The Escort's Perspective: Life as a High-Class Companion in Milan

Most people see the escort in Milan as a fantasy-glamorous dresses, five-star hotels, and champagne on demand. But behind the curated Instagram posts and whispered referrals is a reality most never ask about: the exhaustion, the isolation, the constant performance. This isn’t a job you walk into for the money. It’s a life you adapt to, often without a safety net.

It Starts with a Decision, Not a Dream

No one wakes up one day and decides to become a high-class escort in Milan because they love the idea. It’s usually born from necessity. A single mother needing to pay rent in Brera. A graduate with a degree in art history who can’t find work in museums. Someone escaping debt, abuse, or a broken system. The city doesn’t care why you’re here-it only cares that you’re polished, discreet, and reliable.

The average entry point? A referral. Not an ad. Not a website. A friend of a friend who knows someone who works with a vetted agency-or runs their own independent operation. You don’t apply. You’re screened. Background checks, psychological evaluations, even handwriting analysis. One escort told me they were asked to write a letter about their childhood and then analyzed for emotional stability. That’s not unusual.

The Uniform: Power Dressing as Armor

You don’t wear designer clothes because you like them. You wear them because they’re part of the job description. A tailored suit from Armani. A silk dress from Prada. Heels that cost more than your old rent. The look isn’t about seduction-it’s about signaling status. Clients don’t want a woman who looks like she’s trying. They want someone who belongs in the same room as them.

One escort I spoke with, who works under the name Elena, keeps three full wardrobes: one for dinners at La Perla, one for private gallery openings in Navigli, and one for weekend trips to Lake Como. Each outfit is chosen based on the client’s known tastes. A banker prefers muted tones. An art collector likes bold colors. A foreign diplomat expects classic elegance. You learn their preferences like you’d learn a language.

The Schedule: No Days Off, Only Transitions

There’s no 9-to-5. There’s no weekend. You work when they work-usually evenings, but often late into the night. A client from Dubai might book you for 11 p.m. on a Thursday because his meeting ended at 10. A Swiss investor might want you at 7 a.m. before his flight to Zurich. You sleep when you can. You eat when you can. You don’t cancel. Not unless you’re in the hospital.

Most high-class escorts in Milan work 4 to 6 days a week. Some do more. The ones who burn out fast are the ones who think they can have a normal life on the side. You can’t. Your phone is always on. Your calendar is always full. Your social media? Deleted. Your real friends? Fewer than five. You learn to be alone, even in a crowded room.

The Clients: Not All Monsters, But None Are Simple

There’s a myth that these clients are all rich, entitled men. Some are. But others? They’re lonely. Grieving. Divorced. Widowed. Men who’ve lost touch with intimacy and don’t know how to ask for it. One client, a retired professor from Bologna, would only talk about Renaissance paintings. He never touched me. He just wanted someone to listen while he described Botticelli’s brushstrokes. I stayed for two hours. He paid me €800. I didn’t feel used. I felt seen.

Then there are the others. The ones who try to control everything-the time you arrive, the perfume you wear, the way you sit. The ones who demand you call them by their title: “Signore,” “Dottore,” “Conte.” You learn to smile and say yes. You learn to shut down your own emotions. You become a mirror.

Not every client is dangerous. But every one carries risk. A man who drinks too much. A man who won’t take no for an answer. A man who asks for something you didn’t agree to. That’s when your safety protocol kicks in. You always have a code word. You always have an exit plan. You always tell someone where you are-even if it’s just a text that says “Rome” when you’re actually in Porta Venezia.

The Money: More Than You Think, But Less Than It Seems

Rates in Milan range from €500 for a 90-minute dinner to €5,000 for a weekend trip. Top-tier escorts with years of experience and a tight network can make €20,000 to €30,000 a month. But that doesn’t mean you keep it.

Agencies take 30% to 50%. Taxes? You pay them-some through shell companies, others by declaring under the table and risking audits. You pay for your own wardrobe, hair, nails, skincare, gym membership, and therapist. You pay for private security when you feel unsafe. You pay for lawyers if something goes wrong.

One escort I know saved €180,000 in three years. She bought a small apartment in Brera. She didn’t tell anyone she was an escort. She still lives there alone. She says it’s the only place she feels like herself.

The Isolation: No One Knows Your Real Name

You don’t talk about your work. Not to family. Not to old friends. Not to dates. You lie. You say you’re a consultant. A translator. A gallery assistant. You build a new identity-one that doesn’t overlap with your past.

Therapy is common. Not because you’re “damaged,” but because you’re human. You see people at their most vulnerable. You hold their secrets. You absorb their grief. And you never get to talk about it. Many escorts in Milan see a therapist weekly. Some have been seeing the same one for over a decade.

You stop trusting easily. You stop believing in love. You stop believing in normalcy. You learn to love silence.

The Exit: When You’re Ready to Walk Away

There’s no retirement plan. No pension. No severance. When you decide to leave, you don’t get a party. You don’t get a farewell dinner. You just stop answering calls.

Some go back to school. Some start businesses-luxury concierge services, boutique hotels, even fashion lines. Others disappear entirely. One woman I knew moved to Portugal. Changed her name. Got certified as a yoga instructor. Now she teaches children. She says she doesn’t miss it. But sometimes, she says, she still wakes up at 11 p.m. and checks her phone.

The hardest part isn’t the money. It’s the silence after it ends. The people who knew you as someone else are gone. The people who knew you before don’t know who you’ve become. You’re stuck between two worlds-neither fully here, nor fully gone.

What No One Tells You

People ask if it’s empowering. If it’s freedom. It can be. But only if you enter with eyes wide open. You’re not a goddess. You’re not a trophy. You’re a professional. And like any professional, you have boundaries, costs, and consequences.

The glamour is real. So is the grind. The luxury is tangible. So is the loneliness. The money changes your life. But it doesn’t fix your soul.

If you’re thinking about this path, ask yourself: Can you live with being invisible? Can you carry secrets that aren’t yours? Can you be everything to strangers and nothing to yourself?

There’s no right answer. Only the one you live with every day.