The Post Breaks Down The 3 Classes Of Wall Street Bankers Under 30
NY Post - When you’re a junior banker on Wall Street, you’re expected to learn a lot — what a “discounted cash flow model” is, and how to use an Excel macro. That when you order a “Bear Fight” at a bar in Murray Hill, you get an Irish Car Bomb, followed by a Jäger Bomb. And, perhaps most importantly, you learn your place in the pecking order. Wall Street has always been obsessed with status and hierarchy. Dare to break rank? You might as well set your boss’ Hermès tie on fire. In 2012, when a disgruntled Goldman Sachs employee named Greg Smith exploded his career with a tell-all op-ed, in which he called the bank’s culture “toxic and destructive,” many Wall Streeters reacted by mocking the fact that, at age 33, Smith had only made it to vice president. “Everyone’s always measuring their d – – ks,” one young financier explains. “If I’m a Goldman banker, I go up to a McKinsey consultant and I’m like, ‘My d – – k’s bigger than yours.’ ” The Goldman banker is then scoffed at by a Blackstone analyst, who in turn gets reamed by a Greenlight Capital portfolio manager. During the three years I spent interviewing young Wall Street workers for my new book, “Young Money: Inside the Hidden World of Wall Street’s Post-Crash Recruits,” I saw fresh-faced recruits get taught where to live, how to dress, what to do after work and how to impress their superiors and move up the ladder.
Summer Analyst
Age: 21
Makes: About $15,000 for 10 weeks
Works: 70 hours a week, but tells college friends he works 100
Lives in: Company-provided housing
Wears: An off-the-rack Men’s Wearhouse suit bought for his high-school prom, coupled with a too-wide “power tie” and square-toed shoes (men), or a sensible shift dress with a J.Crew cardigan for when the air conditioning is set too high (women)
Plays at: Bank-sponsored cocktail parties
Status symbol: Being invited out to “Bro-J’s” (Brother Jimmy’s) with the first-year analysts
Biggest fear: Accidentally cc’ing the managing director on a recap of a drunken night
Spends Saturday night: Memorizing lines from “Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps”
Says things like: “Traders are probably the coolest people you’ll ever meet!”
Analyst
Age: 22 to 23
Makes: $90,000 to $140,000
Works: 100 to 110 hours a week
Lives in: Murray Hill, in a high-rise with three roommates and zero furniture
Wears: Tailored suits from Brooks Brothers (men) or Theory (women), dry-cleaned infrequently and accessorized with looks of perpetual exhaustion
Plays at: “J-Tree” (Joshua Tree), Tonic, 230 Fifth
Status symbol: Working the “banker nine-to-five” (9 a.m. until 5 a.m. the next day)
Biggest fear: Falling asleep during a client meeting
Spends Saturday night: At the office, wearily looking up college classmates who have sold their tech startups for millions of dollars while waiting for a pitch book to finish printing
Says things like: “Banking is the best thing you never want to do again.”
Buy-Side Analyst
Age: 24 to 26
Makes: $150,000 to $250,000+
Works: 80 hours a week
Lives in: Soho
Wears: Made-to-measure Paul Stuart suits and Turnbull & Asser shirts (men), Diane von Furstenberg dresses and Chanel flats (women, both private equity); Zegna blazer and raw-denim jeans with Ferragamo loafers (hedge fund)
Plays at: Avenue, Southside, Hamptons house parties
Status symbol: Panerai watch (men) or Birkin bag (women)
Biggest fear: Being recognized on Tinder by a co-worker
Spends Saturday night: Buying shots for everyone
Says things like: “I could be working in the Peace Corps, and I chose not to, because for natural, selfish reasons I’m maximizing my own utility like any other person does.”
Pretty incredible breakdown of the Finance Bro Life. I think I know 3 dudes all exactly like this at every level of the Wall Street Life. I’m also pretty sure I’ve known a couple guys that have gone through all these exact phases. The description of the shoes, the watches, the Brother Jimmys/230 Fifth/Joshua Tree references, the quotes. All spot on. Its honestly like some of these guys can’t stop themselves from being like this. Some sort of unavoidable self fulfilling prophecy shit. They’re not quite Cube Monkeys because they make fucking cake. Like obviously they aren’t rotting at their desk worrying about smelly idiot coworkers and who stole their lunch out of the fridge. A lot of them turn into legit ballers living a very lavish life. Yet they still kinda fall into these stereotypes just like the rest of the jobs in corporate America, just on steroids. Its like they’re Cube Gorillas instead of Monkeys. Fucking Baboons. Work a billion hours, make a billion dollars, buy a billion dollars worth of shoes, watches and coke and then probably commit suicide because no human can sustain life like that.