This glorified childminder for Apple, eight, and Moses, six, must apparently possess a classical education, including Greek and Latin, be fluent in at least three languages (preferably including Mandarin or Japanese), be musically fluent in two instruments, be passionate about sailing and tennis, and enjoy art history or martial arts.
My first response was a hearty: well, good luck, Gwynnie. I know some people with four languages, others who are passionate about sailing. I even know some who are “familiar with such elements as the history of thought from a philosophical perspective” (essential for one’s six-year-old, I find, on those occasions you can drag them away from Spongebob Squarepants).
I don’t know a single person who could fulfil all of those things; basically, your average Olympic-sportswoman-Renaissance-scholar-Mary Poppins.
But then, I am not like Gywneth. My pizzas come three for a fiver, and not from my own wood-burning pizza oven in the garden. I do not consider crocodile print gladiator sandals from Christian Louboutin to be part of my “essential spring casuals”. I do not sanitise my children’s hands with Bentley Organics “on the trip back from school and from play dates”, as Gwyneth reveals she does on her ''lifestyle’’ website, which is curiously named Goop.
But perhaps I should. Because the successful candidate will apparently work 3-4 hours a day, receive nine weeks’ holiday a year, travel expenses and accommodation, and a salary of more than £60,000. And it didn’t take long to discover that that salary, or list of requirements, is not out of the ordinary for a real-life supernanny.
In the world of celebrity offspring such remuneration is routine. On the website tutors-international.com it is par for the course for employees to earn a senior management salary for just 25 hours of work a week.
But these jobs are rarely as simple as fulfilling the qualifications, demanding as they might be. While I am sure that the Paltrow children are perfect in all possible ways, families seeking staff describe children who, reading between the lines, are hot-housed, peripatetic, spoilt, and often acting out in response to lack of parental attention. Many “winter out of the UK” – hampering lasting friendships for their children. Nannies and tutors are expected to be friends, mentors, advisors, nutritionists, and in some cases child psychologists.
And it’s not just the children they will struggle with. History is littered with examples of employees who have struggled to cope with the foibles of the rich and famous. In her book Miss Poppy’s Guide to Raising Perfectly Happy Children, Elaine Addison, a celebrity nanny, tells of Hollywood twins going hungry because of their parents’ faddish approach to food, and of a multimillionaire’s nappy-wearing son unable to feed himself at six due to the 10 servants on duty who did it for him.
The nanny of celebrity parents must possess the superpower of invisibility, for celebrities rarely admit to having help. They must deal with egos, heightened sensitivities, paparazzi, and, most importantly, their own lack of importance. Even Diana, Princess of Wales reputedly insisted that Tiggy Legge-Bourke, the princes’ nanny, “be treated as a servant and not one of the family”.
And so we return to Gwyneth. I am fairly confident about my childraising abilities (I haven’t mislaid, starved or incapacitated my three yet, anyway) but Classical Greek aside, I’m not sure I would dare work for someone whose idea of a lunchbox treat is beet and walnut dip. A woman who writes without embarrassment about sanitising her children after play dates is not going to want someone whose own children are capable of chitting potatoes under their fingernails.
So good luck, successful candidate. Impart your classical Latin with pride, and relish your nine weeks’ holiday a year. I have a feeling you may just earn every single penny of that £62,000.
But then, I am not like Gywneth. My pizzas come three for a fiver, and not from my own wood-burning pizza oven in the garden. I do not consider crocodile print gladiator sandals from Christian Louboutin to be part of my “essential spring casuals”. I do not sanitise my children’s hands with Bentley Organics “on the trip back from school and from play dates”, as Gwyneth reveals she does on her ''lifestyle’’ website, which is curiously named Goop.
But perhaps I should. Because the successful candidate will apparently work 3-4 hours a day, receive nine weeks’ holiday a year, travel expenses and accommodation, and a salary of more than £60,000. And it didn’t take long to discover that that salary, or list of requirements, is not out of the ordinary for a real-life supernanny.
In the world of celebrity offspring such remuneration is routine. On the website tutors-international.com it is par for the course for employees to earn a senior management salary for just 25 hours of work a week.
But these jobs are rarely as simple as fulfilling the qualifications, demanding as they might be. While I am sure that the Paltrow children are perfect in all possible ways, families seeking staff describe children who, reading between the lines, are hot-housed, peripatetic, spoilt, and often acting out in response to lack of parental attention. Many “winter out of the UK” – hampering lasting friendships for their children. Nannies and tutors are expected to be friends, mentors, advisors, nutritionists, and in some cases child psychologists.
And it’s not just the children they will struggle with. History is littered with examples of employees who have struggled to cope with the foibles of the rich and famous. In her book Miss Poppy’s Guide to Raising Perfectly Happy Children, Elaine Addison, a celebrity nanny, tells of Hollywood twins going hungry because of their parents’ faddish approach to food, and of a multimillionaire’s nappy-wearing son unable to feed himself at six due to the 10 servants on duty who did it for him.
The nanny of celebrity parents must possess the superpower of invisibility, for celebrities rarely admit to having help. They must deal with egos, heightened sensitivities, paparazzi, and, most importantly, their own lack of importance. Even Diana, Princess of Wales reputedly insisted that Tiggy Legge-Bourke, the princes’ nanny, “be treated as a servant and not one of the family”.
And so we return to Gwyneth. I am fairly confident about my childraising abilities (I haven’t mislaid, starved or incapacitated my three yet, anyway) but Classical Greek aside, I’m not sure I would dare work for someone whose idea of a lunchbox treat is beet and walnut dip. A woman who writes without embarrassment about sanitising her children after play dates is not going to want someone whose own children are capable of chitting potatoes under their fingernails.
So good luck, successful candidate. Impart your classical Latin with pride, and relish your nine weeks’ holiday a year. I have a feeling you may just earn every single penny of that £62,000.