Philip Green’s annus horribilis was a lesson in how not to manage public relations

About now, Sir Philip Green would usually call, from his annual New Year holiday at Sandy Lane in Barbados. He would ring, to tell me what the weather was like over there, while I was suffering, in grey, wet, chilly London. Or how, he was enjoying some fine, French wine he’d taken specially while sitting with his feet dangling in the warm, balmy sea.

Not any more. So far, the phone has lain silent. Although after reading this, he might ring again, as he did in the summer, because I wrote something he did not agree with. Once again, I was treated to a volley of abuse, much of it too crude to repeat here.

It’s been a recurring theme of 2018, the PR demise of Sir Philip Green or “PG” as he is known throughout the sector and City. When the year began, he’d still not recovered from the fallout over the sale of BHS to someone who did not have the financial muscle to take on a business of that size, and Green’s subsequent refusal to plug the company’s pension deficit. He did cough up, eventually, and only after much protest.

Then, came Oliver Shah’s excellent biography, Damaged Goods: the Inside Story of Sir Philip Green, the Collapse of BHS and the Death of the High Street. It painted a colourful picture of Green, and his swaggering, bruising manner.

That was followed by the revelation that Green had gagged former employees from detailing his sexual and racial harassment – claims that he vehemently denies.

Finally, Green’s Arcadia group was exposed to what was a horrid shopping season. It certainly was an annus horribilis for him, reputation-wise, not that he would ever reach for a polite Latin phrase as the Queen once famously did – Green would opt for a more Anglo-Saxon wording.

When he looks back on where it all went wrong – to apply some context he remains incredibly wealthy, is still a high street force, retains his knighthood, and became a grandfather, but there’s no doubt he’s suffered – he only has himself to blame.

That sense of self, of believing entirely in his own gifts, has propelled him to great heights. He’s a natural, intuitive, aggressive deal-maker, blessed with an uncanny propensity for mental arithmetic. Whether he’s a genius at the longer game of retailing is a moot point. Certainly, he knew how to build an empire, and to keep it buoyant – for a while. But did he read the long-term runes, and foresee the advent of online shopping, and did he exhibit the same fleetness of foot as some of his competitors?

Green is not someone who responds constructively to criticism. If the media and politicians attack his convoluted financial arrangements that see the business vested in the name of his wife who lives in Monaco as a way of avoiding tax, he will roar his defiance.

A more publicly empathetic person, one who cares deeply about how they’re perceived, who can see that the tax line will dog him constantly and be wheeled out as a weapon to beat him with, might end the arrangement and swallow the resulting hefty bill. But they would regard it as a price worth paying, for better treatment by the press and parliament, for a favourable public standing.

Not Green. Similarly, from the off, as soon as the BHS affair blew up, he could have made a payment to cover the pension gap into an escrow account, and leave the lawyers to sort out the fine detail. But he chose not to.

He complained that his opponents liked to focus on his extravagant, bling lifestyle. Meanwhile, he would order another superyacht, so that he owned not one, but two. His reasoning was that his spending was none of their concern, that what he did with his money was up to him. He would describe his lavish parties as private, but then call journalists to invite them to listen, down the line, as George Michael did a sound-check.

He’s never fully appreciated that he is also a public figure, a modern celebrity, who courted publicity for himself and for his fashion products, who liked to be photographed surrounded by supermodels. In many town centres, his outlets play a vital role, as anchor tenants, central to the wellbeing of the shopping districts and accompanying communities. Green is a major employer, responsible for several tens of thousands of jobs. He cannot have it both ways.

As with many kings, his world is also that of a court. His advisers are courtiers, there, possibly, to please not help, to say “can” rather than “can’t”, and “yes” not “no”. It’s questionable, whether his actions and the blows to his image are the result of receiving bad advice, or disregarding good advice and preferring to do his own thing. Whatever the answer, he became badly unstuck in 2018. For that, he was my Man of the Year, but for all the wrong reasons.

For anyone looking at how not to manage communications, how to make a bad public relations situation worse, Green’s last 12 months is a textbook tour de force.

Chris Blackhurst is a former editor of The Independent, and director of C|T|F Partners, the campaigns, strategic, crisis and reputational, communications advisory firm