Twenty years is a strange time to follow (unless you are Top shot: Maverickwhen rewriting the rules). Long enough for nostalgia to settle into something akin to fiction, but also long enough for the world that made it real to quietly slip away.
That tension sits in the middle The Devil Wears Prada 2and to their credit, the director David Frankel and the author Aline Brosh McKenna don’t try to tame it. The first image this sequel gives us is not fashion, or glamour, or even Miranda Priestly; but the table of journalists at the award ceremony honors that their work is still important. Before one of them goes up to the stage to collect another medal, the entire table receives a text message at the same time. Within seconds, they learned that they no longer had jobs. Time is not set for shock. It comes with a kind of irreverence that feels uncomfortably close to the way these things are happening now.
It’s an unusually straightforward way to start a film that carries this much cultural baggage, and it quickly changes the terms of engagement. Whatever this sequel does, it’s not interested in simply creating an initial thrill Prada the movie. It looks at what is left after those pleasures have disappeared, and whether they still have meaning in a place that no longer applies the same rules.
Here’s where I come clean: I never had the same love for the first film that others seem to take for granted. Sure, I’ve come to love it in parts over the years, especially in its performance, but it always felt too happy about its sharpness, more interested in the spectacle of power than what underpinned it. That said, this sequel, coming with the same great team of creators, caught me off guard, not because it’s improving on every level, but because it feels like it’s been shaped for years.
The World Andy Returned To Is No More
The Devil Wears Prada 2 re-introduces to Anne HathawayAndy Sachs as a man who has already lived the life of success the first film dangled in front of him. He has become a well-respected, award-winning journalist, but that life is gone in no time. Her return to Runway is not listed as unfinished business or an experiment. It comes from a very simple, honest place: there aren’t many options left.
That shift gives the film a different weight. The story is no longer driven by conflicting desires and compromises. Rather it is driven by the silent question of what your work means when the structures that gave it purpose begin to erode.
You feel that erosion everywhere. Runway, once thought of as an untouchable institution, now exists in a modern version where no one seems to read magazines. Nigel (Stanley Tucci) he says plainly at one point, and the film doesn’t contradict him. What used to be selected now competes with whatever moves up to the top of the feed. The idea of capturing time and image, of creating a visual language that begs to be seen rather than passed by, begins to feel strange.
Miranda of the Priesthood When Taste Becomes Content
Even Miranda Priestly has had to bend, if only a little. He’s still compelling, he can still shrink a room to silence it with a glance, but there’s less concessions that accumulate over the course of the film. There is an acceptance of cheap content, of click-driven thinking, of decisions made to keep the machine running rather than raise the bar. Watching him walk through that space is one of the most interesting arguments the film holds. He is not so soft as he is faced with a world that no longer needs him the way it used to treat him.
Meryl Streep plays this version of Miranda with a nuance that suggests both control and awareness. There are times when he seems to be a little out of step with modernity, as if he is still adjusting to the rules that have changed. There are also times when the performance is open enough to show that you have a good understanding of what is going on. The question is not whether he sees it, but whether he can accept it.
The film expands on that concern by introducing new powers, in particular Justin TherouxBenji, a tech billionaire who speaks with easy confidence about a future shaped by artificial intelligence. His vision of an industry where models, artists, and even the human element is unnecessary is delivered without much hostility, making it come across as sharp. He is not presented as a caricature so much as a sign of where things are headed. That makes his presence hard to dismiss.
To me, that thread is directly connected to what the film seems to revolve around, whether it’s fashion or journalism. When everything is optimized for speed, scale, and efficiency, things that once required time, attention, and care begin to feel useful. The film does not resolve that tension. It lets it sit there, feeling closer to the truth.
Two Ways to Survive, One Way to Stay
Andy’s arc carries that uncertainty in a very personal way. At first, he insists—almost defiantly—that journalism still matters. The line might have been important in another film, but here it lives up to the surrounding context. Saying this at a time when all of his work has recently declined. It doesn’t sound like a victory declaration. It sounds like someone is trying to hold on to a belief that no longer feels validated.
That search concept plays its transformative role with Emily (Emily Blunt), now posed in a very different way than when we last saw him. They are no longer rivals in the same category, but still measure themselves against different ideas of success. Andy is looking for a purpose, something that justifies the work beyond survival. Emily works from a place that feels close to validation, control, and staying ahead of the schedule that rewards her. The film doesn’t force a clean distinction between them, which helps. It allows them to exist as two people shaped by the same world in different ways.
If there’s a quiet emotional center here, it might be Nigel. Tucci plays with him in the sense of long-term patience, the kind that suggests years of loyalty to a program that hasn’t always returned the same care. He is always sharp, alert, and very important, but there is also a slight weariness in the way he carries himself. Regardless of the specifics, the film gives him the space to search for something he feels earned, and it remains one of the most satisfying elements of the story.
When Conspiracy Gets in the Way
Unfortunately, the film doesn’t always trust its strengths. The central structure, which involves corporate governance and efforts to secure Runway’s future in McKinsey-esque ways, is becoming more detailed than it needs to be. There are episodes where the narrative feels like it’s arranging the pieces rather than letting them run on their own. A romantic episode involving Andy’s new boyfriend never got its comeuppance. He’s there, he serves a purpose, but the film doesn’t invest enough money in him for that thread to carry much weight.
There are also times when writing depends on speaking, especially when you go back to the importance of journalism. Ideas themselves are not the problem. The film already reveals itself through its situations and performances. Saying them out loud, more than once, risks flattening what is otherwise a layered view.
There are also times when the film stumbles in ways that feel gratuitous. The introduction of Jin Chao (Helen J. Shen), an unwell Asian student who works as Andy’s assistant, comes down with a bang. Even setting aside the name—which sounds like it’s drawn from a lazy template instead of an actual character—the portrayal relies on a common shorthand that the film seems too self-aware to indulge in. As someone who doesn’t flinch every time he stands up, I still find myself taking a break from it. It’s not tragic, but it goes on, especially in a film that spends so much time exploring how institutions fail to evolve.
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Good Looks Are Not Old Fashioned
Also, for a film that’s heavily invested in location, the visual side is incredibly uneven. Florian Ballhausreturning as a cinematographer, he doesn’t find the same tactile sharpness that made the first film stand out; the images here feel soft, they ignore texture, as if the world of Runway has lost not only its impact but its visual authority. That may be the intention to some degree, but it rarely feels meaningful enough to register as a choice.
Where the film goes best Theodore Shapiropoints, carrying a lighter touch, and more flexible than before. Although it sometimes doesn’t last, it moves with the characters, giving the film a quiet movement that isn’t always provided by the visuals.
To the filmmakers’ credit, the film never loses sight of its actors, and that’s what ultimately carries it through the middle where the narrative falters. The four middle tracks, as expected, deliver weight that feels earned. Even functional roles such as Lucy LiuSasha, Benji’s ex-wife, helps anchor the larger concerns of the industry the film tries to combat. Currently, BJ Novak-playing for a company he doesn’t respect or emotionally invest in—are channels of a kind of empty authority that makes structured planning almost excusable.
To All Its Faults, ‘The Devil Wears Prada 2’ Works
Nevertheless, I found myself returning to what the film was doing when it was fully employed. It doesn’t try to bring back the past, and it doesn’t pretend things can go back to the way they were. The callbacks are there, but they feel less like celebrations and more like reminders of a version of the world that no longer exists at all.
What the film understands, perhaps better than it lets on, is how much a person can find in a world that no longer has any use for them. It’s not just the work, but the taste, the rhythm of it, the belief that what you’re doing matters in a way that can’t be measured by clicks or reach. Watching that slip—not dramatically, but slowly, almost subtly—makes the film the limit.
I didn’t expect to meet The Devil Wears Prada 2 in those terms. I thought it would be easier on its feet, more interested in returning to old pleasures than living with what was lost. Instead, it keeps circling that discomfort, even when it doesn’t know what to do with it. Some parts are overworked, others feel a little contrived, but there’s enough here that feels lived in rather than done.
And for once, the return trip is not a return. It’s about realizing that it’s already gone, and deciding what you’re willing to hold on to anyway. It shouldn’t work as well as it does, yet here we are. For something I went into with low expectations, that count exceeded my expectations.
A self-described filmmaker who can’t stop talking—and writing—about films. Paul also shines as a ghostwriter and editor of several memoirs. He currently lives in the Philippines.
