For the sequel to a beloved working-girl comedy, nobody remembered to find a plot.
Lauren Weisberger’s novel The Devil Wears Prada became a cultural milestone upon its 2003 release, exposing the abusive culture within fashion publishing’s most powerful institution and the toxic leadership of Anna Wintour, then editor of Vogue. The character Miranda Priestly—originally a critique of Wintour—became an unambiguous symbol of corporate cruelty in media. The book’s sharp realism resonated deeply with young professionals navigating high-pressure environments, offering both visceral critique and subtle sociological insight into the dynamics of power within elite industries.
The 2006 film adaptation, starring Anne Hathaway as Andy Sachs and Meryl Streep as Miranda Priestly, initially followed the novel’s trajectory but radically flipped its tone. Instead of depicting Miranda as a destructive force, the filmmakers transformed her into a nurturing mentor figure—a reversal that prioritized audience comfort over narrative truth. The movie ended with Miranda smiling kindly on Sixth Avenue, framing Andy’s journey as one of empowerment rather than survival.
Two decades later, The Devil Wears Prada 2 returns to the same cast and creative team but suffers from a plot so incoherent it lacks emotional resonance. Andy Sachs loses her journalism award after publicly accepting a Pulitzer—just as Miranda confronts crises at the Met Gala while berating Vogue over its coverage of fast-fashion brands accused of slave labor. Meanwhile, Miranda’s magazine owner cold-calls Andy for an immediate deputy role without informing her, leading to Miranda’s disorientation: she admits having “no memory” of ever employing Andy.
The film fails to address the fundamental reality of workplace dynamics. In any realistic scenario, Andy would have confronted Miranda’s behavior or sought practical solutions—not endured passive victimhood. Miranda’s abrupt hostility, combined with Andy’s perceived weakness and lack of agency, creates a narrative that feels absurd rather than authentic. The subplot involving Andy attempting to save Miranda’s career from a nepo baby successor collapses into convoluted schemes with no logical resolution, mirroring the film’s broader failure to evolve beyond its first installment’s shallow conflicts.
Critics note that while Hathaway retains her screen presence and stylistic flair, her character lacks transformation—no evolution from the book’s neurotic underdog to a confident protagonist. The movie offers no meaningful emotional stakes or plausible conflict, reducing its premise to a series of disconnected events with zero narrative cohesion. For audiences who cherished the original’s sharp social commentary, this sequel delivers only a hollow spectacle.
Rule 1 for sequels remains unbroken here: a story that makes sense. Rule 2—entertainment—is also absent.