On 'The Devil Wears Prada 2' and the Political Pursuit of Beauty

Though the original Devil Wears Prada was a childhood favorite of mine, I went into a screening of its sequel with pretty low expectations. Its trailer hinted at a lot of key jangling, and I'm not a person who is excited by franchise movies with thin plots and jokes that boil down to a reference 'to that actor/plot device from the last movie.' So I was pleasantly surprised when I found The Devil Wears Prada 2 to be not only the charming, light watch I desired but a surprisingly incisive commentary on the state of media and its future.

In the movie, two decades after the events of the original, Andy (Anne Hathaway) has had a fulfilling career in journalism, working as a prizewinning reporter for a renowned newspaper. But she is dealt a blow when she is unceremoniously let go over text, and becomes desperate for a new job. In a streak of good luck, Andy is quickly rehired at her old stomping grounds at Runway—this time as a features editor instead of a lowly personal assistant—to help restore its image after an embarrassing publicity scandal for the magazine.

This means that Andy is back to working for and with the steely Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep) again. Thankfully, the movie doesn't spend much of its runtime attempting to recreate their old dynamic of terrible boss and weatherbeaten employee, instead cleverly teaming the two up against a larger threat: the death of Runway. These days, the September issue is no longer king—as Andy's compatriot and friend Nigel (Stanley Tucci) remarks, the media landscape has shifted to being digital-first, and budgets at the magazine are being stretched thin. Further, the untimely death of Runway's parent company's CEO has led to the mogul's failson to take over the reins. Arriving at Runway's offices in his Patagonia sweater vest, the new boss ushers in a slew of management consultants (drolly referred to as 'undertakers' by Nigel), to strip the magazine for parts.

This is of course very reflective of the real world: journalism has been in a state of perpetual crisis with the downfall of print, the COVID pandemic, and dwindling online ad revenues exacerbating cuts everywhere. But the industry's struggles have always seemed inevitable under neoliberal capture, as a public need continued to be shunted to the private sphere—an always shaky proposition. The pivot to digital is just another nail in the coffin, the result of the whims of a handful of tech companies espousing individual stratification and engagement with the world exclusively mediated through our screens.

What's so effective and moving about Prada 2 is that its response to these challenges is to dig deeper into the movies' core preoccupation: a love of fashion. Miranda is both a unique and formidable figure because she is willing to go to any length for her job. Being top dog at the world's most important fashion magazine means that she serves as a steward for the entire industry and carries the weight of that responsibility. Though Miranda appears quite cold (and is, frankly, a less than stellar boss) it's clear that her position requires a certain emotional remove and personal sacrifice, with her work-life balance being hinted at as leading to the dissolution of her marriage in the first movie. Another character, Andy's former colleague Emily (Emily Blunt), is depicted in the first film as being extremely vain and spiteful. But she ultimately becomes a sympathetic character when it becomes clear that her disdain for Andy comes from her belief that Andy is undeserving of her success. Andy starts working at Runway in the first movie with no interest in fashion, openly admitting that she's using her role as an assistant purely as leverage for a career boost into a 'serious' journalism job. To Emily, who holds an almost spiritual reverence for fashion, this is not only an embarrassing admission but almost unthinkable—in her eyes, Andy has no respect for her privileged position or her proximity to beauty.

Therefore, though both Prada 1 and 2 expose their characters for their human fallibility, there is never a dismissive attitude toward their adulation for fashion itself. The fashion industry is of course not undeserving of extensive criticism—the first movie skewers the sector's attitudes toward body image, while the second blithely references sweatshops and fast fashion. But the movies never waver in their commitment to taking fashion as a craft seriously, entwining its appeals to beauty with real concerns about the sustainability of magazine journalism.

Cultural journalism is essential because not only does it provide entertainment and information for its readers, but it is a pillar of artistic community-building and stewardship. Runway serves as an institution of hundreds like Nigel, underappreciated (and many undercompensated) journalists, editors, designers, and stylists among them, who stick around for the privilege of serving as curators of fashion for the magazine's readers. In an illuminating scene in the first film, after a confrontation with Miranda, Andy turns to Nigel for support, but he offers her little sympathy, saying:

And after Miranda is nearly ousted from her position as editor-in-chief, she confides in Andy, saying:

So the argument for Runway's importance is not just the magazine itself: it is the creation and curation of an artistic ecosystem, of which Miranda is an essential pillar.

In the second movie, the resolution to the magazine's troubles involve the buyout of Runway and its parent company by a charitable, elegant divorceé styled after Mackenzie Bezos who promises to have a 'hands-off' approach to ownership. This, of course, is a dangerous fantasy that only serves to reinforce the myth of the good billionaire. Cultural patronage accompanies a host of its own problems, and is not a suitable long-term solution to structural crisis.

But I argue that Prada 2 still contains a powerful takeaway for the struggling left. Though we fight on many political fronts, I've found that a romantic appeal to beauty and aesthetics and their continued preservation is relatively minor in our discourse, and tends to be tied to concerns about overconsumption more broadly. Though the fashion industry is, like everything, yoked to capital, fashion itself of course predates capitalism—skill, craftsmanship, and creativity are what make us human. So beauty is something for leftist movements to get excited about when we connect our visions of a restructured society—one in which there are more artists who can make a living, designers can put their skill to more sustainable projects, and craftmanship is reintroduced to society as a valued quality. By explicitly tying beauty and aesthetics to a broader political project, I can only foresee a strengthened appeal to action, rather than dooming ourselves to climate change and cultural degradation.

The Devil Wears Prada 2 therefore does the work of reminding us again, twenty years later, of the importance of being in the game for the love of beauty itself. What is being fought for by is characters is not vapidity and frivolity, but a serious appeal to a broad audience for the stuff that makes life worth living. And I think that's a very moving and cool thing for a movie to do.