The fixation with dating a trader, I believe, is disillusioning to the countless girls obsessed with bagging one, and causes me to wonder: how much do the predators really know about their prey?

The harsh reality is that traders are always tense, constantly on their Blackberries (resulting in permanently hunched necks caused from Blackberry Syndrome), and can't look away from the addictive devices for more than two minutes to talk to you. They smell like an old ash tray, and above all, are the most arrogant men on the planet (most of the time).

So does the money they potentially earn supersede these disturbing truths? Perhaps these girls don't care about conversational ability as pound signs blur their money-eyed vision.
 
Then again, admittedly, traders do have their lure. When they are not in frenzied business mode, they can in fact be quite charming. Not in the traditional sense of the word, but in the 'trader' sense of the word.
 
There are two types of trader. One is loud, boisterous, and always the centre of attention. He's your typical cheeky chappy, and most likely originated from Essex. If he wasn't on the trading floor, I'm sure he wouldn't be a world apart from the antics of Del Boy, trying to sell you something dodgy out the back of his truck, or hollering at you down the street from his market stall. You will find him on the FX Desk trading high volume with high risk. Just how he likes his women.
 
Then there is the other type. Smart, well-educated and subdued, this is a man who barely enters into a deal due to the deliberation and calculated risk that goes into each transaction. You will find him on the Structuring desk. He will pick his wife carefully to ensure she isn't going to fleece him for every penny he's got, and will probably enter into some kind of hedge arrangement (read: pre-nup). The decision will be well-thought-out and calculated, probably using some kind of financial model. He'll weigh how much will the average spend will be on the monthly credit against how much would she try and take him to the cleaners for - and he won't forget the all important probability analysis on whether she actually loves him or just his money.

Mr FX won't care about this as long as you look hot.

Girls, don't say you haven't been warned.

Here Is The Writer : Accidental Accountant

Accidental Accountant is a twenty-something City girl parading the trading floors of investment banks, wondering everyday how she came to be here. She has been playing the corporate game for the last five years, has a passion for fashion, a fondness for partying, and a love/hate affair with City life. If you’ve ever thought you didn’t quite fit in, welcome to her world (and feel free to get in touch).

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