How the Pandemic Altered the Luxury-Service Landscape for Good

The pandemic’s long tail has created many permanent cultural shifts—no greater, perhaps, than the work-from-home impulse for many white-collar workers. It’s easy to see why that change has proved sticky: There are economic upsides for both worker and company (saving money on commutes, and office rents, respectively) as well as family bonuses, like the chance to help a child with homework, or watch their sports game. For the wealthiest of the world, though, it’s had a drastically different impact. For one thing, it’s more than doubled the cost of their live-in staff, at least according to Lindsi Shine, who owns and runs Insider NYC, a concierge service catering to the .001 percent. Many now must hire not one nanny, but two, she says, noting that agencies she contacts to find new live-in nannies always ask the same thing, upfront: Does the primary or secondary employer work from home? “When they used to come and go, it was easier. Now they’re on top of the live-in staff all the time, it’s a much harder request to fill,” Shine explains, of the newfound intimacy foisted on many domestics now, “Most people can’t stand the intensity of that full-time, so we’re seeing a lot more [rotations]—two weeks on, two weeks off.” 

It’s just one of the ways in which the pandemic has reshaped the relationship between employers and domestic staff. The quest for perfect service in all its forms has been reimagined and rebooted, as new roles have been created, new routes to employment emerged—and salaries hiked for almost every position. Take housekeepers. In New York, they might have earned $25 per hour four years ago; Shine says that the minimum acceptable is now $38 to $40, or a pay hike of up to 60 percent.

The candidate pool has also widened. The restaurant industry, of course, was one of the most heavily impacted sectors during Covid, whether thanks to lockdowns, or simply via patrons’ leeriness at mingling over dinner. Some longtimers were laid off, while others used that era as a chance to reassess whether the grind of working in a high pressure job with antisocial hours was truly worth it. The result: an influx of seasoned hospitality staffers keen to work in the private home sector. Shine herself hired an executive assistant whose immediate role prior was as head of reservations at a high-end restaurant group. “Covid was a grind in the restaurant world,” she says, “And someone like that? They know exactly how to deal with so much of what our life is like.”

Michael Fazio, another Manhattan-based concierge who runs Liv Unltd and author of Concierge Confidential, says that many of the workers taking refuge from restaurant gigs are simply continuing to cook in private homes. That’s down to a surge in requests for personal chefs, and notes that veteran kitchen jockeys are only too happy to oblige, mindful of the precarious, stressful period of the pandemic (and, of course, concerned that it might recur). “People don’t want to sit four feet away from a stranger who isn’t wearing a mask—so they have four friends over, and have a restaurant at their house,” he says.  It’s a win-win for both, of course: Michelin-starred vets can ditch antisocial hours, while simultaneously earning more than they did in their previous roles. That private chef job might now pay $125,000, up $50,000 over the annual wage standard four years ago, according to experts.

There may be a surge in demand for private chefs, but it isn’t a good fit for all hospitality alums, at least according to Bradenton, Florida-based Christine Hawthorne. The expat Brit is a two-decade vet of staffing stateside via her Hawthorne Domestics firm. She says the problem is usually more about soft skills. “You might hear stuff you shouldn’t, and you’ve got to keep your mouth shut. People from the restaurant world don’t always understand that,” she says, “Can you keep your lips sealed? If the husband and wife get into a fight, you’ve got to be able to brush it off and walk away—and not repeat it.” Multi-tasking staffers are also in-demand, she notes—think a house manager with a stint at a music conservatory on his resumé snapped up because his employers were thrilled he could play their grand piano while they entertained.

One role that’s no longer a staple? The butler. That starchy cliché, from Batman’s Alfred to Mr. Carson in Downton Abbey, has been reimagined. “The role of a butler was more like a gentleman’s gentleman, answering the door and handing a glass of champagne to guests,” she says, “Now they’re called an estate manager, and it can be a he or a she—it’s breaking the mold now. But when I get resumés? If you say you’ve had a Covid shot, I still need the card to prove it.” Steven Laitmon, whose Calendar Group has particular expertise in the Hamptons, has seen similar shifts, with an emphasis on Swiss Army knife-like skills beyond white gloved service. “Technology moves much faster than most of our principals have the time or ability to keep up with, or they might be communicating on their behalf—if a client is traveling, making sure the hotel gets what they need. They really represent the client now, and their family’s culture and values, to the outside world.”

Widespread reports have chronicled how many of America’s wealthiest moved to Florida in the pandemic’s wake. Four of the five fastest growing metro areas in the last Census were in the Sunshine State (Myrtle Beach, South Carolina was the other), and those arrivals skewed towards the wealthy. The median sales for single-family homes in Palm Beach jumped 40 percent to $12.5 million versus the previous year, per Douglas Elliman data from April 2024. The influx of deep-pocketed new residents has had knock-on impacts, too—top golf clubs in the Miami area have reportedly doubled or tripled their membership fees since 2020.

There are upsides beyond the low taxes and balmy weather, per Christine Hawthorne, at least when it comes to sourcing staff. They see the same benefits of living and working in the Sunshine State, so it’s much easier to roster folks in a Fort Lauderdale estate than, say, on Cape Cod. “I get resumés all the time now from the cold country, you know, Oshkosh in Wisconsin, saying ‘Can you find us a job in Florida, please?’” She’s been shocked at the sometimes-casual approach of candidates who are all too aware of the limited talent pool now. One couple, despatched to a $250,000 per year live-in gig in Massachusetts, made a poor impression. “They turned up as if they were about to go out dancing—she was wearing pink eyeshadow, blue false nails, and he had a ponytail. This was an experienced couple, professionals, at the end of their career. It knocked me over.”

It’s a sign that the shifts in the pandemic’s long tail have been as much psychological as logistical, as L.A.-based therapist Judy Ho explains; her core clientele is celebrities and CEOs (sometimes both). The formalities which once existed between employer and staff have permanently blurred; those changes have been both welcome and complicated. “People narrowed their circle of trust, and friendships started occurring, even though someone was bought and paid for—there’s a big control factor there,” she says. Sometimes it’s a bonus for employees—one of her clients, for instance, shelled out for her P.A. to take much longed-for graphic design classes so she could handle social media for the family, and many will be taken shopping at expensive stores for a make-over so their wardrobe better fits the employer’s social milieu. There are pitfalls, too, though. “I’ve had clients tell me they wonder if they can really count on someone, if they stopped paying them. It can be really lonely.”

It isn’t just stateside, either. London-based Kate Bright is a six-foot-tall security specialist who runs Umbra International, which focuses on safeguarding the wealthy, whether in person or online. The same mixing up, in every sense, is occurring elsewhere, too. “There’s a hybridization of roles, the scope of what their right hand does might be someone with medical training who can also offer security. Paramedic-trained ex-military are now in high-demand,” she explains. The demand for staff has added to Bright’s role with existing clients, who risk cutting corners out of desperation to fill roles. “Covid and Brexit created a dearth of housekeepers in the U.K. right now. It’s a huge vulnerability for clients, who are more likely to try to choose someone without going through all the background checks they should.”

Then again, there are alternatives. The ultimate in household head-hunting is to hire the headhunters themselves. “My team gets poached by clients all the time,” says Insider NYC’s Lindsi Shine, smiling slightly, “And I’ve had three job offers from clients myself.”