Another ex-politician, another City gig. Goldman Sachs revealed last week that former UK prime minister — and former Goldman grad trainee — Rishi Sunak was (re)joining as a senior adviser. The media coverage has been extensive, but the template for UK politicians is well worn: John Major worked for Carlyle, Tony Blair rocked up at JP Morgan, George Osborne at BlackRock, and many more besides.

Like so many Westminster alumni, Sunak now enters the world of post-office monetisation — that is to say the lucrative business of working in the private sector after government rather than staking their livelihood and liberty on a malfunctioning Horizon computer system while selling postage stamps.

The key question, as ever, is what these high profile individuals actually contribute to their new employers. Some assume they will originate and execute deals. Others that they will advise on policy and regulation. Others still that they are mere ponies decorated with the bank’s rosette and ribbons to impress clients?

The answer is more nuanced. At first glance, the rationale seems obvious. Financial institutions recruit former politicians for their personal networks, their understanding of government policy, and their capacity to facilitate access. But the execution is far more delicate.

A former prime minister cannot be deployed as a standard investment banker. It would be absurd to send Sunak to pitch a transaction to a FTSE 100 CEO, only to be rebuffed. The reputational risk is considerable — not just for the bank but for the politician too.

Furthermore, these luminaries cannot be seen actively lobbying former colleagues in government. While formal restrictions often last a year, the informal constraints endure much longer. Any hint of influence-peddling brings bad press, and in fact everyone will be so mindful of the optics that the former politician may have little sway anyway.

So where does the actual value lie? It lies in something less transactional but still commercially valuable: exclusive access presented as elite marketing.

Most global banks already have relationships with major corporations. What they lack is differentiation — something to make their client events, thought leadership platforms, and advisory relationships feel distinct.

This is where the political big dog earns that juicy bone. Imagine you’re the CEO of a multinational that is a big fee payer to the Street. Would you prefer yet another generic banking roundtable, or a private discussion with a former prime minister on geopolitical tensions, upcoming regulatory reforms, or shifts in industrial policy? The latter is much more compelling, and for the bank, it conveys prestige and exclusivity — a signal that your bank offers access others cannot match.

These hires are brought in to bolster the brand and give some star power to the institution. The aim is to strengthen relationships with high-level clients by giving them privileged proximity to power. The former politician lends the firm stature, provides macro-level insight, and makes the institution feel more connected, authoritative, and elite. In a relationship-driven industry, that kind of halo effect carries real weight.

These arrangements are also intentionally flexible. The title senior adviser is splendidly protean and elastic. Unlike traditional executives, senior advisers are rarely formal employees. They might receive a stipend, an office, and administrative support, but retain the freedom to pursue outside ventures such as academia, speaking engagements, or writing.

This set-up works for both parties. The bank secures a marquee name without the burden of employment regulations — the relationship can be terminated discreetly, without having to negotiate severance — and there are no public compensation disclosures.

Meanwhile, the politician gains a well paid post with minimal obligations. But this flexibility also insulates them. They might occasionally contribute to internal discussions on regulatory trends, speak at an offsite, or host an event for platinum clients, but they are not rolling up their sleeves, crunching numbers, and attending all-day drafting sessions for an information memorandum.

This doesn’t mean these roles are only symbolic, however. Their value can be specific and situational. A former chancellor of the exchequer may help shape internal views on green finance. A former trade secretary could provide informal perspectives on cross-border risks. A former competition commissioner will have views on regulatory appetite for further industry consolidation.

However, these interventions are sporadic rather than central. The core return on investment comes from client retention and attraction. Access to a former prime minister or finance minister becomes a perk that encourages continued engagement — a reason for senior executives to favour one institution over another.

There’s also a defensive benefit. Politics matters, and it helps to have an experienced policy maker on board to understand what’s going on in Westminster, Brussels and Washington.

There’s no lobbying, but it’s good to have a knowledgeable voice to alert the institution to potential shifts in the political landscape. Critics sometimes claim this is a form of subtle influence peddling — a way of cultivating sympathy among regulators. Yet the reality is less cynical. Political clout fades quickly once a minister leaves office. They are there to interpret or decipher the policy environment, not shape it.

From the banks’ perspective, the value is less about short-term results and more about long-term positioning.

A figure like Sunak won’t drive immediate revenue, but his presence bolsters Goldman Sachs’s image as the bank of choice for global elites. It reinforces the brand as a nexus of power, finance, and policy.

For the politician, it’s a soft landing — a well-compensated second act with little reputational risk and high exposure to other movers and shakers.