The dumb ones, maybe, for following the money in the first place, for selling sleep and youth for cash-in-hand and expensive face products designed to make it look like you didn’t.
But getting your priorities wrong doesn’t necessarily make you the devil incarnate.
"Dating a Banker Anonymous," a self-help blog for women whose relationships have gone sour with the economic downturn, states in its introduction that it is a "safe place" that is "free from the scrutiny of feminists." Of course, once you've been featured in the —-sad, beautiful group photo and all—-you're no longer free from scrutiny from anybody.And so, as a feminist given to scrutiny, I saw the line as an invitation to net some quick and dirty blog content. You know, the kind that’s hand-crushed from virgin sea algae and is valued at about €50 a squirt? His job, or more accurately his life, went thus: Wake up. Free fancy face products can only go so far, after all, and I decided to call it a day. The cocktails and clubs, and zipping about overpriced, blinging restaurants in expensive world capitals! (Note: this may not be common to all investment bankers, but this particular IB stocked some kick-ass moisturiser in his otherwise empty apartment. His eternal absence took its toll – I took it as a warning signal when I began to count his secretary among my closest correspondents – and we parted ways most amicably, if over the phone (I couldn’t pin him down to a face-to-face, what with the markets how they were).She then contacted a lawyer and learned that she could have shielded her identity by instead writing the name of a trust.
The New Hampshire resident says she made a huge mistake and hasn't turned in the ticket yet.The feminist line comes as a half-serious inward jab—-like the lamentation at a halved "monthly Bergdorf’s allowance," it is a joke that reveals a deeper worry.And yet, as I paged through the blog's entries, I had a hard time pinning down a feminist critique of the project.Sure, a spoiled girlfriend who whines that she can no longer dine nightly at Manhattan's finest restauraunts is an obnoxious narrator to guide us through this recession.But don't claim it's the "feminists" who are bringing you down, girlfriend.It wasn’t the addiction to sleeping pills or the series of failed relationships that set the alarm bells ringing.