Wealthy writer is branded ‘tone deaf’ after detailing her ‘luxury lockdown’ in Kensington which saw her ‘triple her Freddie’s Flowers order’, invest in posh silk pyjamas for Zoom calls and splash £95 an hour on chess tutor for her kids
- Shruti Advani, a London-based writer on private banking, penned column for FT
- Mother-of-two discussed luxurious lockdown experience in South Kensington
- Revealed tripling her Freddie’s Flowers order was ‘the obvious place to start’
- Admits she’s ‘blessed with an inheritance as well as a venture-capitalist husband’
- Discussed shopping difficulties due to Harrods closure and limited Ocado orders
- Here’s how to help people impacted by Covid-19
A wealthy writer has been slammed on Twitter after detailing her ‘luxury lockdown’ life in posh South Kensington in a column for the Financial Times.
Shruti Advani, a London-based freelance writer on private banking, told how she began the pandemic by tripling her Freddie’s Flowers order – ‘the obvious place to start’ – and had no qualms about paying up to £95 an hour for a tutor for her children, despite having ‘two finance degrees’.
Admitting she is ‘blessed with an inheritance as well as a venture-capitalist husband’, mother-of-two Shruti discussed the difficulties of sourcing supplies due to the limited number of Ocado deliveries and Harrods shutting up its food hall, and told how she invested in designer silk pyjamas to brighten up her Zoom calls.
Baffled readers took to Twitter in their droves, with many convinced Shruti’s article must be a work of satire or parody.
Shruti Advani, a freelance writer on private banking, has been slammed on Twitter after detailing her ‘luxury lockdown’ life in posh South Kensington in a column for the Financial Times
Shruti began by explaining how she ‘redefined’ her household – ‘giving up’ one of their spare rooms to accommodate their nanny and allocating the other to a friend who needed to isolate from her surgeon husband.
She explained: ‘Conscious of my responsibility towards the additional souls on board, I took stock of what resources I could call on. Trebling our usual order from the Freddie’s Flowers delivery service was the obvious place to start.’
Shruti admitted it now puzzles her why she felt so strongly that this luxury was essential, but takes comfort in knowing that people who have spent time in her household have always been surrounded by fresh flowers.
She also outlined her battle to feed her family following the whittling down of Ocado deliveries.
‘The food halls at Harrods, which had served customers throughout the second world war, shuttered early in the current crisis, we had to find our sustenance elsewhere,’ she wrote.
Shruti began by explaining how she ‘redefined’ her household – ‘giving up’ one of their spare rooms to accommodate their nanny and allocating the other to a friend who needed to isolate from her surgeon husband
‘Fortuitously, the Chelsea gym that was my regular haunt BC (before Covid) was loath to leave its members vulnerable to the dangers of what has since been identified as ‘coronacarbs’. We can have little extras such as protein shakes, artisanal coffees and snacks delivered to our doorsteps.’
Relieved Shruti told how life began to look ‘a bit more normal’ when the ‘many bijou boulangeries and épiceries’ that dot her neighbourhood reopened.
However, she was still faced by the ‘twin terrors’ of homeschooling her children and working from home.
She explained how, fairly early on, she felt ‘justified’ in bringing in reinforcements.
‘Despite my two degrees in finance, I have been called out on more than one occasion by my seven-year-old son for getting Year Two maths wrong,’ Shruti admitted.
‘This is not good for my self-esteem, nor does it bode well for the boy’s continued wellbeing. After much shouting, we found relief in online tutoring.
Relieved Shruti told how life began to look ‘a bit more normal’ when the ‘many bijou boulangeries and épiceries’ that dot her neighbourhood reopened
‘At £65-95 an hour depending on whether it is for chess or maths, a tutor costs half as much as the psychiatrist we may have needed otherwise.’
Being armed with the advantages of wealth, Shruti explained that her wardrobe is ‘split in a rather self-contradictory manner’ between Chanel tweed blazers, which she wears to interviews, and athleisure, which she dons while ‘toiling’ in front of a computer.
Concerned neither fit the working from home brief, she consulted a personal shopper and bought silk pyjamas by Olivia von Halle – roughly £420 a set – in a range of colours to make even the dullest Zoom meeting ‘come alive’.
Admitting she was ‘insulated’ from many of the pandemic’s challenges, Shruti said the reality of life and death was a ‘great leveller’ and praised the people that keep the country afloat.
She then singled out her mother’s housekeeper Sanjay, 30, who chose to stay in Delhi to cook and clean for her rather than return to his village, as well as Peter the postman and the police in Hyde Park.
Shruti’s article left readers divided, with many highly bemused by her privileged tale and others incensed by it.
Shruti’s article left readers divided, with many highly bemused by her privileged tale and others incensed by it
One branded it an ‘absolute masterpiece’ tweeting: ‘This is, by some considerable distance, the best piece I’ve read about the virus in the last four months.’
Another commented: ‘I really hope my wealth will also reach such heights that, during a global pandemic, my largest concern will be obtaining advice from a personal shopper and sourcing silk PJs for Zoom calls.’
And one joked: ‘The “trebling our usual order from the Freddie’s Flowers” line absolutely killed me.’
Others expressed their outrage, with one tweeting: ‘You, far from sounding “brilliant and posh”, sound like a tacky show-off. And this is particularly unpleasant right now, when people are facing death in the streets because of the police, and death from the virus. Your article is unbelievably nauseating.’
Another wrote: ‘Made me vom. The food hall at Harrods closed early… how awful for her.’
And another simply asked: ‘Is this parody?’
Others expressed their outrage, with one tweeting: ‘You, far from sounding “brilliant and posh”, sound like a tacky show-off’. Another praised the FT for ‘having the nerve’ to publish it
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