“So, he was like, you really need a boob job? And, oh God, do I? I mean, I thought my tits were fine, but do I really? And I’m 24. Which is like old in New York dating years. So does that mean I need breast implants?”  – a girl without breast implant at Fashion Meets Finance Last Night

No, sweetheart. No. It doesn’t. It just means that you are one of the women who end up at Finance Meets Fashion. And it means that you have to start making decisions based off of not-crazy logic.

Look, to be honest I always kind of tell myself people are going to Fashion Meets Finance ironically. I mean, partly just because that’s how I’m able to walk through the doors of the Empire Hotel without vomitting a little bit in my mouth. But mostly because I always think that if you did, by some miracle meet someone there, and end up married to them, when telling the story of how you met to your future children, “we were both at this totally ridiculous event as joke and we met and bonded over it” has a better ring to it than “well, Mommy and Daddy are both despicable people.”

Or I did think that, until I met Jeremy Abelson, founder of the event who, when I told him, “everyone is here as a joke, right?” stared at me blankly and then said “I think almost no one is here ironically.”

And he is right.

At this weird ass event where they sell feathered headbands in the corner, girls teetering in their sad little Nine West shoes and Canal Street bags are carefully asking men about how much they make (150K a year, golly!) and letting forth those shrieks of hilarity the likes of which only Tom Wolfe encounters.

And the thing is, I don’t really have all that much of a problem with the mentality that prompts this sort of thing. I have a soft spot in my heart for shameless social climbers of the Becky Sharpe mode. You point me towards a wily, unashamed golddigger, and an overambitious Gordon Gekko type and I see two new friends.

I just have a problem with stupid. I mean, hey, there are women who sucessfully land finance guys and seem to be quite happy (they’re all named Anya and don’t worry about breast implants. They’ve had those since they were 16.) But they’re not here. Nor are the men any of these women are actually hoping to meet. Because they’re at a charity event, where they can at least pretend that they’re working to help impoverished kids in Africa.

Also, they are sort of helping impoverished kids in Africa a little bit, so at least something good comes out of it. In the long run, it would offset things. So in the future, can’t we just all do that? And stop smuggling interns at Goldman and girls who work at the Gap into this? I mean, not that I don’t love my new feathered headbands.