The Crisis King Who Builds Careers: Inside Matthew Hiltzik’s Paradoxical Empire

Hope Hicks sat before the House Intelligence Committee in February 2018, facing a room full of lawmakers hungry for answers about Russian interference in the 2016 election. Under oath, she admitted to telling “white lies” for Donald Trump. What struck observers wasn’t the admission itself, but her composure under withering scrutiny. That ability to maintain message discipline had been forged years earlier in a modest office in Midtown Manhattan, under the tutelage of a man widely regarded as the most relentless fixer of the last twenty years.

Matthew Hiltzik’s reputation as an “attack dog” precedes him, yet this narrative obscures a far more intriguing paradox. His eponymous firm has become one of the industry’s most successful talent incubators, launching an unusually potent network of protégés into the highest echelons of corporate America.

Hicks parlayed her Hiltzik Strategies experience into White House Communications Director, then executive VP at Fox, and now COO of Megyn Kelly’s Devil May Care Media. Emily Feingold, who started as Hiltzik’s assistant at Miramax, now oversees Netflix’s external communications across the U.S. and Canada—markets that drove nearly $5 billion in revenue for the streaming giant in Q2 of this year. Rachel Adler moved from managing Hiltzik’s high-profile clients (think: Katie Couric, Justin Bieber, Chelsea Clinton) to repping Martha Stewart, Abby Phillip, Pete Buttigieg, Beto O’Rourke and many, many more at Creative Artists Agency, a powerhouse “iceberg” that infiltrates every pocket of consumer culture while deftly operating beneath consumer radar.

The pattern extends across sectors. Eric Koch founded Downfield Strategies, a firm known for winning in unlikely territory—including helping Blue Dog Democrats hold deep Republican districts in 2024. Eliana Holm Yamshon serves as BlackRock’s Global Head of Employer Brand, shaping how the world’s largest asset manager attracts talent across its $10 trillion operation. Rachel Rosenzweig directs communications at Thrive Capital, the venture firm behind early bets in Instagram, Spotify, Stripe and OpenAI—the world’s most valuable privately held company. Josh Raffel leveraged his Hiltzik experience into White House advisory roles on Middle East policy and tax reform. Jeremy Watkins heads up communications for the Knicks and Rangers at MSG. Sarah Rothman co-founded The Lede Company, managing Hollywood’s most sensitive PR ops for a roster that counts Reese Witherspoon, Rihanna and Emma Stone. These aren’t modest career bumps, but trajectories from junior account executive to C-suite leadership within five to ten years. 

The Anti-Self-Promotion Paradox

In the PR universe, noise often masquerades as power. Headlines are chased, controversies courted, influence measured in decibels. When first approached for this profile, Hiltzik’s response was characteristically restrained: “I am very grateful and humbled by your interest in writing something like this. But I respectfully decline,” he said. “We prefer to keep the focus on our clients.” He cautiously consented only after being assured the story would prominently feature his protégés. 

I first met Hiltzik over a decade ago. My lasting memory of that meeting is that there was no lasting memory. He left little impression—no grandstanding, no casual dropping of celebrity client names, nothing memorable about his Midtown Manhattan office. It was, quite deliberately, utterly forgettable. 

A second interaction proved more revealing. When Observer sought access to his longtime client Eric Schmidt, a junior associate politely deflected, attempting instead to place a far less prominent name. Frustrated, I raised the issue directly with Hiltzik. His response was immediate—he stood firmly behind his staff. Championing smaller clients is as essential as servicing marquee names, and employee loyalty is standard operating procedure.

Hiltzik speaks like someone perpetually aware that each word carries weight far beyond the present moment. His sentences weave through qualifiers and disclaimers, a mind constantly gauging context and consequences. He defaults to understatement, reliably shifting credit toward colleagues or clients. He understands his role as adviser rather than protagonist.

He maintains such a low profile that Getty’s most recent image of Hiltzik is from 2015, so I brought a photographer to his office late last month. A week later, an apology hit my inbox. “I tried my best,” the photographer said. “But he seemed very tense.” Hiltzik had appeared rigid and uncomfortable in front of the camera, resulting in remarkably few usable images. The man who spent his career ensuring others look good had been betrayed by a palpable anti-promotional instinct.

Hiltzik’s office tells a different story. He is warm, welcoming, eager to show us everything that means something to him—which is nearly everything. A black-and-white photograph by former client Annie Leibovitz captures Hiltzik amid Hillary Clinton’s campaign staffers, crowded around a television the night of her victorious 2000 Senate race, for which he was the director of Jewish relations. Behind his desk hangs a watercolor by Deirdre Imus—a whimsical cowboy riding a blue-speckled horse, a memento of his late client Don Imus, the shock jock who trusted Hiltzik enough to joke mid-crisis, “You’re giving me worse cancer right now” after announcing his diagnosis live on-air without warning. The kind of ribbing reserved for family. There’s a large folk art painting of an American flag he acquired at Sundance. “My mother loves all things Americana,” Hiltzik explains. “Everything in her house is red, white and blue.” He’s a fourth-generation American, and his pride is transparent.

Hiltzik beams when discussing his children—two daughters and a son—and his decade-plus coaching their sports teams. He holds up a championship ring from his son’s latest flag football season. He recounts how a player whom the other coaches overlooked became his first pick for his daughter’s basketball team. Two words of advice—”slow down”—transformed her into a core player that season.

When asked about the parallels between coaching kids’ sports and running a PR firm, his response is simple: “First, you need to understand their strengths. Not everyone will be, or needs to be, the star of the show. Second, you need to be committed to developing talent in the moment—and accepting of the fact that some of the best people eventually leave. It means they’ve learned what they needed to.”

Hiltzik holds a flyer-sized photograph of a young man in his early twenties, looking toward the camera with calm eyes and a slight, natural smile. It is the kind of image that might appear in a yearbook, if not for the urgent message printed in all-caps beneath the portrait: “BRING HIM HOME NOW!” A plea for the safe return of 21-year-old Omer Neutra, presumed to be among the over 250 hostages taken in the October 7 attacks—the deadliest day for Jews since the Holocaust. For two years, Hiltzik has worked closely with Neutra’s parents and brother and advocated for the families of missing hostages. Last December, the Israeli military confirmed Neutra, an IDF soldier, had been killed on October 7. He was born 24 years ago today, on October 14, about a month after his mother, eight months pregnant, fled Manhattan on foot across the Queensboro Bridge on September 11, 2001. “Do you mind if we make sure this is in the background?” Hiltzik asks. Neutra’s parents are still awaiting the return of their son’s remains.

The Paradox of Loyalty

Industry insiders suggest that Hiltzik’s ability to fade into his surroundings is core to crisis management—a different type of PR where the goal is keeping people out of the spotlight rather than in it—and may be more strategic than temperamental. Though it’s become what defines him publicly, crisis management constitutes a mere 20 percent of his firm’s portfolio. “It’s what people notice most,” he admits.

Regardless, this deliberate self-effacement creates space for something more valuable. Linda Lipman, an EVP at Hiltzik Strategies, has spent over 15 years there, and EVP Meghan Miele, 11 years. EVP Tiffany Siegel, over a decade, and Senior Directors Chris Cunningham over seven years, and Jocelyn Dawson, six years. Several others have stayed for eight years or more. In an industry where the average tenure hovers around three years, these numbers shouldn’t exist—especially given the PR firm’s small size. Hiltzik Strategies has less than 40 full-time staff.

A 2024 survey found 44 percent of PR and comms professionals quit due to exhaustion, with 78 percent rating their stress at eight out of ten. The Institute for Public Relations reported 28 percent of communicators teetering on the edge, 36 percent actively job hunting. The sector’s churn rate—20.8 percent in 2024, down from a brutal 29.3 percent in 2021—still runs nearly double the average for professional services.

In an industry built on burnout, people stay at Hiltzik Strategies. Lipman describes Hiltzik as someone who “speaks with great pride about former employees who have gone on to big roles,” who “can walk into any room and connect with those present.” Someone with, in her words, “a caring heart”—a phrase that sits oddly against what others might call a ruthless reputation. 

Hiltzik is unsentimental about fit—if someone isn’t performing or can’t handle the pressure, the relationship ends quickly and without drama. It’s a pragmatic approach that former employees describe as fair rather than harsh: you rise to the standards or move on, with no hard feelings on either side.

Even messy departures don’t sour relationships. Melissa Nathan spent 10 years at Hiltzik Strategies before leaving in 2023 to found The Agency Group, taking staff, Drake and the Chainsmokers with her. It’s the kind of move that typically breeds permanent bad blood.

Within months, Nathan’s new venture hit turbulence. She was hired by Justin Baldoni in 2024 during the promotional period for It Ends With Us, which he directed and co-starred in with Blake Lively. When Lively filed a sexual harassment lawsuit against Baldoni in December, alleging a retaliatory smear campaign, Nathan was named in the suit. Alleged text messages surfaced, including one where Nathan purportedly told Baldoni, “You know we can bury anyone.” Nathan was named in another lawsuit last month—this one filed by the target of a similar smear campaign the publicist allegedly orchestrated on behalf of Rebel Wilson. 

Hiltzik could have piled on. The setup was perfect—former protégé takes clients, gets embroiled in allegations of fabricating defamatory websites and deploying bot armies to destroy reputations. Instead, when asked about Nathan taking Drake (who recently returned to Hiltzik on a project basis), “She earned that client.” When asked about her alleged tactics: “That’s not how we do things.” No elaboration beyond: “We create an environment where everyone understands our values.” 

Breanna Butler, who left Hiltzik Strategies with Nathan, says the biggest lesson she learned there was commitment to truth, “even when the facts may be less than favorable.” Nathan still calls Hiltzik “family” and credits him with teaching her that “every story has many sides.” 

Feingold also uses the word “family” when describing her time with Hiltzik. Her first day working at Miramax was September 10, 2001. After the towers fell on September 11, he sat with her on the stoop of her Upper West Side apartment building, talking, making sure she was okay.

The familial terminology isn’t accidental—it reflects a workplace where professional relationships carry unusual weight and longevity, and where performance and personal connection are held to equally exacting standards. That culture is self-selecting: it attracts people who thrive on high expectations and total investment at the highest stakes, and naturally weeds out those who don’t. When former employees use the word ‘family,’ they’re describing something intense and demanding that isn’t for everyone—but for those who fit, it’s precisely what makes them stay.

The Foundation

“What you need to know about Matthew is that his codependency with his family is extraordinary,” one former employee confides, and means it as the highest compliment. “His father, George, is a very formative person in his life.” Watching George’s career as a talent agent at firms like Bienstock and United Talent Agency taught Matthew the value of letting people who disagree with you explain themselves. The elder Hiltzik is also a devoted family man who made business decisions through that lens. When an unknown disc jockey named Glenn Beck cold-called him in 1999, George gave him a shot after hearing how Beck spoke about his new wife. Years later, when Beck wanted to hire Matthew, George was “1,000 percent against it.” But both men were adults. They could make their own judgments.

George is a near-constant presence at Hiltzik Strategies, in the office weekly and constantly on the other end of the phone. Current and former employees mention this unprompted, recognizing the elder Hiltzik as more than a proud father checking in. He remains an active sounding board, a link to decades of entertainment industry relationships, and a living embodiment of the values his son absorbed: loyalty, discretion and an unwavering commitment to the people you choose to stand beside, no matter how controversial.

When Matthew began representing Beck in 2007—years before Beck would brand Barack Obama a racist and become one of cable news’s most polarizing figures—his Democratic colleagues were shocked. Ken Sunshine, one of the PR industry’s most influential executives and a long-time mentor to Hiltzik, didn’t mince words. “I love Matt,” Sunshine told the Washington Post in 2009. “I value our friendship, but I wouldn’t be caught dead representing Glenn Beck.” Some friends responded with jokes about the unlikely pairing. Hiltzik’s answer to critics remained consistent: He doesn’t abandon clients based on others’ opinions. That same ethos—choosing people and standing by them—extends to how he builds his team. 

Now at CAA, Adler’s recruitment story reveals how Hiltzik identifies talent. She expected a traditional interview when they met at his Park Avenue South office in 2009. Instead, “it felt like summer camp,” she recalls. They talked about her upbringing, sports and siblings—not her work experience. She calls it “a familial conversation” where “the relationship gets built” before you realize you’re in it.

The core question he asked repeatedly over her four years with the company: “Can you figure it out?” Not whether she had the answer, but whether she could find it. “His belief in me made me think I could do much more than I thought,” she says.

Lipman describes Hiltzik’s hiring philosophy simply: He looks for qualities that suggest someone can work with others and solve problems. Alumni describe learning “discretion, containment and message shaping,” the ability to manage high-stakes situations with poise. The lessons are consistent across generations. Former employees recall his constant refrain: “Are you asking the right questions?” He stressed responsiveness above nearly everything else. When asked what makes Hiltzik angry, current and former employees all gave variations of the same answer: lag time in responding to clients. His message was clear—silence is more damaging than imperfection—and his principles were forged early.

Before completing Fordham Law, Hiltzik volunteered for Carolyn Mccarthy’s successful 1996 congressional campaign, drawn to her advocacy for gun control after her husband was killed in the Long Island Rail Road massacre. He became press secretary for the New York State Democratic Committee and communications advisor to Hillary Clinton’s first Senate campaign. In 1998, Hiltzik helped elect Chuck Schumer to the U.S. Senate and Eliot Spitzer as attorney general. That record caught Harvey Weinstein’s attention, who wanted to fill a role that merged communications with political strategy, placing Hiltzik at the intersection of Hollywood influence and Democratic power. In 1999, at just 27, Hiltzik became Weinstein’s loyal spokesman at Miramax, almost two decades before the powerful mogul’s downfall. He left in 2005 and founded Hiltzik Strategies three years later.

This June, Weinstein told The New York Times that Hiltzik was his first choice to help steer him through the #MeToo accusations that began surfacing in 2017. “It was a shocker to me,” Weinstein said of Hiltzik’s refusal to accept what became one of the highest-profile crisis cases in modern PR history. Hiltzik made the same call years earlier, in 2014, passing on the chance to represent Bill Cosby after being introduced to the comedian when tens of women came forth with stories of sexual assault. Hiltzik confirms he turned Weinstein and Cosby down, but in the same breath clarifies he holds no judgment for lawyers or publicists who take on controversial clients. “A lot of people in PR are allergic to controversy,” he says. 

Nathan, who helped lead Hiltzik’s entertainment and crisis division for 10 years, says crisis PR is “instinctive” rather than taught. Hiltzik hones those instincts, training both clients and staff to navigate crises with “empathy and grace.” 

When a viral video showed Dora the Explorer listening to Alec Baldwin’s leaked phone rant against his daughter, Hiltzik deadpanned: “Three-year-olds everywhere are upset that Dora the Explorer and her friends are being dragged into this.” Although he ended that story with absurdist deflection, the actor kept him busy. Baldwin’s 2013 homophobic outburst toward a reporter transformed into a swift apology to GLAAD and an emotional defense of his wife, defusing what might have been career-ending backlash. 

When Manti Te’O’s nonexistent girlfriend scandal threatened his draft prospects, with NFL millions hanging in the balance, the Notre Dame linebacker’s public response emphasized his role as hoax victim, presenting phone records that documented hundreds of hours of calls with someone he believed to be real. Before being completely vindicated for a fabricated robbery story in Rio, Ryan Lochte publicly apologized on NBC Nightly News, where the Olympic swimmer attributed the scandal to “immature behavior,” and reframed his deception as youthful poor judgment. Brad Pitt’s divorce narrative emphasized contrition and sobriety over scandal. Johnny Depp’s defamation victory over Amber Heard was a tale of reclaiming reputation rather than revenge. And last year, when Shohei Ohtani’s interpreter stole $16 million to cover gambling debts, the story became about the baseball star being defrauded rather than complicit in illegal betting, a position federal prosecutors ultimately confirmed.  

When asked about these cases, Hiltzik quickly corrects the record. He didn’t create diversions—he surfaced truths. “Accurate, fact-based context wins.” 

In the early hours of the morning that we met in September, he’d been on the phone with a reporter, demanding to know why what should have been a straightforward, 300-word news story about one of Silicon Valley’s most prominent female executives needed to end with such bias. Though he trusts his staff to handle almost everything, he is still very much in the weeds. 

That level of personal involvement explains the client roster, and the pattern reveals his methodology: be relentless for clients, not with employees. The distinction matters. Hiltzik has solved a problem that plagues most PR firms—how to attract and retain people capable of handling the highest-stakes situations while maintaining fierce client loyalty. The answer: invest in talent, understanding that their success amplifies his own influence and the firm’s reputation for excellence.

Whether this is genuine altruism or sophisticated self-interest is impossible to untangle. Most likely, it’s both—a strategic approach that happens to align with treating people well. But Hiltzik’s legacy isn’t written in crisis headlines or celebrity gossip. It’s embedded in the institutional memory of the dozens of organizations where his alumni now lead—visible in ways he never wanted to be.