Diversity Recruiting is Paradise

Laying on your twin-sized dorm room bed after bombing your Intro to Macroeconomics final, you reflect back on your disastrous first year at Indiana University’s Kelley School of Business. You lost your virginity to a 3 you scooped at a bar. You failed miserably at breaking into any prestigious clubs/orgs or external internships – both hallmarks of WSO’s tried and true method of securing a job on Wall Street. Your pockets are empty after wasting the recurring $20 fee the bouncers at local bars charged you. Most mornings you woke up hungover –coping with the 2-10 (0-9 conference) record of the Hoosiers football team– and woman-less; the only other soul in your room being your virgin roommate, Antonio, who spent the whole night grinding Fortnite. At least you’re not him.

You’ve had enough. It’s just one year, right? You’ll get on your shit this summer to be polished once recruiting kicks off next spring. Investment banking is your dream. Your destiny. You’re in love with the transactional nature and immense responsibility… or something like that. Hundreds of hours scrolling Wall Street Oasis and drunkenly skimming Damodaran’s iconic “Valuation” YouTube series validates your hunger to break in.

Grades come back. You nervously pull up your transcript. 3.42. Shit. The odds are stacked against you. You scurry to WSO and make a post titled “Can I Round a 3.42 to 3.5?”, but unfortunately fail to receive any confirmation bias. Oh well. You’re at a top-tier, high semi / low target school, home to the iconic, esteemed university organizations – The Investment Banking Workshop (IBW)– which is confirmed by the plethora of high SB/MS ratios on posts that favor IU Kelley (IBW) over other state schools like Cornell. You’ve been networking hard with the current members, even offering up your sister to Thad (Pi Alpha Kappa Treasurer & IBW Selection Committee Chair) to have for a night. If you had a girlfriend, you’d happily lend her to any IBW member to pound. It’s an investment, right? You’ll be making six figures right out of college; any woman will be salivating –fighting tooth-and-nail– to have a chance with once they see your “Incoming IB Summer Analyst at GS/MS/JPM/BMO/RBC” LinkedIn title.

You’re BOUND to get in. Entering into your sophomore summer, you tell yourself you’ll be glued to the computer, memorizing the ins-and-outs of BIWS 400 Q’s. What could go wrong? You’re ahead of the curve. You’ll be so prepared to blow the IBW interview out of the water.

Sophomore year rolls around and you’ve spent the entire summer “networking” at hometown high-school parties and jerking off to OnlyFans subscriptions you “invested” your remaining pennies in. Shit. You’re special, though. You were a Direct Admit into the Kelley Business School: that has to mean something, right? Interviews roll around and you’re prepping with your roommate, Antonio. This kid doesn’t know shit, you think. You’re way ahead of the pack. Antonio couldn’t even articulate how $10 depreciation flows through the financial statements if you put a gun to his head. You, on the other hand, built an entire DCF from scratch (through copying from a YouTube video, but who cares) and plan to present it to The Committee.

Interview schedules roll out. You’re scheduled for 8:30AM. The night before the day quickly approaches, and you spend the entire night profusely sweating and half-asleep in bed. Clock hits 8AM, and roll out of bed and zombie-walk into the interview room. 30 minutes later, you walk out knowing you bombed it. How the fuck am I supposed to know what a negative EV means or how to project Depreciation & CapEx? Looks like copying a DCF and not really knowing the “how’s” or “why’s” wasn’t the best idea. Weeks later, results are emailed as you’re chilling in your dorm. “YES,” screeches Antonio. He got in. “Lmfao bro, I can’t believe they believed me when I labeled myself ‘Hispanic’ on the application. I got asked questions like “How do the 3 statements link?” I’m literally Italian.”

Sadness turns into pent-up anger and frustration and then into motivation. Who cares?, you cope, IU Kelley (non-IBW) is still a low/mid semi-target (on-par with Emory/UMich/UC Berkley). You know you’re capable –no, destined– for high-finánce. You just need to put in the cold, hard work. You’ll be no-lifeing technicals for the next couple of months, and prove to those IBW scumbags that you’re worth it.

Recruiting season comes around, and you’ve spent the last 7 months memorizing BIWS 400 Q’s cold. You’re slacking on the network, but you’ll rely on Kelley’s brand name to pull for you. EB’s come-and-go, but you can’t get past the first round. I’m more of a BB guy, anyway. BB apps open soon after. You’re desperate, but can’t seem to land anything. You ask your roommate, Antonio, for advice. “Bro, just say you’re LGBTQ or something. Haven’t you seen WSO’s diversity rankings? Anyway, I’m seriously torn between MS and GS. Can you —…..” Antonio rambles on, but you go into a daze. The moment the conversation wraps up, you dash to WSO, and, clear as day, you see it. “Diversity Non-Target >>>>>> Non-Diversity Target” “TIER 1: Black Female/Male, Hispanic Female. Trans; TIER 1B: Hispanic Male; TIER 2: Lesbian, LGBQ+, Disabled, Females; TIER 3: Bisexual; TIER 5: Desperate straight guy with a noticeably fake gay accent; TIER 40: White Men, etc.”

Your morality and hunger for greatness reach a crossroad. All of the successful businessmen make unethical decisions, right? In desperation, you throw out a couple applications, but this time you make sure to tick the “Bisexual” box. What could go wrong? You’ve done an elephant walk or two for your frat hazing and even smashed a dorm chick just minutes after she finished with Tyrone, so it’s not a complete lie. You get immediate hits. HR at BMO and WF hit you back within hours of submitting, urging you to get on an accelerated interview track. Feeling like a celebrity in public, you take your sweet time to seem in “high demand.” Interviews are now a joke, and you even flip the switch with some mid-tier banks by asking interviewers “Why should I work for you?” just to fuck with them. You’re absolutely crushing interviews, so you spend more time rehearsing a fake gay accent than actual technical questions. Offers begin to pile up, and you eventually accept a gig at a top boutique (CVP/EVR/PWP/COW/RJ). Life is good.

After breezing through SA and securing a FT offer, you’ve never been so content. IBW scum are begging you for just a 15 minute coffee chat to network and learn your secrets.

3 months in, CVP/EVR/PWP/COW/RJ invites you to a mandatory LGBTQQIAAP+ networking event. sigh I guess this is par of the deal. As you walk in and begin chatting, you jolt as you realize you’ve forgotten to implement your accent. Do you use it now, or just forget about it? Slowly, you feel glares all directed your way, as if everyone found Waldo. Gay Radars are beeping out of control. They know. They know that you lied. Panic encroaches, and you’re not able to think properly. You excuse yourself to the restroom to take a moment. As you’re fake shitting on the toilet, you hear three pairs of footsteps walk in simultaneously. A couple of minutes pass by and they haven’t cleared out. As you finish up, you walk out and see Brian and Oliver –two flamboyant associates– and Liam guarding the door. “We know you’re lying. But, instead of reporting you to HR immediately to blackball you from all relevant IB’s, we’ll give you a chance to prove yourself.” Your heart palpitates uncontrollably as the two men approach you and start undressing you. Do you go with the flow? Or fight back and risk your career? “You don’t want that hard work to go to waste, do you?” – Brian smirks. This is the way.