Reviews are for people who think Yelp is a power move.

The wealthy operate in a different economy entirely, one without comment sections and where reputations are made and removed over martinis.

My sister was aflame with righteous indignation.
“Mummy, you must absolutely leave a review.”

My mother, still absorbed in the latest Robb Report and lingering rather too intently over some particularly lovely boats under the worried gaze of my father, said, “Darling, why would I leave a review for thousands of strangers when I can tell eight friends over lunch? Which do you suppose will have the greatest effect?”

Brutal? yes. Cold? absolutely. Accurate? deadly so.

Reviews are for people who think Yelp is a power move. The wealthy operate in a different economy entirely, one without comment sections and where reputations are made and removed over martinis.

It’s omission bias and social signalling. They don’t complain publicly because doing so would admit they were fooled.

Why announce that? Far cleaner to make the offence, just, disappear.

Silence here isn’t neutrality, it’s a verdict.

You won’t read it on Trustpilot, but it will move through the drawing rooms of Belgravia, echo across dining tables in country houses, and settle, like Body Shop White Musk, over tea in the Reading Room at Claridge’s.

Among the wealthy, reputation is a closed currency. It isn’t measured in stars or likes, but in tables no longer booked, orders no longer placed, and names that quietly vanish from the waiting list.

So if your client hasn’t complained, don’t exhale, it doesn’t mean you’ve escaped judgment. It means the sentence has been decided and your name removed from consideration without a word.

And if they do tell you they’re unhappy, be grateful, because It means you’ve been given a second chance, and those are not often offered.

The wealthy don’t review you. They erase you from the conversation, quietly and permanently.