One of the biggest “Devil Wears Prada” fans makes the case for why the film is singular to the era it was made, and how a proposed sequel could tarnish its legacy.
My favorite part of The Devil Wears Prada—the 2006 fashion flick based on Lauren Weisberger’s 2003 memoir, which solidified Anne Hathaway as an A-list star, introduced the world to Emily Blunt, and somehow, in a very packed field, became Meryl Streep’s most iconic role—is The Cerulean Speech.
When wannabe “serious” journalist Andy Sachs (Hathaway) giggles about two “different” blue belts looking exactly the same, Runway Magazine editor Miranda Priestly (Streep) takes her to task. She singles out Andy’s sweater, which isn’t just blue, it’s cerulean. She tells Andy that Oscar de la Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns, followed by Yves Saint Laurent’s military jackets in the same color. More designers embraced the tone, which eventually filtered down into department stores and the “clearance bin,” where Andy presumably found her jumper.
“That blue represents millions of dollars of countless jobs,” Miranda says icily. “And it’s sort of comical how you think that you’ve made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact, you’re wearing a sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room… from a pile of stuff.” It’s not just a rebuttal of Andy: It’s an eloquent fuck you to anyone who has ever branded fashion or the arts as frivolous.
Last week, it was reported that there are plans for a sequel to the 2006 film. Details are hazy, but Streep, Hathaway, and Blunt are apparently in “talks” to return alongside Stanley Tucci. The reported plot is also vague, but it’s thought the film will follow Miranda in the new media environment, where legacy media outlets like Runway are struggling for ad revenue. Can the magic of the original—encapsulated by the Cerulean Speech—be recreated? I suspect fans have every reason to fear that the answer is: No.
It was only a matter of time before the sequel to The Devil Wears Prada came along. It’s following a path that has been well-trodden by other 2000s hits: A stage musical, then either a film sequel or remake. Just look at Mean Girls and Legally Blonde, which both have a stage musical and a 2024 film remake and upcoming sequel, respectively. Or Freaky Friday, which is currently filming its sequel, with Jamie Lee Curtis and Lindsay Lohan reprising their roles.
Then there was HBO’s ill-fated Gossip Girl reboot—another update on a foundational text for millennial teens. Gossip Girl (Gen Z Version) was much better in terms of its diverse representation, but in comparison to the soap opera-style CW predecessor, it felt fundamentally joyless. It was canned after two seasons, and again, it felt fearful of its audience.
There is no telling what The Devil Wears Prada sequel, if it actually happens, will be like. But making it as sharp and biting as the original, where Andy was called a “smart fat girl” by her boss, and continually let down by her unsupportive boyfriend and friends (who, as the meme dictates, are the “actual villains” of the film.), seems virtually impossible in today’s world.
The appeal of The Devil Wears Prada was grounded in the specific brutality of the time, where the idea of working until it completely destroyed your social life was glamorized and internalized by a generation of millennials. Coming of age in the aftermath of the financial crash, the film became a blueprint for the BuzzFeed generation, who monetized their side hustles and faked it until they made it. (So much so that the “happy ending” is one of #CareerGoals, not romance.)
As the editor-in-chief, Miranda had the power to change entire collections with a purse of her lips. But really, The Devil Wears Prada was a story about fashion, not the wider media industry. Some might read the film as part of the long tradition of movies where fashion is the main villain. (After all, it ends with Andy forsaking the fancy fits and rediscovering the “real” her.) But it did take fashion seriously. From the Cerulean Speech, to Nigel (Tucci) remembering the hope that Runway gave him as a kid, to Patricia Field’s impeccable styling.
Although parts of the movie might have been based on the experiences of Anna Wintour’s former assistant, it also represented a fantasy. Real-life assistants and interns in the industry—like me, for one ill-fated summer—died laughing at Andy being gifted an entirely new wardrobe, including “the Chanel boots,” when in reality, most magazine fashion closets were kept locked, and there was no way hell a lower-level employee would ever be given access, much less freebies. But really, the clothes were a narrative device, proving that even the most skeptical person could be ensnared by the glamor.
The fantasy element is why, I think, the film wasn’t Wintour’s undoing: Instead, it transformed her from a fashion industry icon into a wider cultural phenomenon. Fans actually liked the fantasy of an all-powerful #GirlBoss who could never be toppled. Miranda came to represent survival in an industry obsessed with the newest and youngest thing.
Perhaps the point of the sequel will be to show us how the digital age shattered that fantasy. Influencers have changed our ideas of celebrity—a status that is now gifted by algorithms as much as print magazines. Legacy institutions like Runway are now playing catch-up.
There is a sense of desperation about even the most prestigious titles, who are at the mercy of subscribers or SEO traffic. (To get a start out in the media today, Andy’s time would be better spent learning how to write up a celebrity Instagram post as if it’s an exclusive story or honing the art of the perfect rage-bait headline than fetching Miranda’s piping-hot Starbucks order.) And if the sequel really does focus on the struggle for ad revenue, that plot could easily just be two hours of editors yelling, “We need more traffic,” while writers frantically check their savings account in case of the next round of layoffs.
All this has changed the position of gatekeepers like Miranda. Social media has given audiences the ability to hold platforms and editors to account. She simply wouldn’t get away with behaving today how she did in the film—whether it’s calling Andy fat, making fun of her clothes, or firing Emily for having a cold—because she’d probably (rightly) become the face of the #MeanToo movement.
Against this backdrop, The Devil Wears Prada feels like a nostalgic relic of a time that was more elitist and brutal, for sure. But honestly? It was also much more fabulous. Do we really need to dent its oeuvre with the more noble ethics of today, or the bleakness of the current media environment?
That said, I’m sure there are lots of funny things they can do with a sequel. Maybe Runway needs to hire a “serious journalist” to boost its reputation after a string of scandals, bringing Andy and Miranda back together. (Only for Andy to get laid off via Zoom in as part of a pivot to video.) Maybe Andy’s awful boyfriend Nate’s recipes became “big on TikTok” before he got canceled when his misogynistic tweets from 2010 resurfaced? Maybe Emily has discovered Ozempic? Or carbs?
Or maybe, as I suspect, the point will be that platforms like Runway are less powerful today. The thing is, I’m just not sure we ever need to see a diminished Miranda Priestly—a woman who, by her own admission, everyone wants to be. Perhaps lightning really can strike twice here. Given the caliber of people who are reportedly involved—not just the rumored cast, but also director David Frankel and original screenwriter Aline Brosh McKenna—it’s certainly possible. And I hope it can, because otherwise, I worry the lesson from the Devil Wears Prada sequel will be that some perfect things should be left alone.
