Arm candy: The ultimate executive compensation

A few months ago, I got my first inkling that the financial-services employee/model connection was not as random as I had thought. In a selective breeding program that neatly halved the distance between European royalty and Josef Mengele, a Manhattan nightclub hosted a "Fashion Meets Finance" mixer, an event that baldly admitted its intention to help women in fashion "facilitate their pre-30 marriage retirement plan," while enabling men in finance "leverage their career in the dating industry." Intrigued by this evidence of financial-sector matchmaking, I began watching the papers a little more closely, hoping to catch another glimpse of the Wall Street yenta industry.

A little while later, as the economy began its precipitous dive, I came across an article that introduced the "High End Girlfriend Index" (HEGI). The brainchild of lawyer Edward Hayes, the HEGI is an informal charting of beautiful mistresses who have been given their walking papers by high-powered money men. In mid September, the HEGI was exploding, as former magnates were shedding their most valued possessions in an attempt to reduce their bottom line. At the same time, Craig's List was hopping, as both money men and former mistresses were eagerly rearranging their partnerships, hoping to profit from a liquid market.

Now, a few months on, as it appears that the financial downturn is here to stay, both former millionaires and the women who formerly sought them are having to come to terms with their career and lifestyle choices. High-end girlfriends have started forming therapy groups, in which they meet to discuss the hardships of eating in, counseling emotionally wrecked boyfriends, and saying goodbye to Harry Winston. They've even put together a blog, Dating a Banker Anonymous, where they share their tales of financial and emotional meltdowns.

"Dating a Banker" makes for harrowing reading; although the owners caution that it is meant to be read tongue-in-cheek, I'm not sure that I have a long enough tongue or a deep enough cheek to make it palatable. To be honest, unless the whole thing is a tryout for McSweeney's or a practical joke from a women's studies major at Wellesley, it's almost amazingly repulsive. Highlights include the posts "Ain't Messing With No Broke Banker," and "Relish the Recession." The latter piece documents a woman's post-recession breakup and subsequent affair, offering the pithy wisdom "Next time you are stressing over some finance guy remember that he is just a math club nerd with cash [...] Relax, you are not going to be the last of your friends to marry well. This recession just bought everyone an extra two years of the single life."

Two years, huh? Well, that's as good an estimate as any...