Some Like It Scandalous delivers on its premise: childhood enemies-to-lovers, fake engagement, scientist-slash-businesswoman heroine, and a rich and fleshed-out Gilded Age setting. Despite the intriguing premise, I had difficulties with the first half (it drags on far too long before getting to the most interesting parts of the novel), the portrayal of the hero as witty and creative when evidence suggests otherwise, the absence of Daisy’s father when he is responsible for the climactic conflict, and the choice to explore some feminist issues and not others.

Daisy Swan and Theodore Prescott the Third are coerced into an engagement by their respective parents. Theodore Prescott the Second is furious at society’s furor over Theo’s involvement in the “Saratoga Scandal” and believes that Theo needs a sensible wife who will keep him in line. No one knows exactly what happened in the Saratoga Scandal, but rumors all agree that an actress, a racehorse, and a torn bed sheet are involved. Theo’s father is adamant: marry Daisy or Theo is cut off.

Meanwhile, Daisy’s mother — who despairs of her twenty-five year old unmarried daughter and her complexion balm hobby — stresses the urgency of Daisy’s need to marry because of some mysterious disaster that will befall her father’s company. Mrs. Swan uses the words “fraudulent” and “investment” without elaboration, but it’s enough for the reader to fill in the blanks. Her father is undoubtedly caught up in an illegal scheme, and the family will be ruined when the secret is out.

Theo and Daisy don’t like each other and never have. I should add that it’s less enemies-to-lovers, and more Theo-was-an-asshole-child-who-bullied-Daisy-and-Daisy-has-every-right-to-hate-him. Ahem. Still, they do find common ground and decide to fake an engagement to appease their parents while agreeing to never actually make it to the altar. To no one’s surprise, their scheme doesn’t go according to plan and they end up falling in love amidst the gossiping vultures of The Four Hundred (the name of New York’s most elite society members) and the opening of Daisy’s new business to sell complexion balm to women.

Despite my overall ambivalence to the book, I do really love Daisy. Yes, the Ugly Duckling allusions are obvious — her last name is Swan and Theo so nicely nicknamed her “Ugly Duck Daisy” as a child. I confess to rolling my eyes a little at the nickname; she’s not ugly and everyone admits that she has perfect complexion due to the complexion balm (adapted from her grandmother’s family recipe). Theo actually thinks, “She was no Helen of Troy but she wasn’t awful to look at.” It seems ridiculous that people still quack at her as a taunt (thanks, Theo), but I can buy into the unnecessary viciousness of society.

What I love about Daisy is her commitment to science and her determination to allow women feel beautiful with cosmetics.

She thought of creating products and selling them, a balm for the complexion, in particular. She would make womankind feel a little more beautiful and earn her own independence. If that wasn’t happily-ever-after, she didn’t know what was.

I had no idea that respectable women in the late 19th century didn’t wear cosmetics (e.g., lip paint or blush) because they didn’t want to be labeled “scandalous.” Daisy’s mission stems from her own experiences: she’s never felt beautiful in the face of society’s taunts and of her conventionally attractive sisters, but she uses cosmetics to help herself feel beautiful. It’s wonderfully feminist and subversive: it’s not that women have to wear makeup to feel beautiful, but they should be able to wear cosmetics without being dismissed. Women have the right to be frivolous and adorn their faces, and I really appreciated that a significant part of the novel focused on this subplot.

I was also really pleased when Theo and Daisy partner together to open up Dr. Swan’s Apothecary and sell The Midnight Miracle Cream (tagline: feels like a dream!). In the beginning of the book, Theo is aimless and has no real ambition. He doesn’t want to work in his father’s company despite being desperate to win his father’s approval. He spends his time carousing with his fellow Rogues of Millionaire Row, gambling money, and seducing actresses. He isn’t a worthy match for Daisy until he becomes interested in her business and enthusiastic about advertising the product. So even though I was skeptical and unenthused about Theo for the first half of the book, he did redeem himself and crawl into my good graces in the second half of the book.

If I liked the protagonists, why am I rating Some Like It Scandalous a C minus? As I said in the beginning of the review, my dissatisfaction stems from four complaints:

1) The first half drags on for too long

If I named all my favorite scenes in the book, every single one of them would take place in the latter half of the book. That’s when everything interesting happens: Daisy and Theo open up a business together, there is deeper discussion re: feminist desires and rebellion, the romance really heats up, etc.

So what happens in the first 45% of the book? Daisy and Theo are forced into a fake engagement due to parental pressure, Daisy and Theo meet in Central Park and banter about how to escape their situation, Daisy and Theo go to a ball and banter about how to escape their situation, Daisy and Theo go to a restaurant and banter about how to escape their situation, and finally Daisy and Theo go to another ball and banter about how to escape their situation.

You see my point. Obviously other things happen as well, but not much. Daisy expresses dreams about her complexion balm and independence to her feminist friends. Theo is apologetic that his friends and society bully her because of a nickname he coined (you can see my eyes rolling to the back of my head, especially considering the fact that Theo never actually confronts his terrible friends about their asshole behavior).

The banter is entertaining if extremely repetitive; this made the novel feel static for so long. Nothing really happens. Their respective situations don’t really change between Chapter 1 and Chapter 12. I was so frustrated because I wanted something to happen and change the status quo of their fake engagement. I could sense that something would happen soon, but it takes so long (Chapter 12, to be precise, as that’s when they decide to partner up and sell the product together).

And when that something finally happens, the novel really picks up speed and rolls with it. Unfortunately for me, this only happens at around 45% of the book. It is difficult for me to recommend a novel when I found the first half to be static and repetitive.

2) The portrayal of the hero as witty and creative when evidence suggests otherwise

One of my biggest pet peeves is when the reader is told that a protagonist possesses a certain characteristic, everyone in the book believes that the protagonist possesses said characteristic, and yet none of the evidence supports the assertion that the protagonist possesses said characteristic. In this book, I’m referring to Theo and everyone’s belief that Theo is witty with quips and phrasing (the same skill that supposedly makes him useful to market Daisy’s complexion balm).

Let’s see what the text says about Theo’s cleverness and gift of description (any bold emphasis is mine):

Example #1:

“Oh, look at that woman’s dress,” Mrs. Swan pointed out. “What a ghastly color. What would you even call it? Some sort of purple or lavender, but that doesn’t quite capture it, does it?”

“It is the color of a three-day-old bruise,” Theo said after a casual glance in the direction of the dress in question. “One wouldn’t think Worth would make such a dress.”

“That’s precisely it! What a gruesome but utterly precise description,” Daisy’s mother enthused. “What an eye for color you have, Theo.”

Daisy eyed Theodore Prescott the Elder over the top of her menu. There was no mistaking the tightening of his jaw, or the firm lines his lips displayed as anything other than displeasure with his son. And that was putting it mildly.

Daisy suspected that it was not the macabre description that bothered such a supremely manly, masculine man, but the ease with which his son arrived at such a perfect description of something like a woman’s dress. His son—his gorgeous son—had an eye for color, a flair for descriptive words.

Example #2:

“Oh, yes,” she answered. “Many think it and more than a few have ‘joked’ about it. To say nothing of all the Ugly Duck comments.”

Theo felt shame start to rise. He still remembered that day when he had come up with the name. It had felt good to make everyone laugh—but then he hadn’t considered that they were laughing at her. He thought they were laughing at his wit. And he never thought the name would stick. He’d always had a knack for quips and nicknames. The Rogues of Millionaire Row, the Saratoga Scandal. And those were just the recent examples.

Example #3:

“No one still calls you that,” Theo scoffed, defensive. “It was years ago.”

“It was in the newspaper this morning. “Ugly Duck Snares Millionaire Rogue”. Your friends quacked at me at the ballroom just last night.”

Theo winced. Again. “I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry.”

“It is catchy. I would almost say that you have a knack for names and such.”

Her compliment caught him off guard. No quick, sharp reply came to mind other than a simple “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Everyone — not just Theo and his pandering fans in society, but Daisy included — believes that Theo is clever with description and quips. The entire premise of Theo joining Daisy’s business rests on this assertion. Everything quoted above are examples cited to prove this assertion.

You might disagree with me, but I don’t think that these are good examples of Theo’s creative brilliance. First, Theo coined the phrase “Saratoga Scandal” to refer to a scandal that happened in — wait for it — Saratoga, NY. This isn’t creative ingenuity, it’s basic alliteration.

Second, Theo named his group of asshole friends “The Rogues of Millionaire Row.” I’ll admit that this one is more interesting than “Saratoga Scandal,” but it’s not exactly inventive. Furthermore, what seems more plausible: 1) Theo is genuinely brilliant or 2) Theo is so wealthy and popular that society would fall over themselves to coo over his “brilliant” (and sometimes cruel) comments? I’m thinking the latter.

To be honest, I wouldn’t care if it were only Theo and society who thought that he was brilliant. But Daisy thinks he’s brilliant, too! In Example #2, Daisy thinks that Theo is brilliant for describing a dress as the color of a three-day bruise. I’ll admit that this example is inventive and that Theo’s description is an ingenious way of describing the woman’s dress. But look at Example #3. After Theo apologizes to Daisy for coining the phrase “Ugly Duck Daisy” (a phrase that is responsible for society bullying Daisy for a decade), Daisy compliments him on being so witty and catchy!

She is complimenting her bully for calling her an Ugly Duck! Am I really supposed to believe that intelligent, strong Daisy would ever compliment someone for coining the phrase “Ugly Duck Daisy?” I simply cannot get past this. And not that my opinion really matters at this point, but is Ugly Duck Daisy really that creative? Hans Christian Andersen published the fairytale The Ugly Duckling in 1843 and Daisy fell into the duck pond in 1883 when Theo coined his brilliant taunt. It’s catchy in a “bullies like taunting little girls” sort of way, but certainly not what Daisy refers to as “a knack for names and such.”

I could care less what Theo and society believe about his creative brilliance, but it bothers me that Daisy would buy into this ridiculousness as well. In the end, Theo does come up with ingenious branding for Daisy’s product (The Midnight Miracle Cream: it feels like a dream!). But that doesn’t negate the fact that I didn’t think Theo’s earlier quips were particularly brilliant and creative.

3) The absence of Daisy’s father when he is responsible for the climactic conflict

The primary reason Daisy is forced to go through with this engagement is because of her father’s impending ruin and fall from society. There would be no book if this plot device didn’t exist. And yet, the reader never actually meets Daisy’s father. The reader doesn’t see Daisy interacting or even thinking about her father. I realize that he’s an absentee father and “not exactly a family man,” but his behavior (fraudulent investment schemes) propels so much of the conflict in the book (especially in the climax). I can’t say exactly what, but something felt incomplete and missing without his presence. Daisy seems to have zero emotional connection to this man. Perhaps she does, but his complete absence in the novel seems like a missed opportunity to explore Daisy’s feelings (negative or ambivalent) about her father.

4) The choice to explore some feminist issues and not others

As I mentioned earlier, one of my favorite things about the book is the feminist discussion about beauty and cosmetics. And despite the fascinating discussion re: women’s suffrage and protests, I am frustrated by what is given attention and what isn’t.

There are three major feminist issues brought up in the novel:

1. The idea that respectable women should be able to wear cosmetics without being branded as “scandalous” or “lacking virtue”
2. The idea that women should be able to dine at restaurants without a male chaperone
3. “The insufficient wages and deplorable working conditions of the city’s seamstresses” (e.g., working ten hours a day or locked doors preventing the seamstresses from leaving the factory)

One of these issues is not like the other two.

Issues #1 and #2 affect all women, but especially wealthy White women (e.g., Daisy and her friends). Issue #3, comparatively speaking, only affects poorer women of a lower class (e.g., not Daisy and her friends). I’m really glad that the novel even brought up the plight of the seamstresses, but my issue lies in how these different issues are portrayed.

Without going into detail, I can state that Issues #1 and #2 have large, dramatic conclusions where women rebel against the status quo and win battles for feminism. Issue #3, on the other hand, is only given 2-3 pages of time — when Daisy and her friends visit The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory and protest against the deplorable working conditions during the strike.

Daisy picked up a sign and joined the hundreds of young women in shirtwaists, skirts, and smartly tailored jackets embellished with bits of lace and ribbon, likely whatever castoffs they could afford. They wore brooches—made of paste, of course—and feathered hats. One even noted the occasional fur among the Ladies of Liberty who had joined them.

A protest, it seemed, was an occasion to dress up for. Daisy noted how their well-dressed appearance lent an air of credibility and respectability to the strike. How could one be opposed to these fine ladies having a place to hang their hats, fair wages, and time to spend with their families?

A few dozen women held signs and banners and together they all made a statement with their mere presence in front of the factory. Daisy was proud to be among them.

Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate that this scene is included at all. What bothers me is that during the strike to protest deplorable working conditions for seamstresses, Daisy and her friends spend the entire time talking about her problems (namely Issue #1, cosmetics, wedding planning, and her complicated relationship with Theo). One of her friends actually points out that Issue #1 (cosmetics) is less important than Issue #3 (seamstresses), and that train of thought vanishes almost immediately.

If you aren’t aware, the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory is the same location as the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire in 1911, one of the most dangerous industrial disasters in American history (Google tells me that 146 workers died). It’s not a coincidence that the book’s strike takes place in this particular factory in 1895, over fifteen years before the tragedy. I don’t expect Daisy and her friends to solve the seamstresses’ problems and stage a dramatic rebellion.

But her presence at the strike feels, well, performative. Daisy goes to the strike and protests, as if it’s evidence that she’s a good feminist and lifts all women (not just wealthy White women) up. But then she spends the entire time during the strike talking about other issues.

Wouldn’t the scene, for example, make more of an impact if Daisy actually talked to a seamstress and asked what her life was like? The protesting seamstresses are seen but not heard. And yes, I am aware that the heroine from the first book of the series (a book I have not read) is a seamstress-turned-duchess. There are a couple scenes where Daisy talks to Adeline (who is designing her wedding dress) but the conversation never steers away from fashion. But that doesn’t negate the fact that this scene feels like a wasted opportunity to shed light on the plight of overworked seamstresses. The entire time I was reading about the strike, it felt like I was supposed to laud Daisy for being generous and philanthropic. In truth, I felt the opposite.

Conclusion

I wish the book’s co-partnership/business subplot started earlier, as that was my favorite aspect of the novel. Watching Theo and Daisy team up and sell products to women feels unique for a historical, and I wanted to see more of that. It’s not that I dislike witty banter; I just wanted something to advance the plot in the first half of the book.

I’ve spent most of the review talking about the negatives, but I don’t hate this book. It is a perfectly fine novel with an interesting setting. I don’t love it, but I don’t hate it either. And even though the pacing didn’t work for me, I’m willing to try future books in the series as I love the Gilded Age setting.

And as with all books, your mileage may vary. Readers who love bantering (especially in enemies-to-lovers) might really enjoy this book. If my negatives don’t bother you, then I encourage you to pick up Some Like It Scandalous because it may very well be your cup of tea.