‘I’m looking for a man in finance” goes the viral TikTok song of the summer. And it doesn’t mean my version – standing in the only bank branch for miles that hasn’t become a Costa, looking for someone, anyone, with a lanyard, a tablet and a can-do attitude to sort out my direct debit problem. “Trust fund, 6’5”, blue eyes,” continues the hook. If you haven’t heard it yet, click with caution: it’s a weapons-grade earworm.
It was originally a joke – its creator, Megan Boni (@GirlonCouch), told Today.com she was mocking women who complain about being single while having absurd non-negotiables in a prospective partner. But it’s become, among other things, an (arguably) sincere anthem for girls who genuinely want to date private equity giants in quilted gilets.
Because that’s a trend, apparently: influencers are encouraging young women to date rich, to let themselves be taken care of by a “provider” and to embrace a “soft life” (pursuing hobbies, travel, self-care, having a nice home) without financial responsibilities. New York magazine recently featured some, including a self-described “spoiled girl” matchmaker and a YouTube guru whose dating advice focuses on marrying for money rather than love. That scrabbly noise you hear behind the thumping man-in-finance beat is the Pankhursts spinning in their graves; a vein in my eyelid is throbbing along.
But hang on: is it actually serious? TikTok and gen Z memes can be a baffling millefeuille of irony, absurdity and self-referential, satirical silliness. “If you can’t tell it’s a joke, that’s your problem,” as one of the “provider” influencers said. I’ve watched tons of man-in-finance content and there’s some good, funny stuff: I loved the Royal Horticultural Society’s “green thumb, secateurs, loppers” version featuring a game, if baffled, older gent snipping a hedge, and there’s a fun gilet-ed flashmob in Liverpool Street, London. But I think there’s more to it; after all, the joke doesn’t work unless it’s skewering something recognisable.
So: what? There’s that yearning for the “soft life” for a start. When work is exhausting, unstable and unfulfilling, you can see why you might not want to bother; not needing a job at all could be the logical next step after the “lazy girl job”. Even before man-in-finance, my social media frequently showed me the girlfriends of rich men, who don’t need to work, filming their travel itineraries and luxury shopping trips. I don’t think they post in a self-skewering spirit of mockery and I don’t think it’s consumed satirically either. Displaying or pursuing conspicuous wealth isn’t as taboo as it used to be (perhaps thanks to the safety net of social media plausible deniability: you can say it’s a joke the offended viewer is too dim to get). Vogue’s claim that “finance bros are having a renaissance” makes me queasy, but it’s understandable at a time of profound upheaval that financial stability is on people’s partner wishlist.
Then New York magazine also explored the grim “nightmare” of dating for young women: men who crave conquests rather than connection, violent-porn-inspired sex that disregards women’s pleasure and an adversarial, contemptuous attitude forged in, or at least influenced by, the men’s rights movement. Women’s disillusionment is real (see also the pushback against the dating app Bumble’s jokey anti-celibacy ads – some aren’t “looking for a man” at all). You can see that might feed a cynical, even mercenary, sort of relationship nihilism – if not in reality, at least in what you post or consume in the hyperbolic arena of social media.
But wow, how bleak. For a start, it nourishes the manosphere’s dimmest, most damaging ideas about women as shallow gold-diggers who crave an “alpha”. Then that kept woman life of financial dependency, even consciously chosen, feels so retrograde, so vulnerable and anxious. How could anyone find a time of stashing away pin money or building up a running away fund aspirational? All those hard-won rights to own property, to inherit, to equal pay, the continuing struggle to close the gender pay gap exchanged for a powerless soft life? My eyelid vein is throbbing again. I should probably just lighten up and enjoy the memes, but the joke just doesn’t feel very funny.
• Emma Beddington is a Guardian columnist
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