Better the Devil you know?

This year's fash mag sequel is hugely enjoyable but lacks bite.

It made perfect sense for me to watch the new Devil Wears Prada film with my friend Sam Taylor. She’s no Miranda Priestly, but Sam was once the editor of The Lady Magazine. Long before that, she was the editor of City Limits, which is where we first met. She knows a thing or two about magazines and the role of women in the media.

I wasn’t expecting the new movie to have much to say on either subject. But I was wrong.

It’s not the first time I’ve been wrong about The Devil Wears Prada. I read Laura Weisberger’s novel when it was first published – and to be honest, I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. If you’d told me then that Meryl Streep would give such a memorable, Oscar-nominated performance as Miranda, I wouldn’t have believed it.

The first film was released 20 years ago. Since then, it’s become a pop cultural phenomenon, inspiring memes and comedy skits, and even spawning a stage musical with songs by Elton John.

Now we have the film sequel, which reunites Streep with Anne Hathaway, Emily Blunt and Stanley Tucci but strikes a very different note to the first movie. Andy is now A Serious Award-Winning Journalist. Emily works for Dior.

Miranda still works for Runway magazine – but crucially, she’s no longer the apex predator of the first film but part of a dying breed, out of step with the prevailing culture and facing the threat of cancellation. She hangs her own coat and holds her tongue. She has a new assistant who advises her on what she should and shouldn’t say. The Devil may still wear Prada but she no longer calls the shots. She even travels economy – which is the ultimate humiliation, obviously.

Subplots and guest stars abound. Andy gets a love interest in the shape of Aussie actor Patrick Brammell of Colin From Accounts fame. Emily gets Justin Theroux, who’s barely recognisable as her idiot wealthy boyfriend. Miranda has a dutiful but dull consort in the shape of Kenneth Branagh. There are cameos from Donatella Versace and Lady Gaga, neither of which serves much purpose.

The plot is ridiculously far fetched but this hardly matters. You don’t come to a confection like this expecting realism. There’s no faulting the performances or the frocks. But there’s something vital missing. The first film was part rom-com, part grim fairy tale. Much of the pleasure came from watching Streep’s evil fashion queen devour those further down the food chain.

The new film lacks the bite which made its predecessor so entertaining. Miranda is less powerful than before, while Andy is more self-assured and less eager to please. Their working relationship lacks tension, which reduces the dramatic stakes and sometimes leaves the film foundering.

I doubt that The Devil Wears Prada 2 will have the same cultural impact as the original. For a film set in the world of fashion magazines, it features very little in the way of fashion journalism. There isn’t a single scene to match the famous cerulean belt buckle takedown in the first film. But it does have a lot to say about the changing media landscape, where advertisers increasingly call the shots and nobody’s job is safe from the threat of AI or the whims of wealthy investors.

This is especially true of the female characters, who have to scheme and plot simply to survive. The Devil may be a woman, but the men upstairs hold all the power – at least until the final reel.

The original novel was inspired by the author’s experience of working with Anna Wintour at Vogue. This film brings the story full circle as Andy is offered a major book deal to dish the dirt on Miranda and the audience is left wondering if the old adage is true and it really is a case of ‘better the Devil you know.’

© 2026 Paul Burston