The Devil Wears Prada 2 review – a sequel? For spring? Groundbreaking
*The Devil Wears Prada 2* revisits the fashion world with Anne Hathaway’s Andy Sachs now a laid-off journalist reluctantly returning to *Runway* magazine, facing its digital decline. Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep), still domineering, clashes with new editors prioritizing trends over runway style, while the film nods to its predecessor with star cameos.
Two decades after the fashion world’s most feared editor Miranda Priestly first terrified Anne Hathaway’s wide-eyed assistant Andy Sachs, *The Devil Wears Prada* returns with a glossy sequel that reunites the original creative team and recycles the same winning formula—just in time for spring. Miranda, still imperious and impeccably dressed, remains ageless, as does her loyal lieutenant Nigel, played by Stanley Tucci, whose worldly melancholy feels as familiar as a well-worn trench coat. The sequel finds Andy, now a disillusioned award-winning journalist laid off by a tech-bro billionaire, reluctantly accepting a job as features editor at Runway magazine—only to discover that the glossy pages of yesteryear have been replaced by a digital grind, chasing clicks from a taste-deficient teen audience and scrambling to distance itself from fast-fashion exploitation.
Miranda, now compelled to mouth platitudes about body positivity and inclusive language, endures a humiliating downgrade to economy class, while her once-unshakable authority is challenged by a new generation of editors who prioritise viral trends over runway supremacy. Her former protégé Emily, now a poised CEO at Dior, delivers a sharp reminder that ultra-luxury brands remain impervious to recession—a line delivered with icy authority by Emily Blunt, reprising her role with the same razor-sharp precision. Andy’s own romance with a painfully dull Australian real estate mogul feels like a misplaced subplot, and the film’s parade of star cameos, though executed with surprising restraint, never quite reaches the mythic status of its long-rumoured white whale: Anna Wintour herself, the real-life inspiration for Priestly.
Yet despite its reliance on nostalgia and recycled beats, the sequel succeeds as a breezy, affectionate homage, buoyed by the chemistry of its returning cast and the sharp, self-aware wit of screenwriter Aline Brosh McKenna and director David Frankel. The film’s humour thrives in Miranda’s obliviousness—her polite but total failure to recognise Andy after two decades is both cruel and oddly poignant. While the fashion landscape has evolved beyond recognition, Priestly’s domain remains unchanged: a gilded cage where power is wielded with a glance and survival demands either steel or surrender. For fans of the original, it’s a guilty pleasure; for newcomers, it’s a glossy, knowing wink at a world that still, somehow, refuses to change.
