Old tuxedos? Strange food in the executive kitchen? It’s a wonder he’s even allowed into the building let alone considered for the role of Wall Street spokesman
Earlier today, Bloomberg ran a lengthy piece about the latest crisis on Wall Street: a lack of Jamie Dimon. Specifically, a lack of Jamie Dimon telling meddlesome regulators, anti-industry populists, know-nothing Congressmen, and hypocrite bastard newspapers where they can go and what they can suck. True, it’s not as though he’s gone anywhere, and he’s still reminding people “it’s a free fucking country” but “juggling multiple investigations and a $5.8 billion trading loss on wrong-way bets on credit derivatives” has left his hands a little tied and, some believe, cost him his once untouchable “stature” in the industry.
And while one should never simply offer problems without solutions, Bloomberg isn’t gonna sugarcoat this one: when it comes to “any kind of credible statesmen” to step in for JD, Wall Street is shit out of luck and not just because no one besides Lloyd came close in sales of their respective Bankers At Work And Play pin-up calendars. Among current CEO’s, Lloyd Blankfein, Brian Moynihan and Vikram Pandit are deemed too busy “fixing their own firms or repairing their reputations,” while Wells Fargo chief John Stumpf, though respected among his peers, is ruled out due to geography (“Part of Jamie’s fitting into that role was his natural brashness as a Wall Streeter and New Yorker, and that is not John”).
But hey, what about that James Gorman guy? Runs Morgan Stanley, is based in New York, has been known to put a foot up an ass when necessary? Don’t even get Bloomberg started.
James Gorman, 54…doesn’t fit the Wall Street titan stereotype. The Australian prefers a rumpled tuxedo he bought as a business school student in 1980 to Armani for black- tie events, and he stocks Vegemite in the executive kitchen.
Or maybe perhaps all that makes him perfect for the gig? The way we see it, Jim Gorman doesn’t have the time or patience for fancy extras like unwrinkled suits and burgers made from foie gras-fed cows. All he cares about is not taking shit, or prisoners. Someone asks him, “What is this Vegemite stuff,” he knocks their two front teeth out. You suggest maybe he could have ironed his shirt before that gala, he takes out that iron and smashes you in the face with it. You want a worthy successor for the job, you’ve got him.