Canada is Paradise

Investment banking in Canada is literal paradise.

You just graduated from a top school in Toronto with honors, and your summer was spent on a yacht in Muskoka, popping champagne and hanging out with the kind of people who have lakes named after their families. The sun doesn’t set until 9:30 PM, and you’re loving life.

You’re feeling pretty chill because it’s July, and you’re about to start your first year as an investment banking analyst at one of the Big Five. Everyone in your university told you it’s basically paradise. You’ll make mad CAD, party in Toronto’s hottest spots, and fast-track your career. What’s not to love?

Your onboarding email hits your inbox in July 2024, and you can’t help but freak out a little. Your first week on the desk starts, and you’re not given too much work. You think to yourself, “This is a breeze.” Day one is all about compliance—reading the most boring PDFs you’ve ever seen in your life. By the end of week one, you’ve managed to rearrange a few logos and fiddle with some Excel sheets. Two weeks in, your first pay cheque hits, and you’re sitting pretty on 100K CAD. You celebrate with a Tim Hortons double-double and a round of poutine with the boys.

You’re living the dream in Toronto, the 6ix, the T-dot, and you’re feeling like the king of the CN Tower.

Week 3 rolls around, and the MD has a meeting booked with a major client. The MD tells the director there’s a live pitch. The director tells the VP there’s a live pitch. The VP tells the associate there’s a live pitch. And the associate pings you at 9 PM on a Wednesday to let you know there’s a live pitch and you need to crank out your first comp set.

The associate is breathing down your neck, and hands you a comp set to finish by tomorrow morning. It’s 11:69 PM, and you decide to leave 10 minutes after the associate.

Next morning, the associate, Ryan, asks for the comp set.

You tell him you thought you could finish it during the day.

Ryan chuckles and says, “Don’t ever do that again, bro.”

You chuckle nervously.

Ryan stops chuckling. “No, seriously, don’t ever do that again.”

You’re so impressed by Ryan’s seriousness that he starts feeling like the big brother you never had.

Week 3 ends, and you’ve spent Thursday and Friday nights working until 3 AM.

The weekend arrives, and you’re off the clock. Back to paradise. “Banking ain’t so bad.”

Week 4 hits, and now you’re working on your second pitch. The MD wants to pitch a major mining company in the heart of Alberta’s oil sands.

The associate tells you at 5:20 PM to pull up a list of all mining companies in Western Canada. “I need it on my desk by tomorrow morning.”

You tell yourself you’ve got this. You’re Chad, after all. Life is good.

You run the numbers, grab a poutine, swipe through Bumble, and finish up at 3 AM. You Uber home, slide into bed at 3:30 AM, and tell yourself that sleep is for the weak. Life is good.

Next morning, you stumble into a Starbucks and order a black coffee, no sugar, because sugar is for suckers.

Fast-forward to week 12, you’ve churned out a couple of pitches (that went nowhere), and you’re itching to work on live deals. You charm your way into a live M&A process. You’re tasked with updating the company profile in the CIM. Wow, big league stuff. After three months of grinding, rewriting the same paragraph five different ways, the deal closes.

To celebrate, your team hits the town, you get smashed, and somehow manage to hook up with a girl who tells you her last boyfriend was a “Bay Street lawyer.” You laugh and tell her you’re basically the wolf of Bay Street.

Fast-forward to week 52, and the new analysts are here. Now you’re showing them the ropes. You’re so proud of how good your life is.

In one year, you’ve managed to close one M&A deal and work on another that’s still hanging in limbo.

You go out for beers with your accountant friends, and they tell you how much they’re making. You can’t believe how your bonus alone is more than their entire salary.

You compare watches. You’re rocking a Rolex Submariner, while your accounting buddy is wearing a Casio. You can’t help but laugh. Casio? More like can’t-io afford a real watch. You tell your friend he should’ve gone into banking.

Damn, it feels good to be a banker.

After hitting the clubs on Friday night, you roll back into the office. It’s midnight, and you’re not leaving until 3 AM.

Since you’ve mastered Excel shortcuts, pivot tables, and the art of staying awake with no sleep, your workload has tripled. It’s all good. You buy a couple of vests because some guy on Litquidity said they were cool. It’s not even that cold in Toronto, but who cares?

You start thinking about PE recruiting. You don’t really know why, but every Chad before you went into PE, so you follow the herd. You start brushing up on LBO modeling.

At this point in your career, you’re a machine, functioning on four hours of sleep. You line up a few interviews, impress the recruiters with your background, and land an offer at a Canadian PE firm. Buy-side, baby.

You think about hedge funds but realize you don’t really get the markets. Why bother when you can just HODL Bitcoin and Dogecoin and watch your portfolio moon? You’re only familiar with pumping and dumping, and I’m not talking about stocks, if you know what I mean.

The PE firm makes you stay the full two years, but it’s worth it.

Fast-forward to week 104, you’re now in private equity.

You’re in the driver’s seat. All the investment banks are pitching deals to you. Wow.

A senior associate asks if you think you should invest in a pipeline company.

You reply, “I don’t know, pipelines are so 2019.”

The associate says, “Run a model with 5 turns of leverage and get back to me tomorrow morning.”

You head back to your desk, thinking, “Wow, I’m actually learning stuff.” Instead of DCFs, you’re running LBOs!

You meet up with your accountant friends and ask them how the hell they’re still making less than 100K. Aren’t they in transactions services?

The hours suck, but the pay’s good. You’re working on big deals. One day, you look in the mirror and wonder, “Isn’t private equity the promised land? Why am I not happier?” You pop an Adderall and tell yourself, “It’s all good. Pay’s great. Life’s great. Let’s grind.”

You look a little older, but you tell yourself you’re aging like a fine Canadian whiskey.

The partners at the fund are all from Rotman and Ivey, and you start thinking maybe an MBA is in your future. You ace the GMAT, score a spot at Rotman.

Fast-forward two years, and you’re starting your MBA at Rotman School of Management.

It’s orientation day, and you notice there’s a lot of diversity. You see a couple of guys you remember from RBC and BMO.

Life’s good. Good vibes all around. Everyone’s surprisingly chill. No jerks.

You meet some tech people, and while they seem smart, you can’t help but feel superior.

Tech Guy: “Hi, I’m Alex. Nice to meet you, Chad.”

Chad: “I’m ex-PE, ex-BB IB. What do you do?”

Tech Guy: “I’m an entrepreneur. I’m here to build my network and raise Series B funding.”

Chad: “Building a business? Ha! I’m a banker. What’s Slack? Sounds lame.”

You start your classes and dive into strategy and leadership. You don’t really get the case method, but who cares? The only thing you really understand is “LBO, M&A, Deal Closed.”

But the classes are chill, and the vibes are solid. Rotman actually rocks, and you’re enjoying the break.

You join a bunch of clubs, especially the Blockchain & Crypto Club, and meet other Chad’s who made bank on NFTs. There’s no IB or PE club at Rotman, so you start one and appoint yourself president. Your friends from IB join you.

You party for two years, get wasted, and somehow graduate summa cum laude. Was that Rotman? No, you’re Chad, and everything comes easy.

You interview and land an associate role at a Canadian bulge bracket. It was either that or corporate development, but you choose the cash.

You spend your summer in Muskoka, and you cap it off by hooking up with a 23-year-old broad you met at a cottage party. The sun sets at 9:30 PM, and you’re loving life.

Canada is paradise.