I scoured London looking for a man in finance: Here’s what I found in my two-month search
It’s the summer of finance guys, so naturally, I embarked on a quest to find out what all the fuss is about. Here’s a juicy account of me dating nothing but finance bros for two whole months. So buckle up, because I’ve got a lot of tea to spill.
@girl_on_couch Can someone make this into an actual song plz just for funzies
♬ original sound - Girl On Couch
The first step (and probably the hardest) was the hunt. After downloading Hinge, Bumble, and Tinder, I began swiping away in search of men who fit the TikTok-approved description: finance, trust fund, 6’5, blue eyes. At first, it was difficult to fish them out from the giant pool of men available within my distance range. After a few days, however, my algorithm got wise to my new obsession. The category was money men and it didn’t take long until all I was served were men with “stockbroker,” “accountant,” “trader,” “portfolio manager,” or the ubiquitous “finance” in their job description.
Next thing I knew, I had my first date lined up.
Name: James
Occupation: Finance and economics student
Height: 5’11
Eye colour: Blue!
Trust fund: Unconfirmed
I met James on a Friday evening at Vagabond, a chain of polished wine bars nestled in central and South London. He was 15 minutes late, but I forgave him the second he walked in. What a presence, I tell you. James came straight from his bank internship, sporting cropped trousers, a buttoned-up shirt, and a navy sweater casually draped around his neck. His brown locks were slicked back, and he donned a smile that lit up the room. It was basically like meeting a walking, talking Ralph Lauren ad.
To make up for his lateness James ordered the first round and went for the priciest red on offer (£21 per glass!!!). Now, this was a far cry from my usual nights with friends, where we scoured for the cheapest option and held our noses as we ingested the sour bitter elixir.
When my date finally sat down, he clasped his hands and, with the sternest expression, asked, “So tell me about yourself, Abby.” Was he expecting a PowerPoint titled Why I’m a great investment? Instead, I flipped the script on him.
James was born and raised in Australia. One sibling, two happily married parents, and a spot at a top university. In his free time, he played golf and cricket—classic. With every detail, I mentally checked off my finance bro bingo card, almost ready to shout “Bingo!” before the appetisers had arrived. Megan Boni, aka Girl On Couch, would be proud.
After we finished up at Vagabond, we strolled through central London. James held my hand the whole time and let me walk on the inside of the sidewalk, like a true gentleman. We grabbed another drink in Shoreditch and made out by the riverside before he walked me to the station. The date ended sweetly with him saying “see you next time,” and waving me off from the platform. The next morning, he texted how much fun he had, and then ghosted me so thoroughly, I thought he might have been a figment of my imagination.
Name: Daniel
Occupation: Quant at Hedge Fund
Height: 6’3
Eye colour: Green
Trust fund: None (sigh)
I met my next date Daniel on another Friday at 9:30 PM on the Bermondsey Beer Mile. We went to one of the nicer places with a terrace, wooden barrels as tables, dried flowers placed on them, and fairy lights strung across the whole establishment. It felt like a rustic fairytale—if you could ignore the squishing sound of the train rushing by.
Like James, he was still in his workwear: a white button-down shirt, grey slacks, and New Balance sneakers with playful socks that screamed, “I have a quirky side, I swear!” When it got darker, he pulled out his glasses, completing the junior accountant chic look.
To kick off the date, I had him break down what a quant and a hedge fund are. The first uses statistical and mathematical methods to mitigate financial risks in business and investment decisions. Easy enough once you wrap your head around it. And a hedge fund? Basically, a playground for the rich where experts turn their money into more money.
Then, I told him all about growing up in Germany, while he shared stories about coming of age in Russia and France. After hearing about his third vacation to Monaco, I asked him point-blank if he was rich. He insisted he wasn’t, despite renting a one-bedroom apartment in Westminster and working for a company that hired out a floor at The Shard for their Christmas party. But maybe our definitions differ a little bit…
For the second half of the date, we went to an open-air screening of the Olympics at Tower Bridge and shared a bottle of rosé we picked up on the way. While he couldn’t stop emphasising how boring his job was, he was fascinated by mine as a staff writer.
“So you write about culture stuff. If you had to write an article about dating in London, would I be in it?” he asked with a cheeky smile. Maybe… If you get us another bottle.
Name: Ian
Occupation: Stockbroker
Height: 6’0
Eye colour: Brown
Trust fund: Definitely
The last date I’ll report on was probably the shortest. I met Ian on a Wednesday night at the Mercato Metropolitano in Mayfair. It’s a food court inside an old church, complete with a vintage bar, rooftop terrace, and wine cellar. We arrived around the same time, so I gave him a tour of the communal areas stretching across two floors—not sponsored, by the way. He went to the bar and got us the first round of drinks while I secured our seats.
Ian had just returned from a lads’ holiday in Morocco and was about to head off to Florence with his family that weekend. But he still decided to squeeze me into his busy schedule because he had Thursday and Friday off to pack.
Ian didn’t arrive in his workwear like the others but instead opted for cargo pants and an old-looking T-shirt (which he kind of made work, to be honest).
While I sipped my vodka cranberry, he told me all about growing up in London, leaving at 18 to read philosophy, politics, and economics at Oxford, and missing his parents, who had moved to Dubai last year. When I asked him what he did in his free time, he responded: “Polo.” Yes, the one with the horses. And while I actually don’t support animals in sports, he didn’t seem like someone who could easily be disagreed with, so I decided to feign some tolerance, even enthusiasm, for equestrian sports.
And it turns out that once Ian started talking about himself, he didn’t really stop. By the end of the date, I knew where he lived and why he moved there (Surrey Quays), where his parents got married (Malaga), and how he could have been an Olympic fencing champion but missed out because of an “injury” (I suspect he was just bad, though). The list of his accomplishments and almost accomplishments was excessive and he didn’t shy away from walking me through it all.
When we approached his two-hour cut off and he still suggested we get another round, I politely declined, citing a lot of work I had to finish. Besides, I didn’t have another hour to hear about how he almost joined the royal family or whatever.
My final thoughts
I went looking for a man in finance and the search started to seem a little meaningless until I visited a rooftop party from one of my old school friends, who sells private equity funds now (could have been me, but I decided to become a writer, sigh). The room was packed with his colleagues, who were all very aware of their new TikTok fame.
One laughed: “It’s funny people are looking for finance guys when most of us can’t wait to quit. It’s just leaving do after leaving do every week. Most of us are out the second we have enough money.” One of his friends agreed: “People go into finance because they find money interesting or just really need it,” he contemplated. “I like it but I feel like I’m burning out. I will probably move to a smaller firm.” “I think people think we’re like super wealthy, mature and stable because we wear suits or whatever, but to be rich and stable, I think that’s a lot to expect from someone in their 20s,” a third chimed in.
Meanwhile, there’s a war in the Middle East and a potential Trump presidency financial markets are trying to guard themselves against, on top of a million mini-financial crashes each week. Finance is really anything but secure right now, and finance men are just regular guys—who will ghost you, talk your ear off, and display commitment skills that are about as stable as Bitcoin. Same sh*t as always, just wrapped in a fancier job.
So, while I didn’t bag my dream finance bro, I got some great stories and a whole new understanding for this wild world.
