We wonder if there is a direct relationship between the performance of investment banks and the public image of investment bankers. A few years ago, New York's major publishing houses were fighting each other in a desperate bidding war for the rights to publish Dana Vachon's Mergers & Acquisitions: A Love Story. (And, before the last financial crisis of this magnitude, Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby was narrated by a young man who came to New York to work in investment banking.) But now all the sad young literary men have turned against investment banking, regarding it as perhaps the lowest occupation available to educated people. Lower, even, than television writers.

Here's a guy who actually wrote a novel called All The Sad Young Literary Men lamenting that many of his college friends never became anything that counts. Instead, they became investment bankers.

Even worse than the temporary psychological distortion is, as [Dean of Columbia Journalism School Nick] Lemann argued in “The Big Test,” the permanent sense of entitlement the admissions game provides. Winners can plausibly claim they participated in a brutal competition (even if many potential competitors were never told about it). So we owe no one anything. Many of the people I went to school with became doctors, public advocates, television writers who bring laughter to the American people. But most of them became, like my friend who believed that getting into Harvard was the hardest thing in life, investment bankers. We meritocrats have not, generally speaking, used our fantastic test-taking abilities to build a more equitable world. In fact, buoyed by a sense of the fairness of the process, we may have done the reverse.

Being otherwise detained last evening and unable to attend, we found the only assholes in New York who weren't participating in the greatest spectator of all time, i.e. PocketChangeNYC's Speed Date II, for "Sugar Mamas and Boy Toys"...and sent them to watch. This is their recap.

The evening started off as any other, 4 guys tenting for some poon - what was different was what we were after. The patina of time had rendered this particular target as soft as cordovan and the flavor as intense as Peter Lugers finest prime. Tonight was going to be glorious, not easy, but glorious nonetheless. As any successful hunter knows, the lure has to be tailored to match the prey - in this case, we were armed with a near encyclopedic knowledge of the contemporary art scene, latest Palm Beach fashions, and the bat-phone numbers of the best cosmetic artists in the city. Or so we thought.

Alright so there’s a slight clarification to be made to the story about the mother trying to peddle her son’s ass out to rich older women. Suzanne, the mom who really wanted her son Alex to at least be afforded the opportunity to become the sex slave of someone old enough to be his—wait for it—mother, didn’t actually give birth to Alex. She’s just his stepmother (more on that later). Yesterday, Big S placed a second call to PocketChangeNYC organizers, who weren’t yet entirely convinced they should make room for the kid at Thursday’s event, considering all slots were filled while he hemmed and hawed about forking over the fifty dollar entrance fee. Suzanne remains so certain that Alex’s participation in the singular awesomeness that is an evening of matchmaking between sugar mamas and boy toys under time constraint that she and her husband are willing to pay the $50 themselves, provided Alex is allowed to be whored out like everyone else. Suzanne adds at the end, as I guess her “final plea” or whatever, that she hopes they’ll reconsider, if for no other reason than the fact that she’s not Alex’s biological mother, and “part of the reason [she’d] really like him to be able to go is because it would cause her* so much agony.” Presumptuous insinuations about what sort of scenarios would or wouldn’t pain Alex’s real mom (who knows, perhaps this is exactly the sort of thing she’s always dreamed of for her baby boy), I have to say, we’re sold. And also that I hope to one day be so lucky as to have stepchildren at my disposal through which I can carry out vindictive but hilarious schemes that speak to my severe psychological problems. Additionally, and this is just me talking crazy, but I can’t help thinking there’s something going on between these two. Now that it's printed as fact through the magic of the Internet, feel free to embellish on this incontrovertible truth and disseminate widely.

Message From Stepmom

Earlier: That Cougar Will Feel Like She's Sixteen Again When MY Son Is Banging Her, THIS MUCH I PROMISE YOU

*"her" = biological mom, if you were confused.

It's probably a safe assumption that many of the male participants in Thursday's speed dating event, earnestly taking part in this horrifically embarrassing but very entertaining spectator sport, have some sort of mother issue that is manifesting itself in their desire to be made the kept boys of much older women. But you have to wonder how many of them have gotten their actual mothers (and not their seasoned girlfriends) involved. Three? Four? Half the field? Or is Alex S., pictured here, the only one who, after taking too long to submit his profile because he didn't want to pay the $50 entrance fee (which his new older lady friend surely would've recouped him for later), and was told all slots had sold out, had his mother call the organizers, begging them to reconsider the gross oversight of her little boy? For the love of humanity, I certainly hope not.

Message From Mom [audio clip]

Well, I spoke to 1-2, who's taking the day off from work to recover from his date with 'girl' (kidding, he always takes Fridays off, sometimes Mondays, too, and every other Wednesday, and the second and fourth Tuesdays of each month). On the one hand, it sounds like they had a nice little first date. On the other, 1-2 didn't give me shit! Honestly, the whole experience (the recap, not the date) was like pulling teeth. I get that he has to "play it cool" and "respect" her by not kissing and telling but John Francis Carney III, Esquire! show me some freaking gratitude. I brought you two together, I facilitated this whole thing. I'm not asking you scream out my name in the throes of passion (though people often do) or let me babysit the kids but show a little leg for god's sake.

So. If anyone has a problem with the lack of entertainment value after the jump, take it up with 3-4, not me. The next time DealBreaker gets involved in the love lives of our readers, you can bet there'll be a contractual obligation for explicit details and video footage. To that end, as soon as the editing is completed, we'll be posting the results of commenter anal_yst's date with commenter anal_yst. You will not be disappointed, this much I promise you.

DBBL (1:37:57 PM): ok so you met at the smith

DBBL (1:37:59 PM): what time

1-2 (1:38:03 PM): 830

DBBL (1:38:09 PM): who got there first

1-2 (1:38:22 PM): she did

DBBL (1:38:32 PM): were you late?

1-2 (1:38:46 PM): nah, i got there at like 832

DBBL (1:38:50 PM): ok

DBBL (1:38:59 PM): did you do any pre-date rituals beforehand?

Last night '1-2' and 'girl' went on their much anticipated date, which the latter half of the couple disinvited me to, bitch (love ya! mean it!). (Having already received several sizeable donations to the Hotel Room Fund prior to the ix-naying of the reat-gay dea-iay, we sent anal_yst to the W for a romantic evening with himself, which we'll get to later). So far all I've heard is that they had dinner at The Smith, "randomly" popped into Amsterdam Billiards to play pool, and finished things off at Kiss and Fly. And also that "poor 1-2 woke up at like ten this morning."

Speaking of courtesanship, we have two new studs to add to our stable of boy toys! Nick is a 25 year-old self-described "senior financial analyst" who uses Hotmail. Stephan is a 24 year-old investment banker and, according to Bloomberg, based in Hong Kong. Is his listing out of date, or is Stephan flying in for what should prove to be an amazing evening, for all involved (I seriously cannot wait for the 7th)? I like to think the latter.

I would say I’m offering up these two gems because it’s the weekend and we all deserve something special (me especially) but let’s be honest, even if you hadn’t earned it, it’d take gale force winds to stop me from sending these latest boy toys out into the universe. First up we have Gary, who is the logical extension of Tanner, in that Tanner was a towel boy and Gary loves to stand in still bodies of water. Gary is 29 and a commodities trader. Next is Monte, a 27 year old analyst who legitimately looks like a member of the Hitler Youth. Now I know I say that about a lot of people, but this time it’s true. Which is ironic, because Monte is employed by an insurer founded by Jews. Yes, it’s like Stalag 17 all over again.

Earlier today, we gave you a taste of the latest toy seeking kept-boy status as part of PocketChangeNYC's upcoming (2/7!) speed dating event for "rich older women and hot younger men." This particular BT was a lacrosse playing derivatives broker named Tom. Not bad on the eyes, and appeared to have a summer share down the shore which equalled points in Blarney's book. Later, Tom contacted us to express his displeasure at seeing the photos he'd sent to PCNYC up on our site. And then he contacted us again. And then he contacted us a third time. Below is the transcript.

From: [redacted]

To: tips@dealbreaker.com

Sent: Wednesday, January 23, 2008 4:36 PM

Subject: DealBreaker Tip

Who can I talk to about removing the post “just me and my lax stick kicking it tonight?” I don’t know where this came from but would like it to be removed.
______________________________________________________________________

I'll be the first to admit that we haven't exactly had our priorities in line around here. Too much time spent focussing on the market crashing and not enough on the stuff that really matters, like a speed dating event for Sugar Mamas and Boy Toys, and whether or not a tube top is appropriate attire for Ron Blarney's next appearance on CNBC. The latter we can check off the list right now: it is (tube tops can be casual yet serious, and slutty without being skanky, making them the perfect choice, especially for RB's shoulders). With that out of the way, let's move on to scrutinizing today's 18-35 year old male toy. He's a 26 year old derivatives broker named Tom, and even if not everyone in the audience gets down with co-ed naked rape, I think we can all agree that the strategically placed lacrosse stick is a nice touch, as is the red solo cup, and the towel on the couch. Basically, what I'm getting at, is that none of you are too good to pass up a weekend at what appears to be Tom's summer share (in Long Beach?), and if you'd like, I'll put you in touch. (Later in the show, we'll spotlight a eunuch from Citigroup, information we know on account of the fact that in posing for photos, he took a cue from towel boy Tanner, and then took it one step further. No athletic equipment to speak of but good lighting and cool novelty sunglasses. )

-- Steven A. Cohen in Stamford, Ct., contributed to this report.

Earlier this afternoon I was performing my daily task of scrutinizing pics of the males taking part in PocketChangeNYC's speed dating event for "Rich Older Women and Hot Young Men (Sugar Mamas and Boy Toys)," AKA The Saddest Story Ever Told/The Greatest Spectator Sport Of All Time (if enough of you agree to show up on the 7th to watch, they'll consider bringing in bleachers). Unfortunately for me, today's batch of applicants were about as exciting as proxy access. No pool cleaners, no horses, NO CRUSHED VELVET. I was considering writing to PCNYC to vent my frustrations vis-a-vis their paint drying BTs but decided to retract my claws and give them one more chance (I've lately been taking my cues from Little Bunny Foo Foo's F.G., except the shit about field mice, because those assholes have it coming), when I came across something that can only be described as smelling like Eau de Hunter, i.e. FISHY.

A 33 year old toy claiming to be "Mike Darda," an economist with MKM Partners and CNBC commentator, enclosed five photos. The first three were all of him on CNBC, which I thought was a little weird and narcissistic and not necessarily an attribute I'd assign a "boy toy," who's supposed to be the submissive one that gets told what to do. But I reasoned that maybe he didn't have any recent photographs of himself and besides, he looked pretty attractive in the screenshots-- essential to his success at the event. Then I scrolled down to pics 4 and 5. Imagine my surprise and downright horror to find that the chappie* in the last two were decidedly NOT Mike Darda. I forwarded them to a few people who confirmed that I was not crazy (in this specific instance only), and that the five shots were definitely of two different dudes. But why would somebody do that? Steal a CNBC commentator's identity to gain entry to a dating service? And then fuck it up by including two different faces? Or was the application actually submitted by Mike Darda, and he added a couple pictures of a less attractive dude, relatively speaking, to come off as what? Less intimidating to the senior citizens?

I had to shut off my computer and walk out of the room. I needed to get away from the notion that someone would take something so innocent and pure like a speed dating event for rich old women and hot young men and taint it with some sort of sick game. Now, several hours later, I still don't understand. I'm hoping that it was just a case of incompetence on the part of PCNYC, and two applicants' portfolios got mixed. But I'm not holding my breath. If you have any ideas, preferably ones that'll talk me off the ledge, I implore you to share them now.

--Jewish Nancy Drew, DealBreaker correspondent.

*male form of "chippie"

Speaking of dating, let's revisit PocketChangeNYC's upcoming speed dating event for "Rich Older Women and Hot Young Men (Sugar Mamas and Boy Toys)." Female participants must be over be over 35 and qualify (with documented proof) on at least one of the following financial criteria: $500k+ salary, $4mm+ liquid assets, $4mm+ entrusted assets, $4mm+ divorce settlement, plus pay a $500 event fee. Males are required to provide five headshots to be judged for beauty, be under 35, and pay a $50 event fee. I told you guys/old ladies to get out there and sign up and represent DB. Some of you did. Good work. For those guys not interested in being subsidized by mom or ladies not looking for a hot younger man to smack around because you make the money and that makes you the boss, your loss. But you can still participate from the sidelines. Apparently there's some sort of voting component that lets anyone, even DealBreaker readers, vote for their favorite SM or BT. Each day we'll be looking at few of the candidates. Yesterday you got a peak at towel boy, and we also asked who you wanted to see next, The Horse Whisperer or Claus von Bülow in-training. 55.6 percent voted for Claus but we're feeling giving today SO YOU GET BOTH. THW is 26 and an investment banker at a tiny bulge bracket. Claus is 34, which we're not sure qualifies him as a "boy toy" but whatevs, and an analyst at "a full service investment bank." He's also very good at staring intently at something to the right of the camera, and coordinated enough to hold a beverage while doing so. POINTS.

Boys: have you recently been fired but would like to maintain the lifestyle your soul-sapping though highly lucrative career in finance has afforded you up until this point (all former Citi employees should be nodding yes, and if you’re not, I feel sorry for you and your delusions)? Or maybe you’re gainfully employed at the moment, but just goddamn sick and tired of Excel and every day for the last three weeks (months/years) you’ve been spending the hours between 2 and 5 daydreaming about a life that doesn’t so closely resemble Hell, and in that daydream you’ve quit your job but still been able to afford that sweet apartment in Murray Hill as a result of your new, more fulfilling career as a kept boy. Ladies: are you both loaded and looking for A, but want it in the form of a hot younger man who you can smack around because you make the money and that makes you the boss? I may have something that might interest you (all of you).

Remember that “Natural Selection Speed Dating” event from last year? The unique opportunity to find love in under an hour, provided you were a rich man or, alternatively, a very attractive woman? It’s back for more, but the terms have been changed slightly. In ’07, the females were required to provide five headshots to be judged for beauty, and were not allowed to provide any additional information, like “great personality!”. In ’08, the females are required to: be over 35 and qualify (with documented proof) on at least one of the following financial criteria: $500k+ salary, $4mm+ liquid assets, $4mm+ entrusted assets, $4mm+ divorce settlement, plus pay a $500 event fee. In ’07, the males had to do the same. In ’08, the males are required to provide five headshots to be judged for beauty, be under 35, and pay a $50 event fee. The event is dubbed as “A Speed Date for Rich Women and Hot Men (Sugar Mamas and Boy Toys),” and obviously it’s taking place at 230 Fifth.

And obviously I think the good looking boys/rich old ladies in the Dealbreaker audience should submit applications and represent. Hey, idea. If at least one or two of you promise to send in your portfolios (financial or modeling, depending on your gender of choice), later today I’ll post pics of those who’ve already applied. I can’t decide if we should start with the prop trader who sent in an artsy photo of himself coming out of the shower, or the i-banker posing with a horse. I’ve got some thinking to do.

Earlier: 'Natural Selection Speed Date'
'Natural Selection Speed Date': The Applicants

Apply for this year! [Pocket Change NYC]

Martha Raye & Mark Harris [Anecdotage]
Mark Harris on Howard Stern Show [YouTube]

What drives banks to move in herds? In the late nineties we saw a number of venerable so-called Wall Street institutions flee lower Manhattan for midtown. Now it seems that investment banks are clustering around the World Trade Center site. Today a bit of a debate has broken out across the internets about why these headquartering trends occur.

John Gapper of the Financial Times kicks things off by noticing the rapid development of West Kowloon, in Hong Kong. This seems to be developing into the prime alternative financial site, something like the local equivalent of London's Canary Wharf. He proposes two theories. First, it seems the banks are seeking to take advantage of cheap rents. And, indeed, there was a time before it became a financial center when Canary Wharf was a considered a colossal failure. But vacancies and lower rents helped lure many firms away from the City and now it's thriving.

[More after the jump.]

Important reading for those of you out there who haven’t yet realized that there’s this way to circumvent being played by gold diggers called NOT BUYING THEM SHIT (and not dating girls you meet at Marquee) in this week’s TONY. Columnist Julia Allison interviewed three guys who’ve shed countless tears over ladies who they thought were really into them “for them” until it was revealed that those harpies were just using the dudes for their money. Before we go on, let’s just take a second to really let what must’ve been excruciating pain wash over us. If we hurt so badly just reading about this, imagine how it must’ve felt for them? Let’s all light a candle that we never have to experience this particular sort of agony firsthand. Let’s also try and learn from the mistakes of idiots—too much?—who came before us. Once dating optimists, Keith, Anon and Tim have been hardened by women who duped them into thinking that the hours the girls logged on their backs (knees, stomachs, heads) weren’t 150% contingent on the fact that they were getting shiny gifts in exchange for their time which is CRAZY because K, A and T sound like pretty sweet dudes with awesome personalities! KAT has since wised up and devised a bunch of genius offensive tactics for dealing with these (for pay) sluts and, of course, for safeguarding their hearts.

Keith, 27, a former investment banker, avoids gold diggers by “talking about [his] favorite vintage of boxed wine, or international affairs” and asking them brain busters like “What is the chemical composition of pyrite?” Obviously, iron sulfide is Keith’s litmus test because it is used to make costume jewelry. If a prospective girlfriend (PG) provides the correct structure, which is one atom of iron for every two atoms of sulfur, she is summarily dismissed, because her mineral knowledge is clearly indicative of the fact that she’s educated herself on how to spot crap, and has a predilection for from bailing on men who have the audacity to offer her anything less than diamonds. If a PG says, “Is that like a pirate?” Keith takes her home to mom.

Anonymous, thirtysomething banker, avoids these types of women by performing on site inspections. He “checks a girl’s closet, since not only does it give you a sense of her style but if it’s filled with stuff like Gucci and she has a mediocre job, then chalk it up as a good night of fun and exit.” And if it’s full of fake Gucci? Pat yourself on the back because you my friend have found yourself one cheap whore! If any of you out there have been on the fence about whether or not letting out your inner gay sociopath is a good idea, I hope Anonymous has given you the assurance that it is and you should.

Tim, 26, has what seems to be the best tactic for steering clear of a gold digger: he “avoids them by not wearing nice clothes…and [not going to] certain spots, like Tenjune and Pastis.” Because he has no job, and therefore, no money. We think this is a great idea, because you can protect yourself from getting used, and, also, watch TV all day, provided your roommates are paying the Time Warner bill. 650 Bear Stearns (former) employees are testing out this approach as we speak; (we hear) 100,000 Citigroup will soon have the chance to do the same.

Cash Advances [Time Out New York]

Forget about subprime write-downs and executive ousters for a moment. For a real glance at how the biggest names on Wall Street are doing, take a look inside the executive dining rooms. Or, if you can’t actually get into the executive dining room, check out the website of New York City’s department of hygiene.

It’s one of the grand egalitarian truths of our city that even powerful Wall Street firms are subject to inspection by government health bureaucrats. And their latest inspections reveal that Bear Stearns has one of the cleanest food facilities on the Street. Inspectors there found no violations. Citi, however, is not as fortunate. It scored 8 violation points for failing to keep cold food cold enough. Lehman Brothers did even worse, with 14 violation points.

But it looks like Wall Street is cleaning up its act. Earlier this year, inspectors found truly rank conditions at Citi, Lehman and Bear Stearns, where violations were two or three times as great as they are now.

Behind Closed Doors: Bear Maintaining, Citi Falling Apart [Hygenie.com]

Earlier: You Are A Dirty, Dirty Bank

Wall Street is a place of legendary stress. And legendary techniques for stress relief. Jim Cramer was once famous for smashing computer key boards. John Mack used to pulverize telephones. We once had an M&A bigshot throw an entire telephone console at us. There are therapists who specialize in dealing with the stresses of life in finance.

And, of course, there are drugs. Lots of drugs. New York City is famously awash in drugs these days. In fact, just the other day a journalist asked us to put her in touch with “Wall Street types who smoke a lot of pot.” We don’t know exactly how to take the assumption that we know about these things but we couldn’t help her anyway. Most of the folks we know prefer their recreation in other forms.

According to an article in the newly businessy BusinessWeek, the use of hard drugs is greatly diminished from the days of yore. And it’s all the fault of Wharton. Or something.

While Wall Street still has its rough edges, the culture is far more straitlaced today than in past eras. "It's more institutionalized," says one hedge fund manager. It's no longer acceptable to deal with your stress by hurling a computer on the floor or by indulging in drink, drugs, or alcohol. As a practical matter, the threat of a lawsuit is much higher than before. And traders are generally a more professional group than in past decades. "There weren't as many Wharton MBAs on the scene during the 80s," says the fund manager, who spoke on condition that he not be identified.

Today, when drugs are employed against stress, they're more likely to be the prescription variety. Another hedge fund manager, speaking on condition of anonymity, says he has been taking antidepressants for years. While his work didn't cause his depression, it can exacerbate it. That can lead to a modification in medication or work habits. He once even closed a particularly troublesome fund at the urging of his wife, who said it was leading to severe stress that was affecting his behavior and disrupting their marriage.

There certainly are a lot more people in finance putting on the Ritz and taking the A-Train—that is, taking Ritalin and Adderall—than there were in the days before the little pills that could were invented. But is usage of the hard stuff really down as far as the article claims? If so, then Wall Street must have been under a permanent blizzard in those days.

Gives new meaning to the idea of not trusting anyone over forty. They’re probably a drug addict.

Stressed Out on Wall Street [Business Week]

So the lawyer representing Chris Carter, who we noted the other day might’ve been freed of his responsibilities at Maxim Investments Group, just called to say that it was “reckless” of us to state that his client had been “fired,” because, he says, it isn’t true. He “demanded” that we print a “corrective article” (check) and then took us to task for “harm[ing] or attempt[ing] to harm Mr. Carter’s professional reputation and activities.” Now, we take full responsibility for passing along what apparently turned out (so far) to be an incorrect bit of information (though we’ll add that Maxim didn’t think enough of Carter to deny the rumor when we called for comment), but the assertion that we damaged the reputation of the guy who, after telling fellow Equinox spinning classmate Stuart Sugarman, who was audibly working out at the time, to “quiet down,” “shut the fuck up,” and “seriously, shut the fuck up,” threw the unquiet rider, still seated on his bike, into a wall? That’s a bit rich. We wish we had that kind of power.

Earlier: Did Taking A Stand Against People Who Audibly Work Out Cost One Broker His Job?

It has been traditional for quite some time for those leaving investment banks to send an email to their colleagues on the day of their departure. The messages typically follow-up a standard format: announce the departure, wish well to others, praise mentors at the firm, perhaps indicate the next job and provide contact information. They are, in a word, boring. And usually get read—or, well, glanced at—briefly before being deleted.

But every now and then an investment banker decides to aim a little higher. Or, perhaps, lower. Over the past few years we’ve seen the development of a counter-genre to the Boring Leaving Email. Call it the Fed-Up genre. Or, less politely, the Fuck-Off email. Some of these, such as our own Keith Hahn’s email to colleagues at JP Morgan, become internationally circulated. (The counter-genre is so well known that frequently fake FO emails get circulated.)

Yesterday we reported on the latest FO email making the rounds, from a banking analyst at UBS in New York. Over-worked and under-appreciated, Jonathan Napier Maudlin decided he had had enough and wasn’t going to take it anymore. At 7:03 in the morning, after spending the night toiling away in his cubicle, he launched an email to seventeen or so of his colleagues at UBS announcing “I’m leaving the bank now.”

The letter went on to describe his job at the bank as “mindless text editing, copy and pasting, and getting yelled at for stuff other people can't/won't/don't do.” The job simply was “not worth doing,” he wrote. “There is no happiness here.”

Last night, Maudlin told DealBreaker that the relentless workload had pushed him over the edge.

“After my 120th hour this week on the job, I decided to peace out. I hadn't had a day off in three weeks (day off meaning a Saturday or Sunday either), and I got yelled at at 6 in the morning,” he said.

The email concludes with a note of finality. “I took all my personal stuff. No one needs to contact me for anything (except for a drink for those of you with my personal number). I will only be at my New York address a few days longer,” Maudlin wrote.

The email quickly circulated among investment bankers, as they forwarded it to colleagues with their own comments. Many sympathized with the sentiments of Maudlin says.

“Well said,” one person who forwarded the email wrote. “Note day of week and time email was sent.”

Banks discourage employees from sending out these FO emails. Often, they violate the email policies that banks try to make workers adhere too. Unfortunately, given the sentiments of those who are inspired to write such emails, such policies have little effect. In his post-script, Maudlin notes that his email probably violates UBS’s policies.

I'll be waiting for some smart-ass associate to send a ‘best-practice e-mail for how to quit properly,’” he writes. “I will be sure to keep your tips in mind.”

The full email is reprinted after the jump.

"Hairy Day" Illustration via BiffSniff.

Andrew Krucoff is a notorious internet troublemaker. In the last couple of years, he’s served time interviewing young New Yorkers for Gothamist, crashing parties for Gawker, getting fired by Conde Nast and editing the web site of the 92nd Street Y. He also runs a blog called Young Manhattanite, which an eclectic mix of stories of his adventures in New York and essays on his various enthusiasms and objects of his derision.

Recently he headed off to Eastern Europe, leaving Young Manhattanite in the hands of a female friend named Dana. In one item posted on Friday, Dana describes a trip to “the Riverhead,” a strip club in Long Island City. After Krucoff leaves her side to pursue some sort of exchange with the eastern European employees of the club, Dana runs into two young men she describes as “two jackass I-bankers, the likes of which I've never seen at the Riverhead.”

After the jump, Dana learns where the investment banking duo earned their stripes, and how they wound up in a strip club in Long Island City.

It’s come to our attention, via logging on to www.bloomberg.com, that a pair of men’s shoes is being sold not 0.2 miles from DB HQs for $725—bedazzled with a silver skull and crossbones. Brought to you by 127-year-old British shoemaker Barker Ltd., the design on the sumptuous leather loafer is a throwback to the insignia “of the 17th Lancers, a British regiment of dauntless dandies from a long-gone era.'' A dandy is a man who is excessively concerned about his clothes and appearance; a fop. The subtext here is that this man is gay.

Kent Kilroe, a broker who lives in the East Village and admits to owning multiple pairs, says he was seduced by both the emblem and comfort. While researching Barker, Derrick Miller “fell in love with the logo.” Bloomberg writer and Barker apologist Jeremy Gerard says that the skull and c-bones are as inconspicuous as “a horse bit or interlocking G’s.” The assumption that showy Gucci loafers are any less offensive is troubling.

A friend of DealBreaker well-versed in the sartorial inclinations of men who work in finance and men who work in finance in general claims that she “would totally do a guy wearing Barker Black shoes, but wouldn’t expect other people to take him seriously.” The well-heeled harpies over at Fashionista.com estimate that “these shoes are for men who can't slaughter or pirate in the boardroom, and so they must try and do so in their closet instead. Don't do it.” You’ve probably gleaned our opinion on the matter. Yours?

For $725, Skull-and-Crossbone Loafers Whisper Cachet, Comfort [Bloomberg]