I have a confession to make. I daylight as a comedy writer for a fratblog that has gained enough notoriety to allow me to pass myself off as a functioning member of society to my parents, but my real calling, what I really identify as, is something I have to keep even more hushed than my career.
I am a gold-digger.
I aspire to be one anyway, as it’s a necessary step to take on the path to trophy wifedom, which as any diva knows, is ever superior to housewifedom. I try to keep the truth under wraps, but I secretly don’t really know the meaning of the word “secretly.” The infamous “Freakonomics” analysis of gold-digging has appeared on my Facebook wall not once, not twice, but three times, by three different people, completely independent of each other. If you haven’t read it, I’ll summarize.
A pretty, but helpless little girl wanted to marry a rich guy living in New York City. She required a minimum annual salary of a mere $500,000 — practically meager earnings. She was at a loss as she was unable to find a suitable mate, so she posted to an online forum looking for advice. She claimed to be beautiful, and wondered what else she could do to attract a rich man — what do they look for in a woman? Where do they hang out? A man who claimed to be some corporate bigwig responded. Eager to learn the secret, I read on.
He told the poor girl that because as she aged, her beauty would fade, this made it a depreciating asset. A wealthy man’s income was likely to increase as he aged, making it an earning asset. For this reason alone, he told the girl that dating her would not be a good investment, as she was hoping to trade her beauty for his money. The story lit up the internet. The feminists, the wealthy men, and the poor ones were thrilled. How they hooted and howled at the man denouncing women who hope to land a man with a wallet big enough to match his ego.
People tend not to like when women admit they’d like a man with money. As a girl who finds love more frequently in a guy’s pants….pocket than in his heart, I know this all too well. Guys tease that I’m “the devil,” my friends play the “you should marry for love” card, and feminists get all high and mighty with their, “make your own money” nonsense. They’re such jokesters. Feminists, especially, are known for their great senses of humor. They say this attitude is deplorable. I say that’s bogus.
Men like T&A. It’s shallow, perhaps, but undeniable, nonetheless. I’ve surveyed men asking the number one thing they look for in a girl, and 100% of them said it’s her looks. It’s justifiable, is it not? You’ve got to be attracted to someone to make it work. And as for T&A, specifically, well, that’s just instinct. Some big ole boobies and wide set hips really reel ‘em in. I’ve seen it more times than I can count — a mediocre face on a hot body, and the boys go wild for it. It’s in their nature. An hourglass figure makes a guy’s douchebag synapses fire, for a very real reason: it symbolizes fertility. Reproduction is our most basic instinct, so when a guy sees a woman with a childbearing physique, his instinct is to do what he can to have sex with it.
When I asked girls the same question, the answer, besides humor, that came up the most frequently was something along the lines of “And rich. Just kidding. But really haha.” We all want a successful man, because of course we do. We’ve heard the old sayings all our life:
“It’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one.”
“Trust fund or condom: if you don’t have one, you better have the other.”
“Veronica, sweetie, whatever you do in life, whomever you marry, Mommy wants you to know, you should never sign a pre-nup.”
I always thought it was weird that that last one had my name in it, but my mother used the adage frequently, and told me to view the coincidence as extra incentive to follow its advice. Yet we feel ashamed of it. I say, no more!
Let’s all just admit it. Terms like “investment banker,” “conference call,” and “meeting with a client” turn you on a little. When you see your med student boyfriend in his lab coat, your nips get just a liiiittle bit harder. When he says that magical four-letter word, AmEx, your heart just melts. That’s okay. There are some perfectly justifiable reasons to go for a man with money, and none of them make you a heartless, shallow, high-maintenance bitch. I mean, you may still be those things, but it’s not because you get a tickle in your panties when you accidentally on purpose get a glimpse of your man’s bank statement.
A six-pack is nice to look at, but I’ve touched very few. I’d just as soon party with a big, ole keg if the guy were financially stable. Again, it goes back to the reproduction. Anyone can spread his seed, but not everyone can provide for their young. Unfortunately, this no longer means a raw use of testosterone in the slaughtering of animals with one’s bare hands (am I the only one who feels like a small, animalistic, immature part of me likes it when guys get aggressive? Just me? Okay). To protect, and provide for his family, a guy needs to have money. Especially, if your maternal instinct overrides your…whatever instinct makes you think spending 40 hours a week working for somebody else is a good idea, you’re going to need a man who rakes in enough dough to allow you to stay home with your children. Even the eyes of my lesbian career-oriented friends light up when they realize their new beau is well-paid. Why? Because our instinct whether we want a career or not, is to seek out a guy who can provide for us. Estrogen wants you to marry rich. It’s natural.
To be clear, I’ve never used a guy for his money, and I’ve never been with a guy I didn’t like just because he bought me things. That’s not cool, and I need to lose ten pounds before I’d even be capable of such a thing. I believe you should definitely marry for love, I just don’t normally find myself loving guys who aren’t successful, or at least ambitious enough to eventually be successful. A nice, big…wallet is an attractive quality, and that’s not my fault. It’s science…but actually.
- Image via MSN
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Veronica Ruckh
Veronica (@VeronicaRuckh) is the Director of Total Sorority Move for Grandex, Inc. After having spent her undergraduate years drinking $4 double LITs on a patio and drunk texting away potential suitors, she managed to graduate with an impressive GPA and an unimpressive engagement ring -- so unimpressive, in fact, some might say it's not there at all. Veronica has since been fulfilling her duties as "America's big," a title she gave to herself with the help of her giant ego. She has recently switched from vodka to wine on weekdays. Email her at veronica@grandex.co
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