a. Respond
b. Delete
c. Report Spam
The Correct Answer
5. Andy, Jeff, Paulos, Shane, Samir, and Rex are all Big Lawyers. There are exactly six chairs evenly spaced around a circular table. The chairs are numbered 1 through 6, with successively numbered chairs next to each other and chair 1 next to chair 6. Each chair is occupied by exactly one of the Big Lawyers. The following conditions apply:
Rex sits immediately next to Shane.
Jeff sits immediately next to Paulos, Shane, or both.
Andy does not sit immediately next to Paulos.
If Samir sits immediately next to Rex, Samir does
not sit immediately next to Paulos.
Which one of the following seating arrangements of the six Big Lawyers in chairs 1 through 6 would not violate the stated conditions?
a. Andy, Rex, Shane, Paulos, Samir, Jeff
b. Andy, Jeff, Paulos, Samir, Rex, Shane
c. Andy, Samir, Rex, Shane, Jeff, Paulos
d. Andy, Shane, Jeff, Samir, Paulos, Rex
e. Douchebag, douchebag, douchebag, douchebag, douchebag, douchebag
The Correct Answer
Culture
FACT #10
Even this T-shirt is bespoke.
Fashion
FASHION IS A MEANS of personal expression. Clothes broadcast emotion and can speak volumes about one’s inner character. People send out different cues about their nature with their outfits: self-confidence, conformity, reckless individuality. As Bankers, we, too, utilize fashion for personal communication, and the singular message our finely woven threads scream is an unrelenting: “We are better than you.”
On a Saturday morning, I call up my friend Hugh, twice, getting him on the second attempt. I wake him from what I know is a deep, post-drunk sleep.
“What the fuck?” he answers groggily, possibly speaking into the wrong end of the phone.
“It’s ten thirty a.m.,” I inform him. Then, coolly: “And I just spent six hundred bucks.”
He turns in his bed, grunts, and responds: “Who cares?”
Hugh doesn’t quite get it. I elaborate: “On socks, man! On socks!
“No one even sees those,” I explain, pausing and waiting for the explanation to sink in. Then I brush my knuckles against my blazer and proclaim my title: “I really am the MBP.”
I hear an exasperated arm slam against his mattress, and he yells: “What the hell are you talking about right now?”
Even though he should already know, I define it for him: “The Most Ballingest Player, kid. The Most Ballingest Player.” And I hang up.
The $600 is only the beginning, and I continue shopping, making my way from store to store to replenish my perfect Banker wardrobe. At first, spending a bunch of cash sounded like a fun exercise, but by noon, the MBP is officially pissed off.
I’ve already been to six places, and I still have to pick up a couple suits from Armani. In a cab in Midtown Manhattan, stuck in gridlocked traffic, my frustration explodes upon the driver: “Step on it!” I scream.
I really don’t have time for this kind of shit, I think, remembering a pile of analysis I still have to do before Monday. I need a personal shopper, an assistant, or a girlfriend—someone who can just buy me a bunch of shit and throw away whatever I don’t like.
I mentally craft the business plan for a one-stop Banker clothing store that would solve all these problems: it would source from all our favorite brands, employ tailors, and operate on high margins based on the insanely inelastic price sensitivity of its customers. I’m not sure what the name would be, perhaps Morgandorf Bergoldstone or something. The flagship store would be located at Fifty-ninth Street and 5th Avenue across the street from the Apple Store, and there would be a satellite store in the Financial District, at 87 Broad Street.
The Banker’s Progression
The men’s store would be massive, and in the window there would be three labeled mannequins: INTERN, ANALYST/ASSOCIATE, and MD/PARTNER. The three models would illustrate the progression a Banker goes through, fashion-wise. The intern would have a special note underneath it that read: NOT SOLD HERE.
Morgandorf Bergoldstone would have the perfect kind of shopping assistants: hot, foreign, and liberal with casual physical contact. Also, scantily clad. Generally, they would do all the shopping while customers sat at the man-spa, getting Banker haircuts, shaves, and scalp massages in old-world fashion. But on the first visit, the assistants would offer a tour around the store—a chance to familiarize the customer with the offerings and see if he “has any questions.”
Shirts
To the front and left, there’s an area for off-the-rack clothing. This section is largely dominated by shirts, grouped and sold not by brand but by feature, including fit, collar, and cuff.
Fit
Historically, Banker shirts have been huge sails that fit like garbage bags, loose and billowy. Slimmer fitted shirts, however, are now in favor and widely available in the store. While it may look silly, the baggy shirt is still for purchase. It’s a tribute to Banker history, and some actually still prefer it, especially when the elevator is busy and Bankers can untuck their parachute-like shirts, catch the breeze, and coast safely to the ground floor.
Collar
Shirts are further matrixed by collar type. They are labeled “BACK OFFICE,” “MIDDLE OFFICE,” and “FRONT OFFICE,” corresponding to button, standard, and spread collar.
At my desk, we once had this Iranian kid intern who wore a button-collar shirt his first day to work. Naturally, we nicknamed him Buttons. He was mortified, and in response made the mistake of telling us that his father wore short-sleeved collared shirts to work, so he really had no point of reference. Then, despite his skin tone, we just started calling him White Trash.
Banker ties are kept near the shirts and knotted appropriately with respective collars to illustrate that a spread-collar shirt is naked with only a half Windsor, and a narrow-collar shirt with a thick, full Windsor just feels off-beam, like putting twenty-two-inch rims on a Prius. Hermès, Ferragamo, and their peers dominate this section.
Cuffs
Cuffs are an often overlooked feature of the shirt, but not at Morgandorf Bergoldstone. I’m not sure where standard cuffs are acceptable, but here, they are substandard.
I once worked on a deal that required me to go to the Paris office. After seeing them get hammered on wine at lunch and comply with regulated thirty-six-hour work weeks, I can safely say that French cuffs are the most significant contribution the French have made to Banking, beating out the Bank BNP Paribas by a wide margin.
Double-button barrel cuffs are the next step up.
The store offers monogramming services for cuffs and breast pockets, but only in certain situations, as it can come off tacky and smack of L.L. Bean backpacks.
The other half of the store is dedicated to custom-tailored clothing. All the world’s finest tailors work at Morgandorf Bergoldstone, and, in heavy accents, they lecture customers on the difference between true bespoke clothing (made from scratch) and made-to-measure (adapted from an existing pattern). Bankers laugh and joke with the tailors that, unlike clothes, a “made-to-measure” woman is sometimes ideal, fitting perfectly after a variety of nips, tucks, and subtle insults.
The tailors create custom shirts, but mainly focus on bespoke suits.
Suits
Everyone dresses in a suit at some point. Whether it’s that special business meeting, a funeral, or a family wedding, the average man puts on something resembling a suit every once in a while. I imagine that in these moments, this otherwise regular man must feel empowered and confident. His posture improved and his gait quickened, he will, for a moment, live life with the confidence and stature of a real man. Then there will be a strong breeze, and his piece-of-shit suit will dissolve in the wind, leaving him naked and, once again, painfully average.
Our Banker Suits are navy, gray, or black with thin pinstripes or other subt
le patterns. They are made from fine Italian cloth and stitched with life-or-death thoroughness, because unlike a Joe who dresses in suits occasionally, Bankers wear suits frequently.
Actually, the regularity with which a Banker wears a suit varies by age, rank, and Bank policy, and in the modern era, many Banks have switched from business formal to business casual. Dressing in a suit daily to a Bank that is business casual is overeager and a telltale sign of a gunner. Sell Side Bankers tend to go formal more frequently than the Buy Side, but whatever the case, every Banker needs several good suits, and Morgandorf Bergoldstone provides the solution.
In the fitting area, there is a monstrous fifty-foot magnifying mirror. Bankers stand in front of it, launching M&A lasers out of their elbows and inspecting themselves in their new threads. Here, they get a brief glimpse into how society regularly sees them: larger than life.
I snap out of my reverie, and back in the cab, we’ve moved approximately five feet. And that was only to box out a pedestrian. I consider getting out and walking, but that would require, well, walking. Instead, I roll my thumb over my BlackBerry wheel restlessly and mentally browse my packed Outlook calendar. I inspect the people walking by on the sidewalk.
I see a tall, dark-haired model type in long leather boots and jeans. She passes, talking on her phone, and I consider balling up my business card and chucking it at her. My aim is pretty good, and if she unfolds it, that’s a guaranteed close.
A thirty-something man who looks like an advertising exec walks by in a loud, obnoxious blue suit with huge pinstripes. “Wannabe MBP,” I mutter, imagining him working in a mail room to “get his start.”
The cab inches forward, and I see that in the taxi next to me, there’s another restless guy in a pink, popped-collar polo.
Banker? I tilt my head and think.
Beach and Casual Wear
Morgandorf Bergoldstone also has a robust Banker Beach and Casual Wear section, and it’s overwhelmingly pastel to keep us looking “sweet.” Polos, shorts, pants—they’re all Nantucket Red, Jake Blue, or Bermuda Pink. From J. McLaughlin, Vineyard Vines, and other stores, the fabrics are poplin, madras, and seersucker, and the belts are not leather, they’re cloth and D-ringed. Like in the formal section, ties are silk, but now they are patterned with sailboats, airplanes, whales, dolphins, and other things that remind Bankers what they should buy, ride, and hunt.
Accessories
Immediately next to the Beach and Casual section are accessories. Rolex, IWC, and various other watches are displayed freely (there’s no need for protective glass). The watches here, however, are subtle in their ostentation—they’re not the size of saucers, and they cannot give precise nautical bearings. There are some pocket handkerchiefs, no tiepins, and a wide selection of silk knots and cuff links.
Shoes
Directly in the middle of the store are all the Banker Shoes. Just like in my closet, Rainbow Sandals and Gray Newbies coexist with Ferragamo loafers and cap-and straight-toe shoes. Wingtips are off to the side, for the slightly older Bankers.
Loafers are the centerpiece of the exhibit, as they’re the consummate Banker shoe. They’re versatile—they can almost always be worn to the office, and you can sport them with or without socks, paired with shorts, and even to bed to let a girl know you really mean business.
I, personally, like my loafers like I like my women: expensive, fit, and, more often than not, with a bit of bling around their necks. Loafers with gold links catch the light occasionally, like when one crosses his legs. Getting a glimpse of them is like spotting an undercover officer’s concealed weapon and coming to the realization that someone you thought was an innocuous human being is actually equipped to fuck you up. A dude in Tod’s loafers, however, is probably more lethal than any law enforcement agent.
If Gucci or Prada made women the quality of their loafers, I’d probably have a closetful, and I’d rock them just like I do my loafers: bareback.
Banker Chick Clothing
It should be noted that Morgandorf Bergoldstone does have a woman’s store for female Bankers, but it’s not across the street as you might expect; it’s located a few blocks away in the basement of an H&M. While real women are meant to wear bright clothes that accentuate their figures and expose skin, Banker Girls must be strictly prohibited from this practice. As such, the women’s store sells only bland colors from the likes of BCBG, Theory, and I don’t know who else. A handful of pashmina shawls and innovative hair devices are also sold for the few girls looking to spice things up.
Banker Girls repeatedly request that the store stock red-soled Christian Louboutins, which are subtle yet powerful, like loafer links, but the designer absolutely refuses, claiming it would “destroy his brand.”
Banana Republic and Ann Taylor, on the other hand, eagerly sign up.
My cabbie is finally able to wade through the traffic, and we make it to the Armani store.
I enter, and the door is held for me by a middle-aged married couple in front of me. They’re achingly tourist, in “I New York” hats, fanny packs, and exposed cameras. I shake my head, step back, and let them go in without me.
I reflect on the most important feature laid out in Morgandorf Bergoldstone’s business plan: the application process. To shop at the store, potential customers must be filtered just as rigorously as applicants are when they try to get a job in finance.
Employment histories are researched for Wall Street pedigree, and a set of in-depth interviews, both fit and technical, are conducted to weed out the rabble. The process is somewhat cumbersome but ensures that what just happened to me at Armani never, ever occurs again.
Word of the store would disseminate quickly, of course, and soon Hollywood celebrities and international industrialists would be trying furiously to be granted acceptance. Rock stars would all of a sudden befriend Bankers at clubs, begging them to “pull some strings” to make up for their poor GPAs.
Jay-Z might even approach my table at a restaurant. A poor man’s MBP, he’d be wearing a jet black tuxedo with a white scarf and aviator sunglasses. Yankees hat in hand, he’d speak in an awkward attempt at professionalism, subtly letting me know that he’s going to be “shooting over” his application to Morgandorf Bergoldstone. He just wanted to “reach out.”
I don’t stop eating, but I consider him briefly as a candidate: worth about $550 million, the CEO of two major record labels, co-owner of the New Jersey Nets.
“Should I ‘rally the troops’?” I think. “Is ol’ Jigga worth my ‘banging the table’?”
I come to a decision and do what I do whenever I get this question from some eager Third-Tier college student. I shrug my shoulders in a fake apology and respond, addressing him by his first name to ease the blow, slightly.
“Sorry, Shawn,” I offer with translucent empathy. “We just don’t have that many positions opening up right now.”
* * *
COMMENTS FROM leveragedsellout.com
There really were different standards on the street a few years ago. People got sent HOME for wearing the wrong thing. A former boss of mine who got his first gig with Jim Rogers loved to tell the story of going to lunch with him wearing brown loafers with tassels. “No!” shouted Jim, pointing at his feet. “F! That is an F!!!”
POSTED BY EV, DEC 12, 4:24 P.M.
All comments are real and unedited.
* * *
FACT #11
It’s all about the bonuses, baby.
Compensation
I’M NOT SURE how many e-mail forwards I receive over the course of a year. Hundreds? Thousands? They range from anecdotes of stupid Bankers exposing themselves to the media to bitter “I hate my life. I quit” departure manifestos to revealing pictures of the girls my colleagues have slept with, and, much like the girls themselves, the forwards vary in appeal.
I still remember the best e-mail forward I’ve ever gotten; it came during the early summer months of my first year as an Analyst. I personally hadn’t lost my perspe
ctive on Banking, but the endless hours of toil and diligence had been wearing on others. When this note made its way around The Street, however, everyone surged with pride. It reiterated to us why finance is not only the sport of champions, it is truly The Greatest Profession on Earth. The e-mail carried an attachment, and the file name was: Analyst Bonus Numbers—2006.xls.
The file, in Excel format, of course, detailed the projected Bonus figures for the year. In one column, each major Bank name was listed. Next to these names, a dollar value for each first-year, second-year, and third-year Analyst was given. Every Bank’s number was verified by a trusted “Source,” which ranged from “Citi Staffer” to “MS Analyst” to “Rumor.”
Everyone I know got that e-mail, and while the Bonus amounts differed based on Bank performance and prestige, it really didn’t matter. All the numbers were huge.
An e-mail like this comes around every year (the numbers were even bigger in 2007), and it’s testament to the fact that our employers truly care about us. While other corporations might treat their employees like drones they can “burn and churn,” Investment Banks nurture. Through various forms of compensation, we’re cultivated, supported, and rewarded for our efforts.
BlackBerries
Tons of randoms have BlackBerries these days, but it is and always will be a Banker tool. Modern-day katana swords, they are marks of our caste that we treat with the same level of respect as did our Samurai counterparts. Ancient warriors slept with their swords under their pillows, took great care to maintain them, and, ultimately, used them in battle. Bankers’ BlackBerries are equally lethal, but they’re plastic and have somewhat more Anglo-Saxon names.
Damn, It Feels Good To Be a Banker Page 8