This credit crunch has been terrible news for pet dogs, Woolies pick'n'mix and corporate pheasant shoots. Now the latest victim appears to be the trophy husband.

You know the one: the alpha male, unfit, balding and seriously rich - women are suddenly dropping him. Beautiful wives don't want a house husband who is always trying to cadge a decaf latte off them and is still hanging around at breakfast. That was never part of the proposition.

Trophy husband had to work hard for his arm candy. He spent his best years at the office, at Heathrow or BlackBerrying from the spare room at 3am. In return he could expect a stunning, perfectly groomed partner and home. In the mornings his wife made sure her brows and nails were manicured and dealt with the gardener, chauffeur, housekeeper, florist, dog walker and cleaner. She organised the rental in Mustique, booked two years in advance so her husband could play cricket with Mick Jagger on the beach, and asked her assistant to put her name on the waiting list for the next Roland Mouret dress. In the afternoons, she found the best tutors to travel to Mauritius with the family at Christmas so the children could pass their school entrance exams in January.

By 7pm, she was dressed in her Prada lace for the next charity ball. If you had asked her what a Ponzi (pyramid scheme) was, she'd have thought it was a cute Chloé handbag and she would have assumed that deleverage was an Agent Provocateur bra. She left the finances to her husband.

But if her hedge-fund hunk loses his job, the deal is off. In the past three months, the number of couples with more than £7 million in assets who have filed for divorce has spiralled. It sounds brutal, but trophy wives didn't just marry for love, they made a hard-headed business decision.

Like Scarlett O'Hara's “I'll never be hungry again”, they didn't get the point of being poor but happy. Now their husbands are losing their money, they are not quite such an enticing proposition. Many City men have been working so hard in the past few months that they look jowly and old compared with their Botox, boob-job, Brazilian-wax wives.

Mr Moneybags, of all people, should know what a deal is. His wife spent hours choosing the door handles of the Chelsea house that he is putting on the market. It will be torture having to buy back last year's Missoni bikini from Oxfam. If she runs off with her personal trainer, who can blame her? At least he is as toned as she is, and she can cut down on one of her bills. So pity the trophy husband. He may soon become a relic.

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