All the Thoughts I Had While Watching The Devil Wears Prada 2
I should start by saying that I am a hater. I am one of those people who spent the entirety of watching Emerald Fennell’s Wuthering Heights pointing out every deviation from the book (though that film has issues beyond its extreme creative liberties—see: a hater). They say acceptance is the first step, but that doesn’t mean it’s something I want to change. I like being a hater. I like, for instance, watching The Devil Wears Prada 2 with a healthy dose of skepticism.
For the record: I liked DWP2. It’s cute, the cast is great, and I would happily watch a million hours of Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci as a dynamic duo running a fashion magazine. It’s an enjoyable two hours that continues a beloved story while situating it within the current realities of the media industry. Still, I suspect much of the praise is driven by nostalgia—a force very good at clouding judgment. If it were a one-off film, with all new characters and a different fictional magazine, it would likely be dismissed as boring and unevenly written—because, in my opinion, it is. That may sound odd for a movie packed with high-profile cameos, sparkly costumes, and fun montages. But look past all the glitter that’s distracting from the storyline, and you realize that, for the most part, very little actually happens.
At the height of the film, in Andy’s bid to save Runway from utter demise, she sits in a hotel room all day—albeit in a great vintage Björk shirt—and does not much more than make phone calls. Sure, there was a sense of urgency to it all but nevertheless I found my mind wandering. Here, just some of the thoughts that popped up.
Why are we spending so much time on this Aussie?
One of the major side plots of the film revolves around Andy Sachs and her new love interest, Colin a real estate contractor portrayed by Australian actor Patrick Brammall. He’s nice enough, and they seem like a good match, but when have we ever cared about Andy’s love life? Perhaps there was some conversation in the writers' room about finding a good man for Andy after Adrian Grenier’s character was sufficiently rebuked over the past two decades as the true villain of The Devil Wears Prada. Or maybe they wanted to recreate the chemistry between Andy and her one-night fling, Christian (Simon Baker), from the first film. But this relationship does nothing to further the story nor push any character growth forward. I think I can safely say no one is going to the theater to see Andy fall in love. This is a career film, and too many minutes were wasted on the new guy.
Leave the finance bros at home, please.
I had heard from colleagues that the film is very insidery; I assumed they meant it dove into the intricacies of the media industry. It does, but what I didn’t expect was that the consultants, venture capitalists, and private equity associates would be invited into the circle as well. There are multiple scenes of meetings around how to make Runway more profitable, and while they are done with a touch of satirization, it is not enough to make them interesting in any way. Every time BJ Novak’s character came on screen, I let out a groan because I knew the entertainment would cease for the next few minutes. I get it. They had to set up the stakes . The magazine is being sold off and gutted, but do we really need to talk about it over and over again? I can only watch Andy sputter on-screen so many times.
The film’s marketing and its thesis are in direct contradiction with each other.
To be fair, I did find parts of this storyline to be accurate. As someone who has been in the media industry for close to a decade, I’ve somehow dodged lay-offs while seeing them destroy good writers and even better publications on a frighteningly consistent basis. Never did I think this would be interesting fodder for a movie, but I do appreciate that DWP2 didn’t shy away from the realities of the industry as it stands. A sequel where Runway is thriving probably would have left me even more perturbed upon leaving the theater. Still, there was something hypocritical about the movie's entire thesis. Andy wants to save Runway, whether that's because she thinks it’s the last job in the industry where she can make a living wage or because she believes this cultural institution and arbiter of taste deserves to live on. But the distinction is largely irrelevant, muddled by the film’s own plot. She continually describes things as “everything that is wrong with the world,” including, at one point, a glamorous 75th birthday for the Elias Clarke CEO filled with her Runway colleagues. Are we supposed to agree with Andy? Or, do we take the side of Miranda and Nigel, who are adamant in their belief that Runway, its legacy, and its survival are paramount to the overall endurance of beauty and artistry? Perhaps a little bit of column A and column B—but anyone who believes in column B likely watched the movie’s press tour with the skeptical, side-eye emoji hanging over their head. Didn’t this film do exactly what it claims to be against: sell itself out, strip itself down to the simplest form, and hawk, not only tickets, but every branded product imaginable?
Did I just watch an ad or a movie?
When The Devil Wears Prada was in production more than twenty years ago, the fashion industry wouldn’t touch it. Here was a film blasting the most powerful woman in fashion, and brands wisely didn’t want anything to do with it. Costume designer Patricia Field had to work magic to clothe the cast when labels refused to lend clothes in fear of Anna Wintour’s wrath. This time around, Wintour was on board to such an extreme degree that she was reportedly on set, giving notes herself. Luxury labels, similarly, did a 180, securing key placelements in the film. Dior and Dolce & Gabbana are critical to the plot, while other brands are name-dropped with aplomb, and one can’t help but think there was a paycheck behind each mention. And while Jeff Bezos gets skewered in the film, portrayed by a goofy and gauche Justin Theroux, it clearly did nothing to compromise he and his wife Lauren Sánchez Bezos serving as honorary co-chairs of the 2026 Met Gala—Wintour’s annual crowning achievement.
In the first movie, Andy is a girl who wants to get into “real journalism,” who sees Runway simply as peddlers of luxury goods to people who don’t need them. There is a moment where we see that she still believes this 20 years later, specifically when talking to Emily about the $3,000 handbags Dior sells. The film makes the point that fashion magazines are more than that, but what about movies about fashion magazines? For the past few weeks, everywhere one has turned, there has been the red stiletto. Diet Coke cans, Grey Goose vodka, L’Oreal makeup, Target lines all plastered with the DWP2 logo. Would Andy approve? Would Miranda? I think not.
There’s a scene near the beginning of the movie, just after Andy gets rehired at Runway, when they go to visit Emily at Dior to discuss the brand’s advertising with the magazine. Andy learns the new lay of the land: Dior pays for the ads, ads pay for the magazine, so Emily is in a position of power. Andy is aghast, so likely maybe she can relate to how I felt every time a Starbucks cup was flashed before the camera or a brand was name-dropped in the film. While Andy pleads for the maintenance of integrity in the sequel, it feels like it left the building before the title card was even projected on screen.
Did we really need a sequel?
When I left the screening, I asked myself, “What was the point?” The story was told—and told well—with the first film. Why did we need a second? Then, I looked around: I was at a L’Oreal Paris-sponsored first look at the movie, one night before its wide release (yes, I can see how you might think I'm part of the problem). Standing there, in a sea of branded content, I was reminded that the point was, of course, to make money. And with a projected $180 million in global box office for its opening weekend, it will certainly succeed in keeping a struggling Hollywood afloat for at least another day.
