It's about the Dating a Banker Anonymous (DABA) Support Group, which started out as a kinda sorta joke, but now, apparently, has earned the gals involved a book deal. It's hard to sum up their predicament, but I'll pull a paragraph from the article, and try:
Once it was seen as a blessing in certain circles to have a wealthy, powerful partner who would leave you alone with the credit card while he was busy brokering deals. Now, many Wall Street wives, girlfriends and, increasingly, exes, are living the curse of cutbacks in nanny hours and reservations at Masa or Megu. And that credit card? Canceled.With Wall Street falling on hard times, the high living wives, girlfriends and mistresses of Wall Streeters are finding that the little ultra-luxuries of life, like $750 bottles of champagne, just aren't flowing as freely.
They're depressed. They didn't marry / date / fornicate their way into these relationships just to be left with a high upper middle class lifestyle. These guys just aren't cutting it. And to top it off, a lot of the guys are topping it - y'know, kicking the bucket at an early age from stress-related natural causes, like heart attacks, stroke, and accidental discharges of Glock .40s into the frontal lobe.
So what's a gal to do? Why, form an online support group blog, put on the perfect little black dress, and head out and get hammered, and complain about her sorry lot in life to her friends.
You see, there's always a way out... out to an exclusive club in Manhattan!
On the one hand, I feel some sympathy. I know what it's like to have ups and downs, particularly financial ups and downs.
On the other hand, I'm laughing my butt off. I know that's cruel of me, but even living deep in the heart of my middle middle class schlubdom, I know three or five things.
1) Life isn't just like Sex in the City, even if you sleep around, look hot in your Jimmy Choos, or marry a wealthy jerk. The story arc of your life isn't predestined to have a happy ending at the end of each hour, and acting like it is, is a sure way to get yourself into trouble. The only things that give you inherent value are things like a soul, character, and love, and maybe faith and family if you believe in them. Handbags, cosmopolitans and nice shoes don't show up on your life's final balance sheet, even if they do show up on the balance sheet when you file Chapter 11. But bankruptcy court ain't life - though it's going to be your life for a while if this is how you live.
2) It's churlish to complain about how once you were super duper super wealthy, but now you're only super duper wealthy. Seriously. It looks really stupid and pathetic. Upset because you don't get helicoptered out to the Hamptons any longer? Bummer, dude. But really, how out of whack do you have to be to thinkthat a slight drop in status for the super wealthy - even if you're one of the super wealthy - really matters? Four words: starving people in Africa.
3) If the loss of a few millions has you questioning the grounds on which your relationship is based, then you aren't a wife or girlfriend, you are an independent contractor. I'll leave it at that, and hope that your ex-husband / boyfriend gave you a 1099 before stepping in front of the E train, otherwise the IRS is going to be pissed. No, I'm not joking; I think the conclusion is fair, based on this:
To be honest, I’m only with my BF because I just don’t have the heart to change my facebook status from “in a relationship” to “I ain’t saying I’m a gold digger, but I ain’t messin’ with no broke banker.”Well, she isn't saying it, but I will. Gold digger!
4) I am clearly not the average NY Times reader. I suspect this is an intensely interesting story for regular Times readers. For me, it's more like an exceptionally well-written and dry story out of the Onion.