“In a society where nostalgia is the currency of the times, the release of The Devil Wears Prada 2 comes as no surprise. The first film set the tone for the 2000s, with equal parts optimism and workaholism. Andy Sachs, a recent university graduate with big dreams to make it in New York, made a generation of women aspire to fashion journalism. Showing up at the Runway office without knowing who the editor-in-chief is and with an indifference towards fashion, she has to go above and beyond to satisfy the demanding Miranda Priestly. The Devil Wears Prada combined the glitz and glamour of the fashion world, including a quintessential makeover scene, with the not-so-glamorous long nights and hard work. A product of its time, the film made viewers feel that working your way to the top of the biggest fashion magazine in the world was somehow attainable. Times have changed, however. The sequel leans heavily on nostalgia and the early 2000s style revival – opening with the characteristic getting-ready scene of the first film. We see Andy more confident in herself and her fashion sense, having worked as a journalist for the past two decades. The mood shifts when everyone at her publication is unexpectedly laid off – via text. A clip of Andy giving a speech defending journalism gains traction on social media and lands her another job at Runway. With Miranda Priestly still at the helm, Runway has had its own share of social media attention after a story about sweatshops garnered controversy. “What magazine?” asks Nigel, another recurring character, at one point in the film. Runway is now entirely digital, and its budget has been repeatedly cut as the fashion magazine has gone out of fashion, at least in its 2006 form. Andy’s piece successfully reframes the narrative around the sweatshop story, showing that journalism trades in clicks and Runway has to carefully nurture its reputation online. The characters in the sequel are similar to their 2006 selves, being played by the same actresses who don’t seem to have aged a day. Emily, previously Miranda’s high-strung and mean-spirited first assistant, now works for Dior because, according to her, retail is the only part of fashion still making money. She makes this clear in a meeting about Runway’s upcoming issue, successfully negotiating five pages of advertising. “No us, no you” seals the deal, and Andy’s pleas for editorial independence go unheard. The commentary on the power of advertisers feels particularly pertinent for a film that serves as an advertisement for Vogue – one needs only to look at the cover of the May 2026 issue featuring Meryl Streep and Anna Wintour sitting side by side. The relationship between Runway and Vogue is paradoxical, with the latter clinging to the success of a film about the slow decline of the former. Miranda appears to be a relic of a time gone by amidst corporate changes. New HR initiatives prevent her from throwing her coat at the nearest assistant. Her younger employees have to remind her to use inclusive language in meetings. The death of the owner of Runway’s parent company causes a further generational clash between his son and Miranda. Sporting a gilet and talking in a mix of LinkedIn and TikTok, the new owner brings in a team of consultants who all look, talk and act the same. Miranda appears to have lost her bargaining power in the face of the new threat, and Andy tries in vain to make her stand up to changes that see the magazine essentially depleted into nothingness. As Miranda tells her, “it doesn’t concern you”, it also doesn’t concern anyone working at the magazine. The new enemy is the faceless shape of a suit on the singular mission of cost-cutting. We see how the process of ageing has jaded Miranda, who begins to appear more human (at least by comparison). The first Devil Wears Prada dealt with workplace problems reflective of the time: climbing the ladder in corporate New York while maintaining a personal life. At some point in the last two decades, hard work stopped being enough. The recurring line, “a million girls would kill for this job”, could be replaced by “a million girls would kill for a job”. Despite her managing style, Miranda represented the possibility of making it, and people like Andy could choose whether to follow the same path or reject it. The choice in The Devil Wears Prada 2 is between a bad billionaire, Emily’s clueless and caricature-like boyfriend Benji Barnes, and a good one, his ex-wife Sasha Barnes, who has rebranded into a philanthropist. Either option seems like a temporary solution to a problem that goes far beyond the scope of the film. The options for women seem to have narrowed, too. While she tries to make Emily believe she doesn’t need a man to achieve her goals, Andy starts dating a contractor who develops luxury apartments. Whether it’s the script or the subject matter, the sequel struggles to retain the light-heartedness and humour of the first. Neither is it as comforting, having seemingly lost all the depth and saturation that characterised The Devil Wears Prada. The glossy appearance of the film turns the fashion industry into a visual spectacle once again, but without the same warmth. The sequel may find it difficult to capture the cultural zeitgeist in the same way as the first, but does it need to? Our love-hate relationship with the well-known characters and the mythical world of fashion is enough to draw us back to the cinema seats.
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