Leveraged Sell-Out guide on how to bed an intern
I like my women like I like my loafers: expensive, fit, and more often than not, with a bit of bling around their necks. They’re probably my two favorite things in the world, women and loafers. Put to it, I’m not even certain which one I’d pick over the other. I’d normally be tempted to select women, but, it is summer right now, meaning that until the government mandates a universally implanted, 3-month contraceptive device (sans mood swings), the winner would have to be my loafers—the ones I can safely slip into bareback.
Note: My affinity for black and brown loafers does not quite carry over to their female counterparts.
But summer means more to me than just unprotected loafer-sex. Summer means Coral Reef, Jake Blue, and Bermuda Pink. It means timeshares, outdoor dining, and Bethpage Black. It means a seersucker hoodie when it’s a bit nippy, and seersucker shorts when it’s not. Summer means various things to various people, but one thing it means for most people in finance and all of New York is: interns.
In what other scenario is a city so flooded with impressionable, overeager, and clueless minds as summer in Manhattan? I’m told there is a similar wave of little political interns towards D.C. this time of year, but frankly, I’m not even certain they get paid. And anyway, what is the overall impact of that industry when compared to that of finance? Negligible. Don’t get me wrong—activism is to be applauded, but only in hedge funds.
Back to the subject. Emotionally, summer interns act intimidated and obsequious. And even if they hate finance, they are hyper-aware of the comfort that would come with getting an offer (a feeling perhaps only comparable to early action / decision to college), and they are driven accordingly. This is their entire psychology, terribly simple and uninteresting.
Simply brilliant. No wonder Business Week dubbed him The Borat Of Wall Street . This guy is amazing. Some of his earlier entries are even better.