that, I tend to go into my shell a bit. It’s not because I want to name drop. It’s not about trying to show off. It’s just hard to be accused of lying or exaggerating when you’re literally under legal contract to keep quiet. All I’m trying to do is get on with my job and pay my bills like anyone else. But because the job sounds interesting to people, they want to see it. And the thing is, I don’t care about celebrities. I don’t idolise fame. So I’ve never felt the urge to prove anything to anyone, not that I could anyway.

If you know me and you’ve found yourself asking those questions, I’d gently say this: if someone’s doing their job properly, you shouldn’t be able to see it.

This is a job for the calm, the curious, and the quietly sharp - not the reactive, the emotionally volatile, or the attention-hungry. If you’re here to fix things, not feel seen, you’ll do just fine.

Crisis PR isn’t for everyone. It’s emotionally heavy, mostly thankless, and you spend most of your time solving problems you can never talk about. But if you’re someone who can think clearly under pressure, who doesn’t mind staying in the background, and who genuinely wants to help people at their lowest, it can be one of the most challenging and rewarding paths you take. Just know what you’re walking into, and if you’re still reading this and thinking “I’d actually love that,” then maybe you’re built for it too. Happy to chat and guide, simply get in touch!