Philosophers ranging from Augustine to Husserl have said that time is a construct, expanding and contracting according to our perception, rather than obediently advancing to the rhythm of the clock or sun dial. In the capital markets, that feels especially true. Time doesn’t pass in weeks or months, but in deal cycles, lock-up periods, earnings seasons and roadshow calendars. If farmers follow the harvest, then bankers follow M&A announcements, IPO timetables, bond launches and accelerated bookbuilds.
Then December arrives, and everything takes on a strange, unreal quality, including time. The winter solstice approaches, the pace slackens and the usual torrent of emails, urgent calls and frantic meetings slows down, leaving a curious stretch of quiet that never quite loses its uncanny feel.
I first noticed it in my early years as a banker, when senior managers would simply disappear from the office during the final fortnight of the year, long before COVID‑19 normalised working from home. Not that they were idling; it was simply that not much was happening, though it didn’t feel like a holiday either.
Back then we would often go out for drinks together but working habits have changed a lot since the late ‘90s when I started. Now people leave earlier or prefer to go their own way, and by the mid‑2010s finding someone to share a bit of festive spirit with had become harder, even though we were all much more connected. The season felt simultaneously more professional and more dreamlike. London’s early darkness only heightened that mild sense of disorientation.
Clients, too, go into their own year‑end mode. They are either up a mountain somewhere or unexpectedly chatty in the office, happy to settle into long, rambling catch‑up conversations. Meetings that normally feel rushed — with people you’re presenting to juggling other obligations — take on a different tone in December. Clients stretch conversations simply to fill the time, drawing meetings out until it’s late enough to leave the office. Everything becomes less frantic, even, or especially, when you’re travelling in the run‑up to the holidays.
Christmas parties provide some structure, though they tend to cluster in early December. Before ride‑hailing apps, getting home on the first Thursday night of the month was a minor odyssey; I remember some long, rowdy journeys and bizarre encounters on the night bus from the West End. Now things are easier and safer, but also more predictable.
In those early years there were some good nights — a bit of light mischief, forgettable hijinks, and plenty of drink — but over time the events shifted from celebration to obligation. Age, fatigue and tighter workplace rules all played a part. Nowadays you attend out of courtesy more than to let off steam. Even when you’re picking up the tab (and most banks don’t fund their own Christmas parties), it’s still considered a work event, with all the demands of decorum that this implies.
It’s tempting to treat December as dead time, but it’s actually a moment for reflection. The pace finally eases enough to look back on the year. For eleven months you’ve been at full throttle, moving from presentation to presentation and deal to deal, with urgency overriding and overwhelming everything else. December gives you space to think. It’s the time to review the deals you missed and ask yourself hard questions about what happened. You can tune out the usual marketing noise and focus on the deeper shifts shaping the market. You can finally read that research you’d been saving, or reflect on the geopolitical and macroeconomic trends that could define 2026. It’s the kind of long‑range thinking that gets buried when the pipeline is overflowing with transactions.
It’s also a more human period for client relationships. The client who’s “around and bored” becomes an opportunity for a simple coffee or lunch, without a pitch book or an imminent transaction. You talk about what’s on their mind and how they see their sector evolving. These less frenetic conversations build trust, and that matters when the windows reopen in January. You’re not selling; you’re investing in the relationship.
December lets you move from execution to strategy, from activity to reflection, from pitching deals to building relationships
The calm also allows you to refine your own approach. January is usually intense and when the backlog thaws, everything moves fast. Now is the time to update target lists, sharpen analysis and adjust the plan of attack. Do the groundwork now and the January onslaught becomes a coordinated campaign rather than a chaotic, directionless scramble.
Beneath the sea of tranquility at a lot of firms, of course, lies the constant anxiety about comp. With annual reviews typically scheduled for January, you suddenly have room for honest self‑assessment. Away from the hubbub, you can ask yourself: What value did I really generate? Beyond revenue, what did I contribute to the franchise? What crisis did I prevent or mitigate? Whom did I mentor or develop? Once you’re clear on your own narrative, you’ll have a better sense of what next month’s conversation will bring.
The holidays feel strange on the capital markets desks because they disrupt the normal rhythm of doing. Bankers like motion; stillness unsettles. But just as investors know that strong performance often comes from patient preparation rather than constant hustle, the same applies here: a thoughtful self‑audit goes a long way toward setting up the next year’s success. Know thyself, as Socrates said.
So, lean into the strangeness. It’s good that everything is a bit off-kilter. December lets you move from execution to strategy, from activity to reflection, from pitching deals to building relationships. Go to the party, have something to drink (no more than two, seriously), and then step back and listen. The best trade is the one you prepare for, not the one you rush into.