The role of these particular butlers is to fetch and carry skis rather than plates. They help put on your boots in the morning and take them off again in the evening; they whisk you back and forth to the gondola in Succession-style black vans - and I dare say they would, if asked, accompany you up the mountain just in case you might require something at altitude.
It's all a far cry from when skiers rented chalets hosted by posh students on their gap year, who made spaghetti bolognese and pointed you in the direction of the slopes before rushing off to snog a French ski instructor.
Come to think of it, this is all a far cry from when the Rosa Alpina was, well, the family-run Rosa Alpina, with deer antlers on the walls and furry rugs on the floor.
Then, post Covid, the Aman group came knocking and Hugo Pizzinini, whose grandfather launched the hotel in 1939, opened the door to a unique partnership whereby the family remains the senior shareholder but Aman manages it.
Smoke seems to be coming from beyond the 7m high, floor-to-ceiling windows when we arrive. Are we on fire?
'Don't worry, that's just steam rising above the outdoor pool,' says Signor Pizzinini, who lives with his wife in an apartment at the top of the hotel.
Massive photographic tapestries by the South Tyrolean artist Brigitte Niedermair hang in the lobby; there are fireplaces (some real, some fake) everywhere (they come standard in all 51 rooms); and the forest is lit up at the rear of the property. The bar has the tallest backdrop of any I've ever seen and a piano man tinkles gently throughout the evening, while staff float about in immaculate, grey uniforms.