A Not-Quite Review of We Should All Be Millionaires
I picked up We Should All Be Millionaires ready to be challenged, maybe even inspired. I was hopeful. I was open. And then I started reading.
"I believe every woman should want to be a millionaire."
And right away, I flinched. Not because I don’t want financial freedom… I do.
Not because I don’t believe women deserve wealth—we absolutely do. But because I felt the familiar twinge of pressure, of prescription, of one-size-fits-all empowerment. And it kept happening.
There are moments in this book where I nodded in full agreement. Like this line:
"There’s very little any of us can do... without the freedom that money can buy."
Yes. This is true. Money offers options. Agency. Safety. That’s part of what this series is about. But there are other moments—and entire chapters—where the book lost me completely.
You Are Not a "Broke-Ass Decision"
The chapter that finally broke me was called Million Dollar Decisions (Chapter 3). The premise? That every choice you make either moves you closer to wealth ("million-dollar decisions") or traps you in poverty ("broke-ass decisions"). Examples:
Walking your dog yourself = broke-ass decision. You should hire a dog walker.
Taking your unreliable car to the mechanic again = broke-ass decision. You should trade it in for a certified pre-owned vehicle.
Doing your own admin work = broke-ass decision. You should hire a 20-hour-a-week assistant.
I want to be clear here: fuck you.
Not because I don't understand the value of time. Not because I don't believe in making intentional, expansive choices. But because this advice completely erases the lived reality of people who are broke, not broken.
Where is the money coming from for the dog walker? Who qualifies for the car loan? What revenue is funding that assistant? If you're going to write a book for women navigating money, you cannot just assume they already have some.
When Empowerment Sounds Like Blame
The problem isn’t just the advice. It’s the tone. It’s the framing of hardship as personal failure. Consider this quote:
"You are living in a financial prison of your own making."
Mindset matters, sure. But so does history. So do systems. So does access. The reality is: the financial system is rigged. Women weren’t even allowed to open bank accounts without a husband's permission until 1974. Native Americans couldn’t vote until 1924. Many Asian Americans were barred from citizenship—and thus from voting—until the 1950s and 1970s. Equal pay has been law since 1963, and it still doesn’t mean a damn thing.
So no, you’re not broke because you don’t outsource your dog walks.
Either/Or Thinking and the Collective Good
Another big theme in the book is under-earning. And again, there are pieces of truth here: many of us are underpaid, undercharging, undervaluing our work. But the solution presented feels painfully binary:
You're broke because you give away your work. You're broke because you put others first.
But what if the answer isn’t always to stop helping people? What if generosity, care, and mutual aid are values we want to keep? What if the solution isn't to hoard wealth, but to change how it's distributed?
To be fair, the author doesn’t explicitly advocate for hoarding wealth—but the general message doesn’t seem to leave room for those of us who want to build sustainable lives and work toward the collective good. There’s little acknowledgment that sometimes making a little less in service of shared equity is a value-aligned choice, not a financial failure.
I’m tired of personal finance books that pretend there's no middle ground between martyrdom and selfishness. That there’s no value in a society where people look out for each other.
Where Do We Go From Here?
I didn’t finish the book. I don’t regret putting it down. But I do still believe in what I came here for: a better, more honest conversation about money. One that holds space for nuance, for systems, for care. One that doesn’t confuse privilege with power or mindset with magic.
If you’ve ever felt like personal finance books aren’t written for you—you’re not alone.
If you’ve read a money book that actually was helpful, inclusive, grounded—please tell me. Drop it in the comments or email me. I want to crowdsource a better bookshelf.
Because we deserve better than this. Because we're broke, not broken.