American Indolia

Caveat: I don’t watch American Idol but if it’s the only thing on, I’ll take a peek. I’m not exactly sure what’s going on, but I see that Anoop Desai was voted off this week. He was one of the few contestants I liked (minus the ridiculously bushy eyebrow thing). I don’t think he was the strongest vocally, but he definitely had some character and sounded like he could have been a proud member of one of the all-male acapella groups at the Ivy. Then, the thought crossed my mind: America, while electing a half black president, may not be ready for a non-white/black pop star. But the political incorrectness got the better of me.

Anoop should have had his countrymen in India call up those phone lines and vote. From the looks of it, India has a pretty freaking good handle on millions of phone centers. Why didn’t you use your secret weapon, Anoop!

The Battle Rages On

The topic has been beaten to death (on my blog as well) but the writers/”journalists” bring it up again and again. Enjoy Fashion Financier’s comments as she attempts to battle the weak-minded Main Streeters in the open forum that is New York Magazine. I’ll bet that 75% of the people who comment aren’t even from Manhattan.

I was extremely irked last night. After finishing a weekend of playing golf and fueling my gambling habit at the poor man’s Vegas in New England, I settled down to enjoy my Sunday evening with a solid four hours of USA network television. I assume this is a common thing in the world of producing a television series, but I didn’t realize producers and writers would so blatantly rip off another series’ plotline.

Case in point: The premiere of Law and Order: CI. At first, the story started with some overt homage to its sister show, Law and Order: SVU. Drugs, sexual abuse, wealthy and well-connected political family. all the ingredients to a twisted yet entertaining SVU episode. However, as the plot unfoiled and the twist was revealed, I was appalled. The plotline ends with the step daughter of a NYC councilman being sexually abused by her step father (and inevitably becomes a drug addict and suicidal), having a daughter who is raised as her ‘sister’ and the rest of the family ignores this sick little fact and does little to prevent it from happening again.

CSI pretty much used this plot in an episode called “Blood Drops” which aired in 2000. You can read the synopsis here.

There should be a new post in the analyst tale this week. Happy Reading!

New York Magazine

I’ll be the first to admit that I read nymag.com religiously. They have interesting stories, a great fashion section and capture the New York essence that I miss so much. That being said, I was also under the impression that the commenters were also a bit more caustic and snarky. Clearly, I was mistaken.

The Fashion Financier has been the victim of the angry online commenters at nymag.com. Enjoy!

P.S. It still irks me that nymag.com has been cribbing stories from Dealbreaker. wtf, mate?

Tis the Season – Part I

As I continued down my path to becoming an experienced analyst, the seasons changed as well. Winter approached thus signaling the annual ritual of receiving bonuses. While I toiled away on pointless models that would be re-done, Powerpoint slides that would be reformatted, and flipped pitchbooks that would ultimately end up in the trash, every other non-analyst in the investment banking division geared up for the bonus season. The mood was sober as the sub-prime blowup left much uncertainty as to how much these 6, 7 and 8 figure payouts would be dented. Still, as relatively young associates (like Apathetic Associate and Evil Associate), any payout in the 6-figure range wasn’t bad. Especially since they had enslaved their analysts (me) into doing their dirty work, their days of doing not much since the credit markets slowed down were about to be handsomely rewarded.

We had been sitting in the Hot VP’s office on some inane legal due diligence call when he hit the mute button on his phone. “It’s true. Goldman is showing a 6-handle for third year associates.” The Hot VP leaned back in his chair, his hazel eyes glimmering with hope. Douchebag Associate grinned slightly. “Really? Not bad.” Not that he really cared. He signed a package with our firm at the height of the Gilded Age worth a pretty penny. He had Uncle Garry on his side (i.e. the bonus guarantee for that year). The banker-speak ’6-handle’ number meant that third year associates at Goldman Sachs were seeing bonuses in the $600,000-range. It’s not a bad deal for a guy/girl in their late 20′s. Plus this number was the first real indicator of what the Street was going to payout for everybody else.

When I returned to my cube, I felt slightly uplifted. Even with the miserable explosion in the financial markets in the past few months, the banks were still showing pretty decent numbers which could have boded well for the analyst numbers come June. I began shooting off im’s left and right to my cohorts.

FashionFinancier (11:23:26 am): Yo. You hear?
Mr. Burrito (11:24:01 am): What?
FashionFinancier (11:24:15 am): Bonus numbers this week! Goldman Sachs gave out their numbers today. Only slightly down! I wonder how much the people in our group will get paid.
Fashion Financier (11:28:00 am): Hello? What do you think?
Fashion Financier (11:32:42 am): ? Where’d you go?

“Hey. Let’s grab lunch.” Mr. Burrito popped up with the stealth of a ninja. He didn’t bother inviting Smelly Homeless Kid who was in the middle of a chit chat session with Apathetic Associate and Evil Associate in their office. We walked down the hall, just the two of us and stepped into the elevator. He turned to me.

“Dude, never EVER talk about bonuses on the firmwide IM.” I started to laugh until I saw Mr. Burrito’s face contorted in a veil of seriousness.
“Uh…”
“Seriously. They track everything. Some analysts got in trouble last year for sharing their bonus numbers on it. Just don’t do it. This is why we have lunch. To answer your question, yes. I heard about the numbers. I think the people in our group will get theirs tomorrow.”

Well, kick me in the ass and call me Nancy. This was some Big Brother shit right there. I paused to think that it might not be such a bad job to be one of those IT guys who combed through the IM logs. For someone consistently filled her days embroiled in faux office drama, reading people’s personal IMs would be a dream come true. Then again, we were all in banking, so probably not.

“Tomorrow? Isn’t the Group Holiday party tomorrow?” I asked.
“Yep. Should be a fun evening.”

After finishing a light lunch, we headed back to the office. As I walked past the Hot VP’s office, he waved me in. Sitting across from him was Douchebag Associate, having lunch.
“Hey. We wanted to talk to you.” The Hot VP took a few chips. “So, tomorrow night is the Group Holiday party.” I nodded to let him know that I was in fact following his thoughts. “Well, you know Shortbus and the Lothario right?” He was referring to two managing directors not in our direct group but guys we worked with all the time. “They always get too hammered at the holiday parties and often end up trying to 1) flirt with female analysts/associate, 2) look down your top, or 3) just get way too touchy.” Ew. I crinkled my nose in disgust. Douchebag Associate jumped in. “I’d stay away from them, period. Evil Associate will be all over that shit but that’s how she operates. We just want you to be careful.” I said thanks and went on my way. Awesome. I’d have to fend off middle-aged, creepy pervs while everyone else had the luxury of getting wastey-faced.

Needless to say, I was excited for tomorrow. The Holiday Season always brought on a slew of free alcohol, free dinners and not doing much as everyone went on vacation. I ventured around the corner to my fellow analyst’s bullpen.

“What’s new?” I crossed my arms leaning against the backside of the cube row, against the window.
“The Raccoon just ate out of the garbage can. And i quote, ‘your trash can be my treasure.’ ” Mom Jeans laughed as she got the statement out while Michael Kors just shook his head in disgust.

And you wonder why the banks lost billions of dollars.

New Post

i promise to get better at this (i.e. posting in a more timely fashion).

The Fashion Financier was battling booze-induced insomnia and her gambling addiction this past weekend.

Food for thought: It’s always awkward when you’re sitting at lunch and everyone at the table (excluding you) is discussing Obama’s “Millionaire’s Tax”.