Blonde's Eye View: The Wharf of Wall Street
COMMENTby Angela Clarke
I was shocked when I saw The Wolf of Wall Street. Not by the illegal or immoral exploits rogue trader Jordan Belfort and his buddies got up to in the 1990s.
No, I was shocked by the audience's surprise.
Needless to say, I didn't watch the film in E14. Years ago Canary Wharf and its City boys took my naivety and ground it, chopped it, and snorted it.
I've heard enough variations of the drug addled, sex-worker "perks", throwing-money-from-the-windows debauched stories to keep me in therapy.
I know a Wharfer who watched every Tuesday afternoon as some guy received oral sex on the fire escape of the glass tower opposite.
It shocks and fascinates those outside that world and, with rumours of banks hiring whole cinemas to screen it to their employees, it still seems to be aspirational to those within it. Work hard at screwing people over and you too can get a supermodel wife you can punch in the face.
I grew bored of hearing "then we offered the intern an insane amount of money to do something incredibly humiliating and they did it! Isn't that hilarious!"
Because it really isn't. People want to believe they would never be humiliated like that, so they side with the abusers.
In their minds they would be on the "winning" team.
"Wolf Of Wall Street is just like my life, but with retro suits!" posted a mate on Facebook. Poor choice. Machismo posturing is so 1990s.
There'll always be the odd STD-riddled apple, but I like to think the majority of the hardworking City bods have finally grown up.
Even the Tuesday afternoon fire escape guy has stopped.
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