He’s thirtysomething, earns seven figures and lives in an immaculate bachelor
pad. He drives an Aston Martin, his Amex is impervious to the most frenzied
shopping trip and you’ll never have to slum it on a cut-price holiday again.
If this is your idea of the perfect partner, you’re not alone. When Prince &
Associates, an American wealth-research firm, asked a sample group of
thirtysomething women if they would marry for money, a resounding 75 per
cent said yes. However, before you start hunting your City banker quarry,
think again. The lifestyle sounds promising on paper, but – like all good
things – it comes at a price.
First, forget lording it at VIP tables in members’ clubs, cracking open bottle
after bottle of Cristal. Serious earners just don’t do that. Why? Because
they’re long since tucked up in bed. I should know – for nearly four years I
had a 10pm curfew. My (now ex) banker boyfriend insisted on it. For a City
trader juggling multimillion pound positions, which could bring a bank to
its knees, sleep is crucial. If my boy was to crush the opposition, his
brain needed rest.
So, by 9.30 every night we’d be brushing our teeth in separate bathrooms, and
by ten the lights were out.
Whether you’re tired or not is irrelevant, and insomnia is not on the
schedule. Tossing and turning will interfere with his precious sleep, so if
counting sheep fails you’ll be banished to a spare room to ensure that he
gets eight hours of uninterrupted slumber.
What about sex, then? Surely these testosterone-fuelled chaps are rampant in
the sack? Again, you’ll need to adjust your expectations: because if it
doesn’t involve earning money, it tends to be rather low on the priority
list. A seriously risky trading position will mean he’ll be so consumed by
angst that not even a trio of Russian supermodels could appeal to his carnal
side. And while you may have the luxury of endless lie-ins, he’ll have
bolted out of bed by 6am, scanned his BlackBerry and checked the markets
before he’s even got in the shower.
High flyers crave order and control because there’s enough chaos at work. So,
be warned, he’ll expect his home life to run on rails – smoothly, quietly,
flawlessly. His wardrobe will be a temple to minimalist efficiency: slabs of
pristine shirts arranged by colour, bespoke suits, £500 shoes in clear boxes
for fast identification, cufflinks and collar stiffeners ready to go.
Underwear tends to be identical, white, usually Calvin Klein or Armani.
Watches are to City boys what alpha handbags are to women. Expect him to
have a collection worth more than a semi in South London. Patek Phillipe,
IWC, Franck Muller – for day, night, sport and everything in between.
When I first entered my ex-boyfriend’s house, I had the feeling that I’d
walked on to the set of American Psycho. “Are you sure you actually
live here?” I asked. It was a quiet, immaculate space, no clutter allowed
anywhere. The boy sweated blood to afford the place and, since he spent no
time actually living in it, he liked it to look as if it was awaiting a House
& Garden shoot. Shoes, toddlers and red wine were all inconceivable.
So all week you’ve slept like a mouse, scur-ried about ensuring that the
household runs without a hitch, and by Friday night you’re aching to hit the
town. He’ll feel too guilty to refuse, and you’ll find yourself in a
Michelin-starred restaurant, chattering away, while he stares into space,
craving sleep as badly as a junkie needs heroin.
Bankers’ girls find their lives mirroring market trends. When he does well,
you’ll be swept along on a tide of champagne and adrenalin. But when things
go wrong – and they usually go spectacularly wrong – you will find yourself
in a darkened room, murmuring soothing words while he fights off a nervous
breakdown.
Yes, you’ll get to sink into the cushioned depths of a grown-up sports car
that draws envious glances at every traffic light. But you’ll soon start to
resent the thing when you have to remove your shoes in case you soil the
upholstery. Add the stress caused by scratches and damage, the endless
search for safe parking, and keeping it out of the hands of vandals and
joyriders, and you’ll soon long for a battered Golf.
And what about those promised holidays? Well, they do exist and your friends
will be gnashing their teeth at the brochures, but you’ll need to be happy
in your own company. I wandered the streets of Marrakesh and Florence solo
while he spent all his time with the BlackBerry jammed to his ear, or
bashing away at its keypad. Then there were the days spent Lost in
Translation style at one of Dubai’s most opulent hotels, because he had
to fly back to London to deal with a crisis at work.
If you’re confounded by why bankers keep working long after they’ve
accumulated millions and millions, the answer is simple: it’s not about the
money. Really. After a few years, the cash becomes irrelevant. Instead, it’s
about winning, about annihilating your opponents, whether it’s on the
trading floor, the squash court, in the bar or in the boxing ring. These
guys have an insatiable appetite to win at everything, so don’t try to
compete.
And if it happens that he’s not winning, not out-earning his boss or his
colleagues, you’ll be expected to keep schtum. Having a few too many glasses
of champagne and blurting out how disappointed he was with his last bonus
could see you hurled out the door. Bankers’ girls should remember it’s all
about image: that means silent, smiling supportiveness, and never, ever
revealing what he earns – especially not to other bankers’ WAGs, because the
news will be around the City before the first espressos have been drunk on
Monday morning.
If this makes it all sound like hard work, then fear not. When I was taken to
Selfridg-es and cocooned in a cream-carpeted boudoir with a personal
shopper, while a pair of flunkies rushed around the store finding me a new
wardrobe, I wasn’t exactly suffering. As I cooed over a perfectly fitted
Armani jacket and an immaculately cut Ralph Lauren suit and the bill soared
ever upwards, the boy never flinched.
We left an hour later with an armful of bags and I have no idea of the final
tally, but it must have been nudging five figures. A further burst of retail
madness in Bond Street, and we hopped into a taxi and headed home. It sounds
like pure fantasy, and for a girl like me with a job in public sector PR, it
was. Every time I put on one of those garments I feel a million dollars, and
remember that heady day.
Yes, there were perks, and good ones. The ease of knowing that you can take
taxis without a thought, of never having to check price tags on anything.
The luxury of going to the opera or the ballet without scrimping for months
for a seat up in the stratosphere.
I wanted for nothing – nothing that could be bought, anyway: La Perla, Crème
de la Mer and acres of cashmere after every business trip, my 30th birthday
party for a crowd of friends at Home House, the nights out that now make me
wince at their unabashed expense; the £1,000 dinner in Paris, the
seven-course tasting menus with matching wine flights at any number of
Michelin restaurants; and the bouquets so large they could hardly fit
through the door, which had even the courier gawping in amazement.
But in the end all the cashmere in the world cannot insulate you from the cold
truth that such men will always love their money and their jobs more than
you. You will be an afterthought – an indulgence at best. If you can cope
with that, and with a life whose sole spiritual or emotional dimension
consists of worshipping at the retail temples of Knightsbridge and Bond
Street, then their world is yours for the taking.
But I couldn’t, and shortly after the City superhero picked up yet another
multimillion-pound bonus, I packed my things and left. No wardrobe was large
enough, no jewels sparkly enough and no holidays glamorous enough to
compensate for the sting of unrequited love.
Since then there have been times when I’ve waited in the rain for buses and
remembered all those extravagances – my other life – and wondered if I
folded my cards too soon, was too proud, too stubbornly romantic.
But now, as I pad around my new boyfriend’s chaotic flat, leaving stray coffee
mugs on every floor, scattering newspapers in my wake, I have no regrets. We
make an unholy mess in the kitchen, leave our clothes strewn up the stairs
and go to sleep in the small hours. He drives a beaten up car stuffed with
dirty riding gear and legal papers. And I think he’s wonderful.
I’d like to say I’m slumming it, but then Guy is a barrister, the flat is in
Chelsea and he has his sights set on a career as a Conservative politician.
Some habits, it seems, are hard to break.
Looking for millionaire love (in all the wrong places)
“Sounds like an escort agency.” This wasn’t exactly the reaction I was
expecting from my flatmate Claudia when I told her about the millionaire
dating club I was joining. What could be wrong with signing up with an
agency in which all the eligible bachelors were lonely, time poor but cash
rich (net disposable assets of at least £1 million essential) and who paid
£10,000 for a service in which all that was required of me was to be a “well
educated, goal orientated and attractive professional”?
The company insisted that it offered the opportunity to find a partner for
“long-term relationships for both ladies and gentlemen”. After all, I told
Claudia, who doesn’t want to marry a millionaire?
Alarm bells should have sounded when the online application asked only for my
name, age, e-mail address and photo. Didn’t they want to know what I did, or
what my interests were? But it wasn’t until my face-to-face consultation
that reality set in. Despite an hour-long intensive review of my likes (road
trips), dislikes (flashy cars and bars), relationship history (two serious
boyfriends), future goals (house and kids in the country) and preferences
(someone about my age, tallish, laid-back, with a taste for spit and sawdust
pubs and camping), it was clear that my interests were secondary to the
paying clients’. I was presented with two potential dates whose interests
bore no relation to mine: the first was short, mid-forties, liked fine
wines; the other was tall, my age, liked luxury holidays and jet-set clubs.
My dismissal of both was met by exasperation: “But they’re
multimillionaires.” Maybe, but I’m not for sale. OLEANNA MILLS
I went through the same thing (rich boyfriend, realized it wasn't worth it) - I think a lot of it had to do with having a low self-esteem. I think mothers that push their daughters into relationships with "rich guys" are telling them that they're not good enough themselves, that they need a rich guy to love them. And that's just horrible. You really feel like a prostitute, because you're in the relationship for the totally wrong reasons. I make a healthy six to seven figures running my own business, in my late 20s, Ivy-league educated and am beautiful inside-out to boot. Why I felt the need to prostitute myself out to a "rich guy" is beyond me now.
Melanie, San Francisco, USA
I am sickened by the aspirations of young women to be simply a WorG, rather than successful in their own right. Aspiration to be an accessory?
My advice is earn your own. No one to answer to (at home) and only your own shirts to iron (or not!) Only then do you know the value of money.
Give me a partner rather than a bankroller anyday.
Gemma B, London,
What an excellently written article by Olianna Mills ! Money buys and that is great ! But it just cannot buy everything and it will always fail to buy real happiness. The only thing really going for money is that ..........."At least you can be miserable in comfort " !
And money is here today and gone tomorrow ! So plan simplicity, fun, long term, engaging realtionships which does not necessarily have to do with "Loadsa Money" !
By the way, the trouble with the "Rat Race" is that if even if you win, you're still a Rat ! ( From a simple man ! )
DKP, London, United Kingdom
Why not marry a rich guy?? Enjoy yourself, and when you have had enough, divorce him and move on....sounds good to me.
I think that women should start to think more like men and live life day to day,rather than worrying that he's not the right man.
There's always time to settle down with the right man later,but you might as well enjoy your journey there!
Laura, Madrid,
Dear John . . .
Don't you think that you have missed the point?? The guys discussed in the articl are not really even that interested in sex, while the USP of the bog standard prostitute is precisely that.
The key here is the need of the man to have his fill in respect of having a supportive partner to balance his otherwise imbalanced life. With balance being achieved simply by the presence of a woman, albeit with a rather shallow motive!
So you should really be asking who is the shallower?
Nik, London, UK
Kayhan,
Please read this in a cheerful tone, but any way you can check back with us when you're 39? It would be interesting to know what you think then of those snot-noses in their mid-20s.... ; )
D. Sean Rowley, Tulsa, Okla. USA
As a rich financier in late forties one of my biggest problem is to fend of scores of younger very attractive woman who find me quite attractive for my purse. They definitely are more fascinated in hi life and paraphernalia but the real inclination is the hook up for life with a middle age older grayer man that ensures them half or more of my fortune like dear Heather.
Good-looking girls until 26 rarely ever realize that beauty is a depreciating asset they keep searching for this man with shining armor and millions that can ensure them prosperity for posterity. After 26 onwards to 29 the realization of first ticking biological clock sets in the priority shifts form temporary escapades in Lamborghini to more settled life in a Ford fiesta, a middle class 50K earning person than fits the bill well.
Tchengiz kahn, Doha, Qatar
I recommend that you read a wonderful book on the subject of marriage and relationships," Power Play " by Countess Bienvenida Sokolow. If people were to go into business as they do into relationships, blind folded, we would all be bunkrupt.
Do not apologize for wanting marriage to a wealthy man. Valuing yourself is about reflecting your personality on your chosen partner. It is not more about you being a trophy wife than it is about a man becoming your trophy husband.
Bea Landau, London, UK
Hold on people, let's assume the writer fell in love with this guy, i believe it does still happen. At least she got out when she did. I'll hold up my hand (anonymously) and say i married my banker, I have from the outside looking in the most fantastic life yet emotionally we are bankrupt,dead,empty. He is unreachable, obsessed with work, when he's doing well he celebrates with co workers when things are bad, boy do they get bad, he makes our lives miserable. I am slowly working my way to divorce but i have young children who adore their daddy and that is a hard bond to break. Anyone attracted to the cash beware, unless you have no soul and are as hard as nails you will pay. To the work obsessed bankers out there, there really is more to life than money, you are treated like battery hens by your employers albeit well paid ones, get out will you can. PS as for the sex well it's ok so long as you have cocaine/viagra and hookers i believe
Susie, London,
I recommend a wonderful book on marriage and relationships by Countess Bienvenida Sokolow, Power-Play.info. If we were to go into business as we go into relationships, blindfolded, we would all be bunkrupt.
Do not apologize for wanting a marriage to a wealthy man. Valuing yourself is about reflecting your personality on your chosen partner. It is no more about you being a trophy wife than it is about a man becoming your trophy husband.
Bea Landau, London, UK
Karen - earn your own money and get some self respect doing a job you enjoy!
Sarah, London,
Sara from Edinburgh - you are wrong and Philip and Tug Boat From Bristol are right. The survey confirms that most women interviewed are effectively confirming that they are willing to act as prostitutes and who seek to use marriage as a vehicle to legitimise their prostitution. As Natalie from Northants puts it, these women respondents should take responsibility for their own lives, including legitimately acquiring wealth through adding value to peoples lives and not by sponging off guys by selling them sex in exchange for money.
John, London, England
Not trying to be mean. But maybe it has less to do with the fact that he is a hot shot banker and more to do with the fact that he is a thirty something (my bet is that he was on the wrong side of the thirty's), which is why he is in bed by 10pm and interest in any other nocturnal events is limited at best... Perhaps your writer should have gone out with a younger banker, a little less senior in the banking hierarchy, but just as willing to splurge out the cash and more likely to bring out the bottles of cristal at London clubs. We are a bunch of bankers between 23-26 and thats the way we roll. She seemed to have gone for the guy right at the top, who after a decade in banking, has probably had his 3 Russian femme fatales (at one time), jaded, tired and has left behind the debauchery of his analyst years for the other extremity: conformity, order and bunny slippers... Hell I use vodka as mouth wash, forget tooth brush....
Kayhan, London,
Phillip , Manchester I think you missed the piont of the article she loved her banker, but he loved his money. judgemental git
sara, edinburgh,
How very sad and sordid. I am a woman -- professional and in this age group and I would shoot myself before marrying for money or being involved in any way in such a shallow semblance of a relationship.
K, New York City
K, New York City,
I'd buy a book written by Philip from Manchester. His three sentences are brilliant. Spot on, and funny.
Marcus, London, UK
Everyone will get what he or she deserves. Your article is indeed a confession of a prostitute. Congratulations to your new boyfriend, he must be very proud of you sharing your 'experience' with all the readers.
Phillip, Manchester, UK
"money can't buy happiness!" ...a nice bit of folklore invented by people who never had enough money. either way, an excellent piece of writing. if she can sustain such quality and style in a novel i"ll gladly buy it
james, Hong Kong,
Disgusting. Miss Mills writes without even a token word thrown to the well-paid WOMEN that I heard were around these days. Hm. I guess we're back to the old stereotype that men earn the big bucks and women aren't good for anything more than being bought and sold by these guys. Hah. I guess I'll just have to live with the paranoia that men only want me for my money, cause somehow I just don't get the kick out of objectifying guys (not into boy toys, sorry) that my well-paid male cohort does from buying "trophy wives." Let's even this out. Somebody needs to do an article about the ups and downs of being a gigolo.
independently wealthy female, Baltimore, USA
There are people working just as hard for a tenth, a hundredth or a thousandth of what your bloke earned. I do not see my husband from 5am on Monday morning to 10pm on Friday night. He takes weekend and holiday phone calls. He just doesn't work in The City, He works in manufacturing; adding value to goods and making money from processing raw materials rather than just moving it around the economy through gambling on the future price of bonds and shares. He is driven by the demands of his customers (and their shareholders - the city boys), not personal greed.
I do not get the goodies you saw as compensation for your lonely existence. His earnings are nowhere near the monstrous heights you describe. Grow up. Evidently you are attracted to the good things in life. Earn the money yourself. Take responisbility for your own life and live it. Stop trying to live it through others.
Natalie, Northants, UK
Oh dear. A collective humour-bypass seems to have afflicted a lot of those who have posted comments here.
Great article, great writing, great self-deprecating humour. Congratulations on your honesty and your ability to learn and move on. Good luck.
Dexter P, Bristol, UK
Speaking from a lawyer's perspective, barristers earn an absolute ton of cash too. Not as much as bankers but probably only a handful of steps down. You have hardly given up the good life.
Paul, London, UK
Being an investment banker who owns a nice collection of watches (but no Aston Martin, sorry), I confess this is partly true. My girl always has one those looks when I'm jammed to my bb while on a romantic trip or when I arrive at 1am from work (quite often) too tired for sex. And I'm still surprised when I see my MDs (who have indeed accumulated millions) at the office on Friday night at 1am. It's more than the money that keeps you running on full steam.
Alber, London,
and you just know these women who are not getting any sex are also whamming the pool boy, gardener and any other guy who will em the time of day! So the rich men are paying in more ways than one! Dont feel sorry for any of em!
Graham, london,
I live happily on a 80% war disablement pension - 520 a month so what are you squealing about?
m wilson, bidache, france
Don't women's magazines always tell women exactly what they want to hear?
Simon, Leeds,
A rose by any other name - you are a whore by your own definition of your own asperations
gareth cobner, cardiff,
What is this? I can't believe people like Oleanna Mills and Karen Barichievy are actually being given space to complain that their lives aren't perfect. Boo hoo. Just because you think you're the sweetest, prettiest thing alive, deserving of treats, doesn't make it so.
withheld, withheld, withheld
What no SEX??
Then I don't want a rich man!!!!!!
MNKB, bucks, uk
I did exactly the opposite, I left more then one potential partner because they where too poor. I wanted children, and I certainly didn't want them to be latch key, I also would prefer that they where home schooled until about age 9. I didn't want to have sleepless nights wondering how we where going to pay the mortgage, afford a new car, or worry about how I was going to stretch the groceries until next pay day. I got tired of discount shoes, jackets and purses. I know money can't buy happiness, but a lack of it can cause a lot of stress. If love was quantifiable, I would have to say it does not increase in size in a pressure cooker, it decreases. Having a partner that loved money would not be a problem..... at least I wouldn't have to worry about him running away with his secretary. You where concerned about not seeing him enough, having to be in bed by ten ???? Compared to: a husband and wife, both working full time jobs, commuting to work. Give me the pampered life anytime
withheld, Withheld, Withheld
what a sad, sad article. i earn less than £20k a year and my partner similar. we get by, we spend a little when we can and struggle by together when we have to. i wouldnt swap her for all the money in the world (hopefully she feels the same!) and i couldnt be happier. sports cars? expensive holidays, clothes? so shallow and transient. its said that you cant buy time or happiness, and its so true.
george wilkinson, gloucester, england
Most people who earn a lot of money have to work hard to get it. Apart from trust fund babies, money doesn't grow on trees, so why you'd expect a very wealthy person not to be pre-occupied with work is beyond me. They usually slow down once they retire, so why not go for someone over 65? Plenty of time to devote to you then.
Toni Summers Hargis, Chicago, USA
The article merely reveals, sadly, more about the character and motives of Miss Barichievy, than the equally sad life lived by the banker boyfriend. The last 10 years of socialist Britain, has ironically defined success as being more about how much you earn rather than the willingness of the individual to help others. What a selfish world we live in. Time to become a priest?...well I would if I thought the Church of England was any better. Francis/London UK
francis , London,
Desiring extravagant wealth - and suffering for it - is symptomatic of an impoverished outlook. Better by far to stick with the battered old Golf and budget holiday. Count your blessings.
Jonathan Stiles, Helsinki, Finland
You are describing Prostitution.... just because the remuneration is considerable doesn't make it anything else...
Tug Boat, Bristol,
I just think that if you can accept the pitfalls, being married to riches is far better than slumming it in my opinion.
Janique, London, UK
"The love of money is the root of all evil." This wisdom exists for a reason!
Steve, London , UK
Arrrrrrhhhhhhhhh poor Oleanna.
there are at least 5.9 billion people whose plight I care more about.
mike.jackson, Norfolk, UK
Are we supposed to feel sorry for this person? An individual who seems to leach off others? Foul. And to describe a city banker moving money around -as "sweating blood" daily - those who work in the public & voluntary sectors for pitiful pay (myself included) - may just take objection.
Stuart, London, UK
Dear Karen, like those baubles you mentioned, you came with a price tag attached and hence were bought and sold so I'm confused as to why you expected MORE.....a bit more affection, love, quality time etc....... You clearly look like you walked away better off than expected so why the complaint ??
Trying to be a beacon of light for others trying to follow in your hallowed footsteps are you ??
Roy, Bangalore, India
When i read this column i thought of my father...so much to do so little time.
The truth is its not just professional men who are like this, women are too.
sol, london,
Oh this was HILARIOUS! Wonderful piece of writing. We keep 3 areas as tidy as we can - the entrance hall, the bathroom (only one bathroom of course!) and my client-space. The rest of the house remains in permanent disarray, dipping regularly into utter chaos. Our two boys (oh and ourselves) make an alternative scenario impossible. I earn just about enough to cover the mortgage, food and bills and we rely on www.freecycle.org for almost everything else. Like most others we stumble through life and enjoy it too!!
Chris Thomas, Oxford, England
very exactly
sammy, Nanjing, China
this is not new to look for the best male to take care of kids in ancient times were the strongest in this new society all sound ridiculous please read society magazines
cipriano a lamas meilan, corunna, spain
For today's level headed, educated successful man of means women, sex and especially serious relationships are pretty much crashing bores.
Mark Klein, M.D., Oakland, California
Can't believe some, no, lots of women are so naive if not greedy. Wanting the cake & eat it too.
You can't take all the $$ with you after you die.
Having a jet-set lifestyle only costs so much, not millions & millions.
Neither is wanting your children to have a 'better' life.
Your kids are going to squander it all away before you know what happens. And their life is not any better than yours. Or even close.
Pete, Toronto, Canada
Well, yeah, but I wouldn't be interested in you either.
Christopher Hobe Morrison, Pine Bush, Ulster County, NY, USA