My name is Rachel. After surviving two years as an analyst at Morgan Stanley, I got promoted to associate. I thought life would get easier — no more late-night formatting, no more menial grunt work. I was wrong. Now, I’m the one reviewing the formatting at 2 AM and telling analysts their slides need to “pop more.”

The day begins with 100 unread emails and 12 Teams messages from the analyst team.
Most are questions that start with “Quick one—” but are never quick. While sipping burnt office coffee, I review overnight edits from analysts, check calendar invites for client calls, and prepare for the daily team check-in.

By 9:30 AM, I’m already juggling three things: calming down a VP who’s upset about a missing footnote, editing a pitch deck that “just needs a few light tweaks,” and trying to understand the MD’s cryptic 2 AM feedback that reads, “Needs more edge.”

I hop on back-to-back calls — internal syncs, client meetings, and diligence check-ins. My camera stays off because I’m simultaneously reviewing a model and IM while pretending to listen.
The analyst pings me asking whether we should use TEV/EBITDA or TEV/EBIT — I sigh and reply, “Depends. What story are we telling?”

At noon, I take exactly four bites of a salad before the MD calls. He wants to “rethink the whole positioning of the deck.” I smile and say, “Got it,” while texting the analyst “cancel your dinner plans.”

This is when the real associate work kicks in — playing buffer between analysts and VPs.
I give feedback on three live models, write a first draft of a CIM section, and review 47 slides for alignment issues.
The VP flags a font inconsistency. I pretend I hadn’t already flagged it to the analyst two hours ago.

At 5:00 PM, I hop on a client call. The MD shows up five minutes late and asks me to “walk through the valuation,” then cuts me off halfway through. I take notes anyway. After the call, the MD says the slides looked “junior.” I don’t argue.

At 6:30 PM, the analyst sends me a new deck. It’s 100 slides, and half of it is placeholder text. I call and ask, “What happened?” The reply: “You said to prioritize the model.” Fair.

The VP swings by and says we need to prep for a Monday client meeting — it’s Friday. “Shouldn’t take long,” he says. I clear my weekend. I edit slides while answering analyst questions, translating MD feedback, and explaining to legal why we can't include certain claims.

At 10:00 PM, I get a “Quick call?” message from the MD. It lasts 45 minutes. The topic: whether a bar chart or pie chart better reflects our message. I suggest both. He loves it.

Everyone else logs off, but I’m still here — making final edits, proofreading for the third time, and checking that every file is named correctly. I send the email. The VP responds, “Perfect. Let’s see what the MD thinks.”

I shut my laptop at 1:45 AM. The analyst pings, “Can we talk about next week’s staffing tomorrow?” I send a thumbs-up emoji. I’ll probably forget.

I collapse into bed wondering if this is sustainable. Then I remember I’m halfway to VP. I smile. Maybe I’ll even sleep in tomorrow… until 9.

The day begins with 100 unread emails and 12 Teams messages from the analyst team. Most are questions that start with “Quick one—” but are never quick. While sipping burnt office coffee, I review overnight edits from analysts, check calendar invites for client calls, and prepare for the daily team check-in.

By 9:30 AM, I’m already juggling three things: calming down a VP who’s upset about a missing footnote, editing a pitch deck that “just needs a few light tweaks,” and trying to understand the MD’s cryptic 2 AM feedback that reads, “Needs more edge.”