When I started in this profession, I thought it was mostly about the perfect dress, the right smile and the right line at the right moment. Today, a few years on, I know better: the most important thing I learned came much later – and it has nothing to do with make-up. It’s about closeness. Real closeness. And that turned out to be far more complicated than I ever imagined.

My biggest mistake at the start

I believed my job was to be perfect. Flawless, charming, always with a quick reply. I hid behind that role like a beautiful mask. Until I realised: that’s exactly what keeps people at a distance. Nobody connects with a glossy facade. People connect with someone who is real – rough edges and all.

The first evening I was simply myself – tired after a long day, without the perfect performance – paradoxically became one of my loveliest. The person across from me felt the difference immediately.

I completely underestimated listening

I thought men book company to talk, to flirt, to be seen. True – but the other way around. Most of all, they want to be heard. Really heard, without someone glancing at a phone or already preparing their next reply.

I learned that listening isn’t a passive thing. It’s work, and it’s a gift. When I give someone my undivided attention, a door often opens that neither of us knew was there.

Why distance is sometimes the most honest gift

It sounds strange in my line of work, but: I learned that closeness without boundaries isn’t closeness – it’s chaos. Clear rules, respect, an honest no when needed – that’s exactly what creates the safe space where something real can grow at all.

I’m much clearer now than I used to be. And I’ve found that this very clarity makes the encounters warmer, not cooler. People who know where they stand can relax. And relaxed people are the warmest of all.

The people behind the bookings

I’ve met lawyers longing for a little lightness, and quiet tradesmen who carried more poetry in them than many a poet. I learned never to put anyone in a box too quickly. Everyone sitting across from me carries a story – and usually one they tell no one else.

That trust is the real privilege of my work. It reminds me again and again how much lies beneath the surface, if you’re only willing to look.

What closeness means to me today

For me, closeness is no longer about physical distance, but a state: that moment when two people stop pretending. Sometimes it happens over a glass of wine, sometimes in the middle of laughter, sometimes in a silence that suddenly no longer feels uncomfortable.

I can’t force closeness, and I don’t try to anymore. I only create the frame – and stay curious about what comes of it. Often it’s more than either of us expected.

The takeaway: the most important lesson

If someone asks me today what I’ve learned over all these years, I say this: real closeness has nothing to do with perfection and everything to do with courage. The courage to be honest, to listen and to let yourself be seen – without losing yourself. No one could have convinced me of that at the start. And today it’s exactly what makes this work so special to me.