So what if the Kruelbergs and Blunderstones of this world are finding it hard to get the kind of cash from their investment banks that they did just a few months ago. It’s an investment banker’s duty to try and then to try harder. Prepare pitches, present profiles, think in the box, out of the box, around the box – whatever it takes to get that damn tombstone. It has to be said,\however, that sometimes, a deal simply doesn’t work. It may be because the client is a dumbass who cannot tell their ass from their elbow, and can’t se a good deal when its staring them in the face. Sometimes, it’s because the deal or idea the investment banker has cooked up is so poor that even a three year old chipmunk wouldn’t look at it twice.
Nonetheless, it’s not an investment banker’s duty to question how or why. When a deal does not work, the investment banker takes rejection with dignity and honour (by telling everyone that the client is a muppet, for example) and goes to pitch the same idea to the next potential client that is willing to take the time to hear him out (it is very important to make sure that the client’s logo at the front of the presentation is changed in the pitchbook, as for some strange reason, clients tend to get rather upset when for example someone at Kruelberg opens the exclusive and unique opportunity that the firm has set aside for him and just him, only to find Blunderstone’s logo on the front page).
So we do live in times when the next client to pitch to isn’t going to be a private equity house. This is most unfortunate for the analyst involved, as it significantly reduces their ability to get headhunted into the buyside by impressing the clients with their knowledge of the art of bullshit. Big deal. Look on the bright side. No need to impress snotty nosed, full of themselves, smug ex-investment bankers who feel the need to overcompensate for all the shit they had to take in their junior days by making the investment bankers who work for them feel even worse. No way. Now that the Kruelbergs, Blunderstones and Crapaxes of this world are no longer in the market to but overpriced assets, in come the corporates, with their warchests of cash, sitting on their balance sheets. Their boards are no longer afraid of being pushed out by a crazy private equity fund (not that those guys have become less crazy, but they simply don’t have the cash nowadays), so there’s no need to worry about returning value through share buybacks. And with no buybacks, all the cash they make just sits idly on their balance sheet. It is in times like these that the investment banker hears his calling.
“Pitch to them!” says the deep voice of investment banking wisdom.
“Make them acquire!” roars the voice of investment banking passion.
“Help them expand their footprint in new markets!” whispers the voice of investment banking sincerity.
“Create the leaders of tomorrow” hollers the voice of investment banking vision.
The investment banker is drawn to the voices, dancing majestically like ballerinas in his head. Their words creating visions of synergies, multiple expansion, consolidation and premia. And as this spectacle of investment banking vision crystallizes before his eyes, the investment banker hears the deep, clear voice that overrides them all. It is chanting, loud and clear, the raison d’etre of every senior investment banker – “fees” sweet, glorious, upwards scaled, beautiful fees.
And for fees to materialize, deals need to happen, so the universe of the investment banking managing director eclipses with that of the humble analyst. They look together into the sunset over the City of London and march on to the next pitch – that next pitch that just might turn into a deal, that just might close. And if it does, oh how sweet those fees will be, and how wonderful the creation of yet another set of lucite tombstones will feel.
Showing posts with label Becoming the investment banking grandaddy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Becoming the investment banking grandaddy. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
The Monkey is back: the New Investment Banking Paradigm
It feels like an age has gone by since you last reflected on you existence as an investment banker. You almost don’t know where to start, what words to use, how to describe the feelings of bitterness, resentment, pride and greed that, in subtle, interwoven overtones, paint the skies of the investment banking universe.
You sit reflecting on what you need to catch up on since the last time you had a few moments to yourself, and as you stop to think, you are immediately frustrated by the time it actually takes you to get that rusty machinery in your head going again. The core skills of investment banking have become innate to you, and as you have perfected these arts of slyness, manipulation, misrepresentation and disguising self-interest, you haven’t had the need to switch off the auto pilot and do some actual thinking.
Damn. That’s hard.
So what’s happened in last few months? Ah, nothing much. Kruelberg came, Kruelberg went, came again, went again, finally quenched a megadeal. Another investment bank advised on it. You worked on the financing. Bigass financing. One of the biggest financings of all time. Ok. It was underwritten by the same guys who advised Kruelberg on the deal, but you at least got a glimpse of the action. You’ll get a tombstone on your desk, and in ten years from now, nobody will even remember who did what. All that the little analysts will se when they enter their MD’s (your!) office will be the triumphant testimony that you were involved in one of the most amazing deals ever. That’s pretty good. Pretty damn good. And it’s all about the tombstone.
Oh. Yeah. One tiny detail being that, there was some more shit that happened in the meantime, and that tombstone is looking very unlikely. Why did the markets have to go sour on your big deal watch. Liquidity gone, spreads widening, the firm decided to pull out of the syndicate for the financing. They might have saved their asses but they sure screwed that tombstone for you. Why? Why? Since when have dividends to investment bank shareholders been more important than investment banking glory?!?
Oh well, Kruelberg and their other adviser, in the meantime, finished the deal. Those other analysts got a tombstone. So the market crashed. Their leveraged finance analysts also got a financing tombstone. So the whole ridiculous amount of debt is on the bank’s books. So what, they’ve got a tombstone. And to top it all, now that the debt market is distressed, Kruelberg looks like it will team up with said bank to create a special purpose entity to scoop up all the debt that it actually borrowed and the bank could not shift on to suckers like the firm. Ok, so Kruelberg not only gets its financing, but also makes a whammy by buying it off the bank at below the nominal value because it’s ‘distressed’! Genius. Kruelberg: 1, the investment bank: nil points. But hey, some little fucker in structuring will get a tombstone out of it for sure. Bottom line – screwing your shareholders over and making Kruelberg richer is a great deal for the bank – the tombstones are well worth the plummeting share price.
Sadly, that bank was not the firm. The firm’s shareholders and partners are richer, and you don’t have a single tombstone to show for it.
You sit reflecting on what you need to catch up on since the last time you had a few moments to yourself, and as you stop to think, you are immediately frustrated by the time it actually takes you to get that rusty machinery in your head going again. The core skills of investment banking have become innate to you, and as you have perfected these arts of slyness, manipulation, misrepresentation and disguising self-interest, you haven’t had the need to switch off the auto pilot and do some actual thinking.
Damn. That’s hard.
So what’s happened in last few months? Ah, nothing much. Kruelberg came, Kruelberg went, came again, went again, finally quenched a megadeal. Another investment bank advised on it. You worked on the financing. Bigass financing. One of the biggest financings of all time. Ok. It was underwritten by the same guys who advised Kruelberg on the deal, but you at least got a glimpse of the action. You’ll get a tombstone on your desk, and in ten years from now, nobody will even remember who did what. All that the little analysts will se when they enter their MD’s (your!) office will be the triumphant testimony that you were involved in one of the most amazing deals ever. That’s pretty good. Pretty damn good. And it’s all about the tombstone.
Oh. Yeah. One tiny detail being that, there was some more shit that happened in the meantime, and that tombstone is looking very unlikely. Why did the markets have to go sour on your big deal watch. Liquidity gone, spreads widening, the firm decided to pull out of the syndicate for the financing. They might have saved their asses but they sure screwed that tombstone for you. Why? Why? Since when have dividends to investment bank shareholders been more important than investment banking glory?!?
Oh well, Kruelberg and their other adviser, in the meantime, finished the deal. Those other analysts got a tombstone. So the market crashed. Their leveraged finance analysts also got a financing tombstone. So the whole ridiculous amount of debt is on the bank’s books. So what, they’ve got a tombstone. And to top it all, now that the debt market is distressed, Kruelberg looks like it will team up with said bank to create a special purpose entity to scoop up all the debt that it actually borrowed and the bank could not shift on to suckers like the firm. Ok, so Kruelberg not only gets its financing, but also makes a whammy by buying it off the bank at below the nominal value because it’s ‘distressed’! Genius. Kruelberg: 1, the investment bank: nil points. But hey, some little fucker in structuring will get a tombstone out of it for sure. Bottom line – screwing your shareholders over and making Kruelberg richer is a great deal for the bank – the tombstones are well worth the plummeting share price.
Sadly, that bank was not the firm. The firm’s shareholders and partners are richer, and you don’t have a single tombstone to show for it.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Where will this investment banker be in ten years' time?
So, the jury is out. You’ve been running around the bank, asking everyone where they thought you would be in ten years’ time. A great strategy, you thought to yourself, given the fact that you don’t have a clue as to what you will be doing and who you will be doing it for. After all, investment bankers are the some of the (self proclaimed) best brains around - the best and brightest – the world’s leading corporations jump at the opportunities and ideas the investment banking world throws at them, so why not leverage these great minds and let them decide your future for you. After having asked hundreds of keen intellects (well, 422 to be precise) about where you will be in ten years’ time, the results are rather puzzling, if not a little unsettling. Topping the list, one hundred and sixty four of them thought you would end up in a mental institution, ninety two said private equity, sixty four said you would make MD at the firm, fifty seven said you’d end up in a hedge fund (and hopefully one that doesn’t fold) and a generous forty five thought you would be retired.
Hmmm. The majority think mental institution eh? Well, the majority in 2000 also thought the boom bust cycle was a thing of the past. The majority also never saw Long Term Capital Management folding. Grateful as you are for everyone’s contribution, you take comfort in the street’s unprecedented ability and track record in getting things wrong and dismiss the mental institution idea.
Hmmm. The majority think mental institution eh? Well, the majority in 2000 also thought the boom bust cycle was a thing of the past. The majority also never saw Long Term Capital Management folding. Grateful as you are for everyone’s contribution, you take comfort in the street’s unprecedented ability and track record in getting things wrong and dismiss the mental institution idea.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Born to be an investment banker
You wake up all hyped this fine morning, as a revelation passes in front of your eyes. You don’t need to have Rupert by the cojones in order to make your way up the firm’s structure. We live in efficient markets, as you discovered on your coffee break, and there seems to be little you can (legally) do to go round that fine point. But hey, as with all rules, there are even finer ways of twisting them to get them to work to your advantage.
Remembering the priceless advice on posturing you were given, you decide that it’s time to take the game up by a notch or two. This is something that a Mont Blanc pen and a good suit alone cannot solve. This calls for creativity, out of the box thinking, and the use of your entire investment banking skill set. This will be where your financial modelling skills will come into play. All those hours spent sitting in front of your computer screen, negotiating with your excel spreadsheet in order to make a lemon look like a peach. All those hours are finally about to pay off, as you run through your genus plan.
Much like the fact that selling a company has very little to do with the crap shape it may be in today, but the promise of a wonder once the lucky buyer has acquired it (and gets stuck with it), your progressing up the investment banking ladder has nothing to do with you being a good banker. It actually has more to do with the perception that you are a good banker. And good bankers are in strong demand, so you must demonstrate that you, being the great banker that you are, are fighting offers for employment left, right and centre.
Now this has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that you have none of these wonderful offers, nor are you close to getting one. However, just like a guy in a good suit is automatically an investment banker, a guy in a good suit coming late to the office on a regular basis, must be interviewing left right and centre. By the same token, if said banker is interviewing left right and centre, there must be people calling him for interviews and thus he must be in demand.
And if said banker is so highly sought after by the competition, well, the firm must do everything in their power to retain him and make him happy. The fact that the firm has not really found the said individual to be of such exceptional superstar fabric is of little relevance, as what is more frightening to any investment bank than making the wrong call, is if their competition makes the right call at their expense.
So, cutting a long story short, pretending to interview, and subtly dropping hints in the right place, at the right time, will get you junior support, an early promotion and the ability to cherry pick the deals you work on. All that, courtesy of the firm’s fear of erroneously having thought that you aren’t really that good.
To make it even better, the fact that you won’t really be interviewing, but still will be showing up late to work as if you had been interviewing, will mean that you will have reduced the amount of hours spent in the office! Bonus.
You smile quietly, amazed at the sheer genius of your plan. You also think yourself rather silly for having entertained the thought that you may not exactly be top tier banker material, for anyone devious enough to concoct a deception of this magnitude, was born to be an investment banker.
Remembering the priceless advice on posturing you were given, you decide that it’s time to take the game up by a notch or two. This is something that a Mont Blanc pen and a good suit alone cannot solve. This calls for creativity, out of the box thinking, and the use of your entire investment banking skill set. This will be where your financial modelling skills will come into play. All those hours spent sitting in front of your computer screen, negotiating with your excel spreadsheet in order to make a lemon look like a peach. All those hours are finally about to pay off, as you run through your genus plan.
Much like the fact that selling a company has very little to do with the crap shape it may be in today, but the promise of a wonder once the lucky buyer has acquired it (and gets stuck with it), your progressing up the investment banking ladder has nothing to do with you being a good banker. It actually has more to do with the perception that you are a good banker. And good bankers are in strong demand, so you must demonstrate that you, being the great banker that you are, are fighting offers for employment left, right and centre.
Now this has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that you have none of these wonderful offers, nor are you close to getting one. However, just like a guy in a good suit is automatically an investment banker, a guy in a good suit coming late to the office on a regular basis, must be interviewing left right and centre. By the same token, if said banker is interviewing left right and centre, there must be people calling him for interviews and thus he must be in demand.
And if said banker is so highly sought after by the competition, well, the firm must do everything in their power to retain him and make him happy. The fact that the firm has not really found the said individual to be of such exceptional superstar fabric is of little relevance, as what is more frightening to any investment bank than making the wrong call, is if their competition makes the right call at their expense.
So, cutting a long story short, pretending to interview, and subtly dropping hints in the right place, at the right time, will get you junior support, an early promotion and the ability to cherry pick the deals you work on. All that, courtesy of the firm’s fear of erroneously having thought that you aren’t really that good.
To make it even better, the fact that you won’t really be interviewing, but still will be showing up late to work as if you had been interviewing, will mean that you will have reduced the amount of hours spent in the office! Bonus.
You smile quietly, amazed at the sheer genius of your plan. You also think yourself rather silly for having entertained the thought that you may not exactly be top tier banker material, for anyone devious enough to concoct a deception of this magnitude, was born to be an investment banker.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Value added in investment banking
Working for a client on the buyside is always fun. You’re in a kickoff meeting you’re your client, for whom the firm is a house bank, and you’ve just been handed a presentation the client received from an investment bank hired to sell the company your client wants to buy. The first thing you can think of, is trying to pick at little bits and bulbs that don’t add up in their numbers, spelling errors, bad formatting, and other high value added remarks.
Having spent some fifteen minutes on the slides, one particular page looked like this halfway through the meeting.
Friday, July 27, 2007
How investment banking is like royalty
Funny thing, you think to yourself, crouched over a discounted cash flow model on your screen on a Friday evening, that investment banking is so much like royalty. And not progressive royalty like a number of European countries have today. No. This is the old fashioned Marie Antoinette kind of shit we’re talking about here.
Thinking about why you’re sitting over an excel model for a project you’re not meant to be working on, for a client who you don’t even know and with a team that is in the pub having pints, brings you to this amazing realization. Why is it that you are here, and they are all there, and the guy that’s meant to be doing what you’re doing is the one in the middle of it all, having fee shots left right and centre.
Zap – flashback and it dawns on you again. Because he’s the intern and it’s his “half-way-through-the-internship-(yay he survived four whole weeks of spoon fed and sugar coated investment banking ass kissing)-drinks”. He’s a fucking intern! Fucking intern? So why are you here, doing his work, and he’s there, doing your drinking? Oh, And PS, who the fuck has heard of “half-way-through” drinks? So, back to the point, why? Well, because he’s part of the investment banking royalty programme, more commonly known as the “I’m an investment banker cos my daddy got me the job” programme. In his case though, it’s even better. both of his parents are managing directors and his uncle is a CEO of a Fortune 500 company, so go figure. There a programme where children of the employees and clients can intern for the summer (only one phone interview required versus the 3 plus who knows how many superdays that other mortals have to endure).
So why is it that these Bob Kings, Robert Mack, Francesca Paulson and Henry O’Neals (that’s right, check the internal databases and find out that the monkey is not cruel enough to name the real individuals) of the world get hired?
Well, to a certain extent, for entertainment. To do jobs, even jobs that are impossible to screw up, and screw them up, so everyone can discreetly laugh after congratulating them on a job well done.
But jokes aside, these individuals get hired for the same reasons that the royals of the past wanted male children – so that the firm can secure its next generation of leaders. It is only exceptional people, with no leadership skills, extensive ass kissing ability, no scruples, and an ego the size of the city of London, but no discernible skillset as such (MD’s) that are truly fit to run the firm. See the resemblance? Yes. Incompetent? Useless? Ignorant? True investment banking managing director material.
So that’s how investment banking is like royalty, you think to yourself, looking at the screen. You keep looking, when a comforting though puts a smile on your face, as you think of what happened to mademoiselle Antoinette.
Thinking about why you’re sitting over an excel model for a project you’re not meant to be working on, for a client who you don’t even know and with a team that is in the pub having pints, brings you to this amazing realization. Why is it that you are here, and they are all there, and the guy that’s meant to be doing what you’re doing is the one in the middle of it all, having fee shots left right and centre.
Zap – flashback and it dawns on you again. Because he’s the intern and it’s his “half-way-through-the-internship-(yay he survived four whole weeks of spoon fed and sugar coated investment banking ass kissing)-drinks”. He’s a fucking intern! Fucking intern? So why are you here, doing his work, and he’s there, doing your drinking? Oh, And PS, who the fuck has heard of “half-way-through” drinks? So, back to the point, why? Well, because he’s part of the investment banking royalty programme, more commonly known as the “I’m an investment banker cos my daddy got me the job” programme. In his case though, it’s even better. both of his parents are managing directors and his uncle is a CEO of a Fortune 500 company, so go figure. There a programme where children of the employees and clients can intern for the summer (only one phone interview required versus the 3 plus who knows how many superdays that other mortals have to endure).
So why is it that these Bob Kings, Robert Mack, Francesca Paulson and Henry O’Neals (that’s right, check the internal databases and find out that the monkey is not cruel enough to name the real individuals) of the world get hired?
Well, to a certain extent, for entertainment. To do jobs, even jobs that are impossible to screw up, and screw them up, so everyone can discreetly laugh after congratulating them on a job well done.
But jokes aside, these individuals get hired for the same reasons that the royals of the past wanted male children – so that the firm can secure its next generation of leaders. It is only exceptional people, with no leadership skills, extensive ass kissing ability, no scruples, and an ego the size of the city of London, but no discernible skillset as such (MD’s) that are truly fit to run the firm. See the resemblance? Yes. Incompetent? Useless? Ignorant? True investment banking managing director material.
So that’s how investment banking is like royalty, you think to yourself, looking at the screen. You keep looking, when a comforting though puts a smile on your face, as you think of what happened to mademoiselle Antoinette.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Application to become an investment banker
(Click on the image to enlarge)This is how a real investment banker applies for a job.
Confident,
Articulate,
Capable,
Useless.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Investment banking and efficient markets
...continued from "The kind of shit that (often) happens in investment banking"
Having met Mike at the lifts, you head down to get a coffee. None of that cappuccino bullshit the silly little monkeys drink, and then ask for three shorts to make it stronger. You order an espresso - double. Mike has had a rough time - went home at four and was back at nine - he orders a tripple shot espresso.
"Oh, wait, make that a tripple shot macchiato - don't want to go overboard with the coffee"
Typical mike to hit it with a 200% and then retract to a conservative 100%.
Mike also notices the unwipeabl;e smile on your face, and smiles back.
"So, you're quitting or what?"
You chuckle as you think to yourself how great it is to keep everyone guessing. How can they all be so foolish. All they can think of is the measly exit! Amateurs. The lot of them. Don't they realize that there is a lot more to be had that a simple exit to anoter investment bank or some hedge fund? Haha.
"Nope"
You reply, amused at the puzzled face looking at you following your answer.
"So what's the deal then?" asks Mike "Why are you being so smug?"
"Mate, if you knew what I know, you would be smug too. What I know is going to make me Rupert's number one man, get me an early promotion, and basically everything I wan't, because I'll have little Rupert eating out of the palm of my hand"
"Hehe. Nice one, for a moment there I thought you saw Rupert with one of the secretaries or something and I didn't want to burst your bubble because that's common knowledge. But hey, sounds to me like you've got something good going here. I won't ask, coz it doesn't sound like you're going to tell. Good luck pal."
And that is how, as often happens in investment banking, you come across a dealbreaker and you're back to square one, as you start wondering who those voicemails on your desk are from.
Having met Mike at the lifts, you head down to get a coffee. None of that cappuccino bullshit the silly little monkeys drink, and then ask for three shorts to make it stronger. You order an espresso - double. Mike has had a rough time - went home at four and was back at nine - he orders a tripple shot espresso.
"Oh, wait, make that a tripple shot macchiato - don't want to go overboard with the coffee"
Typical mike to hit it with a 200% and then retract to a conservative 100%.
Mike also notices the unwipeabl;e smile on your face, and smiles back.
"So, you're quitting or what?"
You chuckle as you think to yourself how great it is to keep everyone guessing. How can they all be so foolish. All they can think of is the measly exit! Amateurs. The lot of them. Don't they realize that there is a lot more to be had that a simple exit to anoter investment bank or some hedge fund? Haha.
"Nope"
You reply, amused at the puzzled face looking at you following your answer.
"So what's the deal then?" asks Mike "Why are you being so smug?"
"Mate, if you knew what I know, you would be smug too. What I know is going to make me Rupert's number one man, get me an early promotion, and basically everything I wan't, because I'll have little Rupert eating out of the palm of my hand"
"Hehe. Nice one, for a moment there I thought you saw Rupert with one of the secretaries or something and I didn't want to burst your bubble because that's common knowledge. But hey, sounds to me like you've got something good going here. I won't ask, coz it doesn't sound like you're going to tell. Good luck pal."
And that is how, as often happens in investment banking, you come across a dealbreaker and you're back to square one, as you start wondering who those voicemails on your desk are from.
...and the kind of shit that (often) happens in investment banking
... continued from "The kind of shit that (not so often) happens in investment banking"
You waltz into the office at around 10:30 am, feeling like you own the place in light of the information you acquired the night before, on your way home from work. You get to your desk, drop your things onto loudly, look at your phone, where the red indicator light is blinking indicating that you have voicemails, and choose to ignore it. You pick up the phone to Mike, one of your buddies in the industrial manufacturing group and arrange to meet him at the lifts for coffee. You take a stroll around the floor, saying hi to fellow monkeys and the secretaries, and stopping by to exchange a few (condescending, given that you are now a pro forma master of the universe) words with each of them.
"Don't you have work to do man?"
Asks one of the summer interns, who is religiously compiling annual and quarterly reports for the comps he needs to do.
"My man, you will learn. In time, you will learn... not to ask silly questions like that"
As you pass more and more people in the office, blatantly demonstrating the fact that you are really doing nothing, more heads start to turn, and you can hear the puzzled whispers as you pass each desk.
"Is he quitting?"
You barely make out the words coming from behind you, as you make your way to the lifts.
You chuckle, as you make out the words. Little do they know what is really on the table, you think to yourself and picture yourself turning around, walking over the the little naive monkey who asked the question and saying:
"Little man, quitting is for amateurs. For the guys that aren't good enough to stay. I am by no means quitting. Mark these words, as you are talking to the future department head... and when you know the kind of shit that I know, that won't be in the too distant future".
You waltz into the office at around 10:30 am, feeling like you own the place in light of the information you acquired the night before, on your way home from work. You get to your desk, drop your things onto loudly, look at your phone, where the red indicator light is blinking indicating that you have voicemails, and choose to ignore it. You pick up the phone to Mike, one of your buddies in the industrial manufacturing group and arrange to meet him at the lifts for coffee. You take a stroll around the floor, saying hi to fellow monkeys and the secretaries, and stopping by to exchange a few (condescending, given that you are now a pro forma master of the universe) words with each of them.
"Don't you have work to do man?"
Asks one of the summer interns, who is religiously compiling annual and quarterly reports for the comps he needs to do.
"My man, you will learn. In time, you will learn... not to ask silly questions like that"
As you pass more and more people in the office, blatantly demonstrating the fact that you are really doing nothing, more heads start to turn, and you can hear the puzzled whispers as you pass each desk.
"Is he quitting?"
You barely make out the words coming from behind you, as you make your way to the lifts.
You chuckle, as you make out the words. Little do they know what is really on the table, you think to yourself and picture yourself turning around, walking over the the little naive monkey who asked the question and saying:
"Little man, quitting is for amateurs. For the guys that aren't good enough to stay. I am by no means quitting. Mark these words, as you are talking to the future department head... and when you know the kind of shit that I know, that won't be in the too distant future".
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
The kind of shit that (not so often) happens in investment banking
So you’re leaving the office late. It’s 1am as you get into a cab to take you home. Bonus paid, money in the account and no offer at hand, so you decide to drown yourself in workaholicism, in the hope that you will forget that seven of your fellow analysts quit today and there are a good few more to come over the next few days.
You can’t believe your luck as your taxi driver dims your lights, and when you give him a puzzled look, he turns on the intercom to the passenger cabin and says:
“You looked like you wanted some peace and quiet, so I figured I’d turn down the lights so you can get a kip guv”
You thank the good man and doze off with the views of the London Eye, Buckingham Palace and other central London attractions swiftly passing beside you.
As you wake up to see the cab sitting in front of your Chelsea, flat you dig into your firm branded gym bag for your keys. And again. And again, and with more agitation at each attempt. No keys. And again. Nothing.
You must have left them at the office. Damn it. When things are going so well, here you are, having to go back to the city, get your keys and lose another hour of sleep. Damn it in deed.
You politely ask the cabbie to take you back and you try to catch a few more winks of sleep which prove to be difficult as the cabbie decides to take you Through Mayfair towards the City.
You watch the crowds of party goers outside the cab, when a familiar looking face catches your eye. You look again in disbelief, and yes, clear as daylight, it is Rupert, hailing a taxi coming in the opposite direction. With him is… Noooo! It can’t be.
“Wow!”
You think to yourself. The rumour potential of this is tremendous. It’s Rupert and Melinda, getting into a cab together. At 2 am!
Forgetting those keys in the office wasn’t so bad after all. Now this is how an hour of sleep can gain you an incredible amount of leverage. Who said that working late doesn’t have it’s benefits?
You can’t believe your luck as your taxi driver dims your lights, and when you give him a puzzled look, he turns on the intercom to the passenger cabin and says:
“You looked like you wanted some peace and quiet, so I figured I’d turn down the lights so you can get a kip guv”
You thank the good man and doze off with the views of the London Eye, Buckingham Palace and other central London attractions swiftly passing beside you.
As you wake up to see the cab sitting in front of your Chelsea, flat you dig into your firm branded gym bag for your keys. And again. And again, and with more agitation at each attempt. No keys. And again. Nothing.
You must have left them at the office. Damn it. When things are going so well, here you are, having to go back to the city, get your keys and lose another hour of sleep. Damn it in deed.
You politely ask the cabbie to take you back and you try to catch a few more winks of sleep which prove to be difficult as the cabbie decides to take you Through Mayfair towards the City.
You watch the crowds of party goers outside the cab, when a familiar looking face catches your eye. You look again in disbelief, and yes, clear as daylight, it is Rupert, hailing a taxi coming in the opposite direction. With him is… Noooo! It can’t be.
“Wow!”
You think to yourself. The rumour potential of this is tremendous. It’s Rupert and Melinda, getting into a cab together. At 2 am!
Forgetting those keys in the office wasn’t so bad after all. Now this is how an hour of sleep can gain you an incredible amount of leverage. Who said that working late doesn’t have it’s benefits?
Monday, July 16, 2007
A New Beginning
Ok. So the news is out. Bonuses have been paid and the annual game of musical chairs is about to begin. You look around the floor, trying to guess who will quit in the coming days. You observe the analysts’ faces for signs of an upcoming resignation.
A few cubicles away, Pete Flannigan is a substantial deal more joyous than his usual chain smoking, grumpy, sleep deprived self. He’s sitting on the edge of his desk, merrily joking around with Friedrich von Blondehaare, who is actually engaging in non-work and promotion related conversation – also very out of character and suspect. What are these two monkeys upto? Whatever it is, it can’t be any good. It also surely is not the fact that they have been paid a lot of money just now, as once the cash is paid, everyone gets busy thinking about the fact that it will be a whole year of work before next bonus comes along – not a merry thought. No, indeed Pete and Freddy are up to something.
Thinking back, you recollect that both boys had pulled a few sickies over the last two months – Freddie had the flu and then a bad cough, followed by a leak in his shower which a plumber had to fix three times, each time, of course, requiring him to skip work for the day. Pete interestingly came up with the measles and also had plumbing problems. Pete also started coming to work in a suit, and even on days when he didn’t have a client meeting.
Ok, you think to yourself, so what. They went for a few interviews. Can you blame them? You interviewed with Blunderstone, didn’t you? So why should they not be allowed to test the market.
You smile at your open mindedness as you take another look at them chuckling away and firing funny glances around the office.
Damn it, enough of this “love thy fellow banker” shit. You take a dose of reality and remind yourself that these monkeys are probably sitting on offers from top tier rival banks or even a hedge fund or PE shop and here you are, sitting on your loyalty to the firm with diddly squat but your bonus.
You take another dose of reality and reassure yourself that you wouldn’t have even wanted to hold an offer from what are likely the third rate institutions they are going to. You work for the city’s premier investment banking firm. You are the best of the best, and the competition only tries to poach the best (you) and ends up with rest (them). Haha. They couldn’t even get to you, that’s how much of the best of the best you are. Haha you monkeys, chuckling there in your little corners, thinking that the three months of gardening leave and full bonus in your pocket plus the sign on bonus from the firm you jump to plus the possible one year early promotion you are likely to have gotten. Haha, you think you’re special. Well ha, you haven’t got loyalty have you, and as the firm says, you can’t put a price on loyalty.
You stop for another moment and realize that you are consoling yourself for your lack of an offer with the firm’s propaganda. How very, very sad. This means, there is only one thing to do. Shine those hand made shoes (or preferably get someone to do that for you), get a new suit done, new shirts, new tie and start interviewing.
A few cubicles away, Pete Flannigan is a substantial deal more joyous than his usual chain smoking, grumpy, sleep deprived self. He’s sitting on the edge of his desk, merrily joking around with Friedrich von Blondehaare, who is actually engaging in non-work and promotion related conversation – also very out of character and suspect. What are these two monkeys upto? Whatever it is, it can’t be any good. It also surely is not the fact that they have been paid a lot of money just now, as once the cash is paid, everyone gets busy thinking about the fact that it will be a whole year of work before next bonus comes along – not a merry thought. No, indeed Pete and Freddy are up to something.
Thinking back, you recollect that both boys had pulled a few sickies over the last two months – Freddie had the flu and then a bad cough, followed by a leak in his shower which a plumber had to fix three times, each time, of course, requiring him to skip work for the day. Pete interestingly came up with the measles and also had plumbing problems. Pete also started coming to work in a suit, and even on days when he didn’t have a client meeting.
Ok, you think to yourself, so what. They went for a few interviews. Can you blame them? You interviewed with Blunderstone, didn’t you? So why should they not be allowed to test the market.
You smile at your open mindedness as you take another look at them chuckling away and firing funny glances around the office.
Damn it, enough of this “love thy fellow banker” shit. You take a dose of reality and remind yourself that these monkeys are probably sitting on offers from top tier rival banks or even a hedge fund or PE shop and here you are, sitting on your loyalty to the firm with diddly squat but your bonus.
You take another dose of reality and reassure yourself that you wouldn’t have even wanted to hold an offer from what are likely the third rate institutions they are going to. You work for the city’s premier investment banking firm. You are the best of the best, and the competition only tries to poach the best (you) and ends up with rest (them). Haha. They couldn’t even get to you, that’s how much of the best of the best you are. Haha you monkeys, chuckling there in your little corners, thinking that the three months of gardening leave and full bonus in your pocket plus the sign on bonus from the firm you jump to plus the possible one year early promotion you are likely to have gotten. Haha, you think you’re special. Well ha, you haven’t got loyalty have you, and as the firm says, you can’t put a price on loyalty.
You stop for another moment and realize that you are consoling yourself for your lack of an offer with the firm’s propaganda. How very, very sad. This means, there is only one thing to do. Shine those hand made shoes (or preferably get someone to do that for you), get a new suit done, new shirts, new tie and start interviewing.
Failsafe Interviewing Techniques for Investment Bankers
Theres a great deal of paranoia when an analyst goes for interviews. This stems from a combination of the fact that ibanks promote a misplaced sense of loyalty to the bank you work for (lets face it, this is not a word that is in an ibankers vocabulary) and the fact that jobs open up and thus interviews happen shortly before bonus time, and no analyst wants to ruin their bonus by being seen as jumping ship (in which case they automatically drop to bottom bucket).
The first interviews are the toughest to deal with. Excuses like dentist, doctor, registered home delivery, plumber, electrician etc are common, and whilst they do arouse some suspicion, they are very plausible things that can happen to everyone.
The difficulty is in coming up with a credible excuse or rather, a set of excuses, when you need to do follow on interviews in a short period of time. Lets face it, three doctors appointments, two visits to the dentist and a broken boiler, fridge and blocked sink in the course of the two week period for you to meet every single member of the team at Goldman who is looking to hire you, is not an option.
Analysts, being the masters of bullshit that they have been trained by their bank to become, have through time developed more elaborate and effective tactics to avoid detection. So here are a few gems for your next interview. Enjoy.
a) Complain about back pains from sitting in front of a pc all day. Ibanks are paranoid about law suits of this kind and will immediately bring in a guy to replace your chair with a more comfy one and adjust the height of your desk so you feel just fine. Keep complaining and you get HR to pay for chiropractist sessions and not only that, but stress to the staffer that this is something he needs to let you take a few times a week. Bingo, you’ve secured yourself the ibanking equivalent of a hall pass.
b) Take up smoking, and go for regular cigarette breaks. Once you have developed a reputation for being away from your desk for the 20 minutes it takes to go down, light up and come back on a regular basis, when you disappear for 40 minutes to grab a quick meeting with a headhunter or interview, everyone will simply assume you are treating yourself to a ciggie and coffee.
c) Another benefit of taking up smoking is that you can catch bad colds when smoking late at night in the cold. Once said cold is established, you get up to two days to do interviews – yes, maybe with a bit of a runny nose, but it works.
d) In their second and third year, what is known as ‘managing analyst syndrome’ kicks in. This is when an analyst has illusions about being something in the banks and starts wearing a suit to work instead of a shirt and chinos. Whilst laughable, this attitude is a perfect smokescreen for going to interviews undetected – when you show up in a suit day after day, it will be much tougher to spot that youre interviewing (and thus wearing a suit) as this will be blamed on ‘managing analyst syndrome’.
For the less proficient interviewees, unexplained (or badly explained) absences, showing up in your best suit and you don’t have a meeting that day, smiling (ok, smiling on a regular basis) are all very good ways to spot a first time interviewee / leaver, so beware.
The first interviews are the toughest to deal with. Excuses like dentist, doctor, registered home delivery, plumber, electrician etc are common, and whilst they do arouse some suspicion, they are very plausible things that can happen to everyone.
The difficulty is in coming up with a credible excuse or rather, a set of excuses, when you need to do follow on interviews in a short period of time. Lets face it, three doctors appointments, two visits to the dentist and a broken boiler, fridge and blocked sink in the course of the two week period for you to meet every single member of the team at Goldman who is looking to hire you, is not an option.
Analysts, being the masters of bullshit that they have been trained by their bank to become, have through time developed more elaborate and effective tactics to avoid detection. So here are a few gems for your next interview. Enjoy.
a) Complain about back pains from sitting in front of a pc all day. Ibanks are paranoid about law suits of this kind and will immediately bring in a guy to replace your chair with a more comfy one and adjust the height of your desk so you feel just fine. Keep complaining and you get HR to pay for chiropractist sessions and not only that, but stress to the staffer that this is something he needs to let you take a few times a week. Bingo, you’ve secured yourself the ibanking equivalent of a hall pass.
b) Take up smoking, and go for regular cigarette breaks. Once you have developed a reputation for being away from your desk for the 20 minutes it takes to go down, light up and come back on a regular basis, when you disappear for 40 minutes to grab a quick meeting with a headhunter or interview, everyone will simply assume you are treating yourself to a ciggie and coffee.
c) Another benefit of taking up smoking is that you can catch bad colds when smoking late at night in the cold. Once said cold is established, you get up to two days to do interviews – yes, maybe with a bit of a runny nose, but it works.
d) In their second and third year, what is known as ‘managing analyst syndrome’ kicks in. This is when an analyst has illusions about being something in the banks and starts wearing a suit to work instead of a shirt and chinos. Whilst laughable, this attitude is a perfect smokescreen for going to interviews undetected – when you show up in a suit day after day, it will be much tougher to spot that youre interviewing (and thus wearing a suit) as this will be blamed on ‘managing analyst syndrome’.
For the less proficient interviewees, unexplained (or badly explained) absences, showing up in your best suit and you don’t have a meeting that day, smiling (ok, smiling on a regular basis) are all very good ways to spot a first time interviewee / leaver, so beware.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Managing Analyst Syndrome
Now that it's bonus time, and every monkey (in many cases quite literally) gets a bonus. From top bucket to the bottom of the pile, a new generation of kids will be a few tens of thousands richer than they were a month ago. Investment banks in a bull market are very much like communist regimes in that sense - they don't really discriminate . Everyone gets a bonus and a pat on the back. The money is coming in, so why not? Sure, the top ranked get a few grand more, but then again, they get taxed more, and work more, so net, net it's all the same for every monkey.
Now here's the problem. When the i-bank does not discriminate between who deserves a bonus and who doesn't, and also, doesn't leave the option of no bonus on the table, every little monkey starts expecting a bonus. It is no longer a bonus, but part of the expected base. Anger, resentment and greed jump in when someone gets a bigger one than you do. Defensiveness or bragging (depending on the extent to which the given analyst lacks cultivation) kick in for the monkey in the top bucket.
In between all this wonderful emotion is born the managing analyst syndrome. It's a rather vile and most primitive manifestation of a junior monkey feeling like they have become a big bad ape by being able to say they're now an analyst 2 and not analyst 1 and can throw £1,000 on a night out. This is very similar to the "MD + Lambo = mid life crisis" syndrome, as the said MD is clearly overcompensating for the fact that when his wife left him (he was still a VP then), she told him he was a lousy father and an even worse lover before slamming the door in his face.
Enough words of wisdom for this beautiful Summer day and back to an i-banker one and only love - the excel spreadsheet.
Now here's the problem. When the i-bank does not discriminate between who deserves a bonus and who doesn't, and also, doesn't leave the option of no bonus on the table, every little monkey starts expecting a bonus. It is no longer a bonus, but part of the expected base. Anger, resentment and greed jump in when someone gets a bigger one than you do. Defensiveness or bragging (depending on the extent to which the given analyst lacks cultivation) kick in for the monkey in the top bucket.
In between all this wonderful emotion is born the managing analyst syndrome. It's a rather vile and most primitive manifestation of a junior monkey feeling like they have become a big bad ape by being able to say they're now an analyst 2 and not analyst 1 and can throw £1,000 on a night out. This is very similar to the "MD + Lambo = mid life crisis" syndrome, as the said MD is clearly overcompensating for the fact that when his wife left him (he was still a VP then), she told him he was a lousy father and an even worse lover before slamming the door in his face.
Enough words of wisdom for this beautiful Summer day and back to an i-banker one and only love - the excel spreadsheet.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Bonuses and Resignations
Bankers, for the most part, can be quite articulate people. It is a true shame that this particular one took seven years at a bulge bracket firm before sharing this talent with the world in a farewell email.
"Dear Co-Workers and Managers,
As many of you probably know, today is my last day. But before I leave, I wanted to take this opportunity to let you know what a great and distinct pleasure it has been to type "Today is my last day."
For nearly as long as I've worked here, I've hoped that I might one day leave this company. And now that this dream has become a reality, please know that I could not have reached this goal without your unending lack of support. Words cannot express my gratitude for the words of gratitude you did not express.
I would especially like to thank all of my managers both past and present but with the exception of the wonderful Sanjeev Hairsprayhead: in an age where miscommunication is all too common, you consistently impressed and inspired me with the sheer magnitude of your misinformation, ignorance and intolerance for true talent. It takes a strong man to admit his mistake - it takes a stronger man to attribute his mistake to me.
Over the past seven years, you have taught me more than I could ever ask for and, in most cases, ever did ask for. I have been fortunate enough to work with some absolutely interchangeable supervisors on a wide variety of seemingly identical projects - an invaluable lesson in overcoming daily tedium in overcoming daily tedium in overcoming daily tedium.
Your demands were high and your patience short, but I take great solace knowing that my work was, as stated on my annual review, "meets expectation." That is the type of praise that sends a man home happy after a 10 hour day, smiling his way through half a bottle of meets expectation scotch with a meets expectation cigar. Thanks Tracy!
And to most of my peers: even though we barely acknowledged each other within these office walls, I hope that in the future, should we pass on the street, you will regard me the same way as I regard you: sans eye contact.
But to those few souls with whom I've actually interacted, here are my personalized notes of farewell:
To Paul, I will not miss hearing you cry over absolutely nothing while laying blame on me and my coworkers. Your racial comments about Jack Cobain were truly offensive and I hope that one day you might gain the strength to apologize to him.
To Brandy whom is long gone, I hope you find a manager that treats you as poorly as you have treated us. I worked harder for you then any manager in my career and I regret every ounce of it. Watching you take credit for my work was truly demoralizing.
To Sarah, you should learn how to keep your mouth shut sweet heart. Bad mouthing the innocent is a negative thing, especially when your talking about someone who knows your disgusting secrets. ; )
To Bill (Mr. Cronyism Jr), well, I wish you had more of a back bone. You threw me to the wolves with that witch Brandy and I learned all too much from it. I still can't believe that after following your instructions, I ended up getting written up, wow. Thanks for the experience buddy, lesson learned.
Dan (Mr. Cronyism Sr), I'm happy that you were let go in the same manner that you have handed down to my dedicated coworkers. Hearing you on the phone last year brag about how great bonuses were going to be for you fellas in upper management because all of the lay offs made me nearly vomit. I never expected to see management benefit financially from the suffering of scores of people but then again, with this company's rooted history in the slave trade it only makes sense.
To all of the executives of this company, Jimmy Dumbass and such. Despite working through countless managers that practiced unethical behavior, racism, sexism, jealousy and cronyism, I have benefited tremendously by working here and I truly thank you for that. There was once a time where hard work was rewarded and acknowledged, it's a pity that all of our positive output now falls on deaf ears and passes blind eyes. My advice for you is to place yourself closer to the pulse of this company and enjoy the effort and dedication of us "faceless little people" more. There are many great people that are being over worked and mistreated but yet are still loyal not to those who abuse them but to the greater mission of providing excellent customer support. Find them and embrace them as they will help battle the cancerous plague that is ravishing the moral of this company.
So, in parting, if I could pass on any word of advice to the lower salary recipient ("because it's good for the company") in India or Tampa who will soon be filling my position, it would be to cherish this experience because a job opportunity like this comes along only once in a lifetime.
Meaning: if I had to work here again in this lifetime, I would sooner kill myself.
To those who I have held a great relationship with, I will miss being your co-worker and will cherish our history together. Please don't bother responding as at this very moment I am most likely in my car doing 85 with the windows down listening to Biggie.
One!"
"Dear Co-Workers and Managers,
As many of you probably know, today is my last day. But before I leave, I wanted to take this opportunity to let you know what a great and distinct pleasure it has been to type "Today is my last day."
For nearly as long as I've worked here, I've hoped that I might one day leave this company. And now that this dream has become a reality, please know that I could not have reached this goal without your unending lack of support. Words cannot express my gratitude for the words of gratitude you did not express.
I would especially like to thank all of my managers both past and present but with the exception of the wonderful Sanjeev Hairsprayhead: in an age where miscommunication is all too common, you consistently impressed and inspired me with the sheer magnitude of your misinformation, ignorance and intolerance for true talent. It takes a strong man to admit his mistake - it takes a stronger man to attribute his mistake to me.
Over the past seven years, you have taught me more than I could ever ask for and, in most cases, ever did ask for. I have been fortunate enough to work with some absolutely interchangeable supervisors on a wide variety of seemingly identical projects - an invaluable lesson in overcoming daily tedium in overcoming daily tedium in overcoming daily tedium.
Your demands were high and your patience short, but I take great solace knowing that my work was, as stated on my annual review, "meets expectation." That is the type of praise that sends a man home happy after a 10 hour day, smiling his way through half a bottle of meets expectation scotch with a meets expectation cigar. Thanks Tracy!
And to most of my peers: even though we barely acknowledged each other within these office walls, I hope that in the future, should we pass on the street, you will regard me the same way as I regard you: sans eye contact.
But to those few souls with whom I've actually interacted, here are my personalized notes of farewell:
To Paul, I will not miss hearing you cry over absolutely nothing while laying blame on me and my coworkers. Your racial comments about Jack Cobain were truly offensive and I hope that one day you might gain the strength to apologize to him.
To Brandy whom is long gone, I hope you find a manager that treats you as poorly as you have treated us. I worked harder for you then any manager in my career and I regret every ounce of it. Watching you take credit for my work was truly demoralizing.
To Sarah, you should learn how to keep your mouth shut sweet heart. Bad mouthing the innocent is a negative thing, especially when your talking about someone who knows your disgusting secrets. ; )
To Bill (Mr. Cronyism Jr), well, I wish you had more of a back bone. You threw me to the wolves with that witch Brandy and I learned all too much from it. I still can't believe that after following your instructions, I ended up getting written up, wow. Thanks for the experience buddy, lesson learned.
Dan (Mr. Cronyism Sr), I'm happy that you were let go in the same manner that you have handed down to my dedicated coworkers. Hearing you on the phone last year brag about how great bonuses were going to be for you fellas in upper management because all of the lay offs made me nearly vomit. I never expected to see management benefit financially from the suffering of scores of people but then again, with this company's rooted history in the slave trade it only makes sense.
To all of the executives of this company, Jimmy Dumbass and such. Despite working through countless managers that practiced unethical behavior, racism, sexism, jealousy and cronyism, I have benefited tremendously by working here and I truly thank you for that. There was once a time where hard work was rewarded and acknowledged, it's a pity that all of our positive output now falls on deaf ears and passes blind eyes. My advice for you is to place yourself closer to the pulse of this company and enjoy the effort and dedication of us "faceless little people" more. There are many great people that are being over worked and mistreated but yet are still loyal not to those who abuse them but to the greater mission of providing excellent customer support. Find them and embrace them as they will help battle the cancerous plague that is ravishing the moral of this company.
So, in parting, if I could pass on any word of advice to the lower salary recipient ("because it's good for the company") in India or Tampa who will soon be filling my position, it would be to cherish this experience because a job opportunity like this comes along only once in a lifetime.
Meaning: if I had to work here again in this lifetime, I would sooner kill myself.
To those who I have held a great relationship with, I will miss being your co-worker and will cherish our history together. Please don't bother responding as at this very moment I am most likely in my car doing 85 with the windows down listening to Biggie.
One!"
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Do monkeys on the trading floor get a better deal
You get asked whether monkeys on the trading floor get a better deal than monkeys in IBD. Interesting. You think for a moment...
A typical junior banker will say that of course a trader didn't get the betetr deal. Come on, they wake up when its still dark, they don't get to make headlines and shape the futures of corporate America, England, Europe or wherever and they are far more likely to suffer from erratic moving eyeball syndrome from being glued to 12 constantly flashign screens which they need to monitor.
Ask the same banker five years later, when they have lost all preconceptions about being a master of the universe, and you will hear the recognition that despite getting up when its still dark, they do get to go home when its light (and not because they're leaving the office at dawn after pulling an all nighter).
Also, the 12 blinking screens are usually coupled with a Lambo or a Ferrari parked outside, so in that light, they don't sound so bad.
Also, you just need to look at the price of Trader Magazine - £10! £10!!!
Last time you checked, Financial News was going for a third of that.
So there's some food for thought.
A typical junior banker will say that of course a trader didn't get the betetr deal. Come on, they wake up when its still dark, they don't get to make headlines and shape the futures of corporate America, England, Europe or wherever and they are far more likely to suffer from erratic moving eyeball syndrome from being glued to 12 constantly flashign screens which they need to monitor.
Ask the same banker five years later, when they have lost all preconceptions about being a master of the universe, and you will hear the recognition that despite getting up when its still dark, they do get to go home when its light (and not because they're leaving the office at dawn after pulling an all nighter).
Also, the 12 blinking screens are usually coupled with a Lambo or a Ferrari parked outside, so in that light, they don't sound so bad.
Also, you just need to look at the price of Trader Magazine - £10! £10!!!
Last time you checked, Financial News was going for a third of that.
So there's some food for thought.
Friday, June 01, 2007
What does £27k mean?
With the month of July slowly approaching, comes the anticipation of the first bonus. Man o man will you not be the envy of all your friends when you wake up on that glorious day in July, get ready for work and check your bank balance at the first ATM and wow. The numbers will go on and on and on and so will the smile on your face, thinking “it’s all worth it!” – that is, until your blackberry starts going off like mad, from the flurry of emails a client starts unleashing.
But that’s looking too far into the future. For the moment, you can just look forward to the cash. As you spend most of your downtime pondering on the cash, you run countless combinations and permutations of what this money really means.
Sounding your buddies at fellow bulge bracket banks, you know you can expect something like £45,000, before Gordon Brown slashes an automatic 40% off.
Ok, so £27,000 is not bad at all!
You can go to Selfridges and buy five Bang & Olufsen TVs (bedroom, dining room, bathroom, kitchen and study) and still have some cash to spare for a night out on the town. You can get yourself half a dozen good tailored suits and have some change for a pair of hand made shoes or two. You can take a long holiday around the world in first class (hehe, if you had the time) and have money to spare when you got back. Ok, you could do loads, but really, what does £27k mean?
Would you pay £27k for a full month of blissful, uninterrupted, mobile-less, blackberry-less holiday time? Sure. Wouldn’t anyone in i-banking. Gladly. You sit down to do the maths and realize the gravity of what you have just said.
But that’s looking too far into the future. For the moment, you can just look forward to the cash. As you spend most of your downtime pondering on the cash, you run countless combinations and permutations of what this money really means.
Sounding your buddies at fellow bulge bracket banks, you know you can expect something like £45,000, before Gordon Brown slashes an automatic 40% off.
Ok, so £27,000 is not bad at all!
You can go to Selfridges and buy five Bang & Olufsen TVs (bedroom, dining room, bathroom, kitchen and study) and still have some cash to spare for a night out on the town. You can get yourself half a dozen good tailored suits and have some change for a pair of hand made shoes or two. You can take a long holiday around the world in first class (hehe, if you had the time) and have money to spare when you got back. Ok, you could do loads, but really, what does £27k mean?
Would you pay £27k for a full month of blissful, uninterrupted, mobile-less, blackberry-less holiday time? Sure. Wouldn’t anyone in i-banking. Gladly. You sit down to do the maths and realize the gravity of what you have just said.
Basically, as an i-banker, you are marginally better off than if you were receiving minimum wage, and not only from an hours point of view, but from a personal willingness to give good money to be left alone point of view.
Ok. Enough of these silly thoughts. You head to the bathrooms to splash cold water on your face and start thinking like an i-banker again.
Reich Bank Equity Research
You are overjoyed to come across an equity research report on one of the companies you ahve been asked to research. Excited by the fact that someone in the research community has done your work for you, and to add to it, in an unbiased and objective way, you start reading...
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Damn, this kid has got issues
So, today is the day HR assigns mentors to analysts in the starting class of 2007. All the bright, starry eyed graduates are in their best suits, in the lobby of the firm’s headquarters, with bright shiny nametags stating the firm name and a big smiling photo of the fresh from university analyst. Little do they know that these smiling photos will serve them as reminders of the life and enthusiasm they once had, when they compare it to the face they see at 4 am in the elevator mirror.
Their shirts are super starched, their shoes are so shiny, you can see your reflection perfectly in them. Everyone has a fresh haircut and looks sharp. First day as an investment banker is a day to impress.
You make your way to the reception area and look through the numerous nametags until you find your assigned mentee. There’s a huge smile on this guy’s face, that you almost want to run up and put on a pair of shades to protect your eyes from the glare coming off his freshly polished teeth. After an overly enthusiastic handshake, you introduce yourself, and learn that it is such a pleasure to meet you. He has always wanted to rub shoulders with the high and mighty investment bankers like yourself. How exciting. You scratch your head, wondering what this kid is on. You certainly don’t have the same level of enthusiasm each morning when you look yourself in the mirror. Sure, you look like an i-banker, you sound like and i-banker, you dress like an i-banker, but so does every other i-banker! As is that a good thing?
Damn. This kid has got issues.
Being asked about how he sees his career moving forward at the firm, the kid breaks into a monologue about how he’s always wanted to work at this firm, with some of the greatest bankers on the street, learning from the best, working with the best, chilling with the coolest, and serving the richest. This is his dream and he’s finally going to live it. Amazing.
You decide to change tact, and ask him about his spare time and what he likes to do with it, as you desperately struggle to find anything you may have in common with this poor misguided kid. You realize, however, this kid has no hope when he tells you that he likes to practice financial modelling in his spare time so that he can be a better analyst when he starts. Weekends? Catching up on all the articles in the week’s Financial Times that he didn’t have time to read.
Ok, change of track once again. You ask him about networking, fitting in and how he sees himself in the firm’s corporate culture and that’s when a ray of light appears. The big smile is replaced with a serious face, as he intimates that this is something he would very gladly have your advice on. He has heard that declaring oneself as a minority banker in whatever way, adds value to you as an asset of the firm, as investment banks are keen on maintaining diversity in the workplace.
He reckons, though, that a single minority is simply not good enough, so he wants your advice on how to do a double combo, slotting himself into two or three categories. His plan, is to become active in two ethnic minority programmes at the firm from day one, and also join the gay and lesbian group organised by HR. What he wants from you – to give an opinion on how “unfireable” this would make him!
So here you go, this kid who has gotten custom designed stripes on his neckties, so that they slope upwards as it’s “a bull market” does have a sense of humour – albeit not being aware of it himself!
Damn, this kid has got issues
Their shirts are super starched, their shoes are so shiny, you can see your reflection perfectly in them. Everyone has a fresh haircut and looks sharp. First day as an investment banker is a day to impress.
You make your way to the reception area and look through the numerous nametags until you find your assigned mentee. There’s a huge smile on this guy’s face, that you almost want to run up and put on a pair of shades to protect your eyes from the glare coming off his freshly polished teeth. After an overly enthusiastic handshake, you introduce yourself, and learn that it is such a pleasure to meet you. He has always wanted to rub shoulders with the high and mighty investment bankers like yourself. How exciting. You scratch your head, wondering what this kid is on. You certainly don’t have the same level of enthusiasm each morning when you look yourself in the mirror. Sure, you look like an i-banker, you sound like and i-banker, you dress like an i-banker, but so does every other i-banker! As is that a good thing?
Damn. This kid has got issues.
Being asked about how he sees his career moving forward at the firm, the kid breaks into a monologue about how he’s always wanted to work at this firm, with some of the greatest bankers on the street, learning from the best, working with the best, chilling with the coolest, and serving the richest. This is his dream and he’s finally going to live it. Amazing.
You decide to change tact, and ask him about his spare time and what he likes to do with it, as you desperately struggle to find anything you may have in common with this poor misguided kid. You realize, however, this kid has no hope when he tells you that he likes to practice financial modelling in his spare time so that he can be a better analyst when he starts. Weekends? Catching up on all the articles in the week’s Financial Times that he didn’t have time to read.
Ok, change of track once again. You ask him about networking, fitting in and how he sees himself in the firm’s corporate culture and that’s when a ray of light appears. The big smile is replaced with a serious face, as he intimates that this is something he would very gladly have your advice on. He has heard that declaring oneself as a minority banker in whatever way, adds value to you as an asset of the firm, as investment banks are keen on maintaining diversity in the workplace.
He reckons, though, that a single minority is simply not good enough, so he wants your advice on how to do a double combo, slotting himself into two or three categories. His plan, is to become active in two ethnic minority programmes at the firm from day one, and also join the gay and lesbian group organised by HR. What he wants from you – to give an opinion on how “unfireable” this would make him!
So here you go, this kid who has gotten custom designed stripes on his neckties, so that they slope upwards as it’s “a bull market” does have a sense of humour – albeit not being aware of it himself!
Damn, this kid has got issues
