Granted, Sheila McClear wrote about this last year, Matt Harvey did this at the New York Press back in January, and in what reads less like a party report and more like Heart of Darkness: NYC '09 Edition, Jenna from Jezebel channeled her inner Josef Conrad to dive headfirst into the New and Improved FMF earlier in the week. I would recommend reading her piece, first, but it's kind of terrifying.

But maybe the Times discovered something different in their findings, maybe they found something to like about this entire enterprise. After all, this is the Sunday Styles, a section of the New York Times almost entirely devoted to attempts at instilling an inferiority complex in the hoi polloi. Maybe they saw it through a different, less cynical lens, one that cynics can't permeate.

Or not. Try this on for size:

"From my experience, I've dated lawyers and doctors and they're nice; I just prefer finance," Ms. Yanush said, before applying a fresh gloss of candy-apple-red lipstick in the ladies room. "My girlfriends who are in long-term relationships with finance guys are very happy."

Or this:

Alan Nieves, 24, a derivatives salesman for an investment bank, confirmed that when it comes to who attracts whom, "There's a system in place and that's how it is," adding, "It's the New York scene."

Or this:

A 25-year-old financial analyst who was double-fisting glasses of Johnnie Walker Black, said that identifying yourself as a banker ("dropping the banker bomb" as he put it) had traditionally been a potent lure on the dating scene. "As the recession got worse, the magic bullet lost some of its mojo," said the analyst, who asked not to be named to protect his employer, a private equity firm, from the publicity associated with the evening. "All my paralegal friends were suddenly getting dates and my banker friends weren't." His own social life, at least, did not suffer because of recession, he said, but he still didn't see the potential to meet someone special this night. "Let's just say I'm not going to find my future ex-wife here," he said.

The lovely thing about Times writer Katherine Bindley's report is how hard she struggles with not writing something along the lines of DICKBAGS, MANY OF YOU, especially when she takes to quoting to invitation: "'We are here to announce the balance is restoring itself to the ecosystem of the New York dating community,' the party organizers said on their cheeky Web site." Somewhere, buried deep within the confines of the Sunday Styles editorial bullpen, there has to be a style guide filled with euphemisms like "cheeky" their writers are forced to use in place of designations like "goddamn ridiculous." It's probably a great read.

Meanwhile, in two separate apartments buried deep within Murray Hill, a second or third walk of shame/point of pride is being recounted to a group of well-to-do bankers or fashion workers. Soon, they will marry, and one day, after appearing in the Weddings & Celebrations pages, spring forth children from their loins. And when asked where they met by their children one day, they can point them to this website, and tales of double-fisting Johnnie B. and laughs about lying on the application will ensue. Possibly followed by a moment of very loud, silent disquiet.

Banker Seeks Beauty: Must Be Upbeat (Like the Economy) [NYT]

Doped Race Horses, Ozwald Boateng & Gluten-Free Vodka: Last Night Finance Guys Showed Me The World [Jezebel]

A line-up of seven models was in the DJ booth nodding to anemic dance music. One of them, Sabrina Roberts, a six-foot Afro-Chinese stunner wearing a tiny creme-brulee-colored dress-told me she wasn't giving up on finance dudes. "One, they're more interesting; and two, can you imagine if everyone was in fashion?" I asked her if she had ever thought of dating so-called normal people. She twirled around, took a sip from her champagne flute and asked happily, "How do normal people pay for champagne?"

Then the director yelled "CUT!" and everyone threw up. [NYPress. Pic via]

You may recall that the first FMF event this past summer—in the golden age of Wall Street—produced a harrowing first-hand account, as well as the case of the mysterious fake hedge fund dater Prescott Hahn, fashion girl con man extraordinaire. Who will be the stars of this new event, coming in headier days for the finance world? Hundreds of people are on the list for the event (See them all here). Many are, hopefully, fake! If they have any damn sense. But that doesn't mean that true love connections will not be made. The douche bankers are well represented:

I-bankers will have their chance to connect with celebrity fashion journalists from Vouge magazine:

Sadly, not all could make the cut:

But for those who do, the reward is great:

Needless to say, gold diggers and I-banking assholes: please send us a full report.

"So last week, a fashion friend of mine sent an event e-mail for "Fashion Meets Finance," presumably mocking my earlier attempts that week to get around paying rent. It's an event created specifically for "the young men and women of the fashion and financial industries" to get together and pro-create the next inspiration for Gossip Girl 2025. One could RSVP on their website and include point facts such as salary (take note, JDate).

It seems to target only men in Finance and only women in Fashion, making advertising and blogging undesirable careers for the Ivy league class of 2008. Although I, a man, could say I work in fashion, I RSVP'd listing my previous life as a Wall Street tool in order to be accepted into the event (yeah, you read right; many people RSVP'd and were rejected. Trannies, geighs, and midgets need not apply).

It was being held at Taj on 21st between 5th and 6th. I arrived at about 6:30 with 3 of my fashionista co-workers and got to mingling. After making an immediate visit to the bar swarmed by hedge-funders and dolled-up fashion buyers, I decided to pull out my cash fan of $49 and pose with my friend Christine (who by the way came to this event with NO intention of being "Carrie-d" away, but likes to have fun nonetheless).

We then caught the eye of a Post reporter who interviewed us for next week's Page Six and snapped a few shots of me flashing my cash fan adoringly at Christine, and then turned away when he realized I very much preferred to flash my $49 adoringly at him.

The crowd was pretty tame at first; there were way too many single guys moping around with their $12 drinks and glittering girls gaggling, presumably, about how boob tape is the new black. After dancing a bit (what was a gay supposed to do at an event like this, network?) a strapping young man in red skinny jeans caught my eye.

My Radar [magazine]-savvy friends pointed out that it was none other than Neel Shah, and better yet, on assignment! The pencil in ear and small white notepad should've tipped me off. After hitting him up for some magic berries, I went to the bar and took a conscious note of how every single suit who had been moping just an hour earlier had already been coupled off with their mannequin for the night.

After 8pm, it got real raunchy with a DJ spinning 90s dance hits and drunk I-bankers douchebagging away with their fashion girls on the dance floor. After witnessing one guy do the twist, and another suit shimmy to the ground, I knew it was time to leave. (Although at some point, I shimmy-ed as well, although I did so ironically!).

Sufficiently wiping off the couple sucking face atop by handbag on the couch, I made my way outside for a last cigarette and had Christine snap a Cash Fan shot circa last week Gawker. The bits of conversation we caught outside could very well epitomize this event, or rather, the entire heterosexual Manhattan night scene:

Blonde Fashion Wench in white dress: "Hi, What's your name again?"
Suit who was Gellin': "Bill."
Blonde Fashion Wench: "Oh! I have an uncle Bill. Can I call you Uncle
Bill?"

And the next minute, another couple:

Brunette in a strapless red cake dress, walking out with her future
divorcé: "Oh! Shoe store! Shoe Store!"
Hedge-funder: "Um, so where do you live again? I'll get the cab."

Needless to say, my friends went home and I left alone. My rent check will be mailed first thing the next day."

It was hard finding the appropriate candidates to feature, seeing as how the site is flooded with fake people, entering as a joke. But we think we found some attractive candidates—there's still time to sign up and meet them yourself!

Ladies, meet Aaron McCann! He works at Ackman-Ziff, makes between $200,000 and $299,000 a year was featured in Gotham magazine's "Guide to Gold Digging" in 2007.

Gentlemen, here's Gracey! As you can see, she's cute, blonde, and is a creative coordinator at the Wall Group fashion agency. She only makes under $50K a year though—she could really use your equity!

And finally, here's Bill. He's VP of "Compliance" for Citigroup—maybe he'll find a fashion lady to comply with him tonight.