For almost two decades, Meryl Streep and Anne Hathaway said no to a sequel. In 2016, Hathaway told Variety: “I’m not sure if could is the right question. Should there be? I’d love to make a movie with all the people again; that’s something totally different. But I think that one might have just hit the right note. It’s good to leave it as it is.” In 2022, on The View, she was even more explicit: “I don’t know if there can be [a sequel]. I just think that movie was in a different era. Now everything’s gone so digital.” In 2024, just before signing, she told E! News: “I don’t think a continuation of that story is probably ever gonna happen.”
Then Disney came knocking. And now, twenty years after the original, The Devil Wears Prada 2 is arriving. The trailer shows Miranda Priestly still terrorising the bullpen, Andy Sachs still scrambling for her approval, and a joke about trying to fit into the clothes they wore two decades ago.
This is not a cause for celebration. It is a symptom of a broken system.
The Female-Led Film Paradox
Female-led films have proven time and again that they can be massive commercial successes. The Housemaid was one of the most profitable genre releases of 2025, turning a modest budget into a global hit. Barbie remains a cultural phenomenon, taking $1.5bn worldwide. Wuthering Heights is outperforming expectations.
Yet what does the industry offer in response? A parade of remakes and legacy sequels: Little Women (2019), another Sense and Sensibility adaptation 30 years after the award winning Ang Lee version,, Emma (2020), live-action versions of Snow White and Moana, and legacy sequels like Cliffhanger (female lead), Practical Magic 2, and The Princess Diaries. Each one banks on nostalgia rather than originality.
The excuse is always the same: “Original female-led films don’t perform.” But the evidence says otherwise. The audience is there. The industry just refuses to fund the projects.
So, when The Devil Wears Prada 2 is sold as a “triumph of strong female-led cinema,” it rings hollow. It’s not a triumph. It’s a retreat. The real progress would be greenlighting the next Housemaid, the next original film with a female perspective that isn’t based on pre-sold IP, a beloved novel, or a 20-year-old hit.
The True Villain: Nate’s Casual Sexism
Looking back, it’s clear that Nate, Andy’s boyfriend, was threatened by her ambition and success. He was a sous-chef, working long hours in a high-pressure environment himself, yet he failed to extend the same understanding to Andy. His career was seen as noble and valid; hers was frivolous and corrupting. This is the classic patriarchal double bind: a man’s ambition is expected, while a woman’s is a betrayal. The critical re-evaluation of Nate as the story’s true villain is a direct result of our evolved cultural lens.
The Erosion of the “Genius Jerk” Myth
In the pre-#MeToo, pre-“Great Resignation” world of 2006, the “genius jerk” boss was a cultural archetype. Miranda Priestly fit that mould, but with a crucial gendered difference. The film’s cultural impact endures precisely because it captured the moment when this archetype began to be questioned. Miranda’s “I saw a great deal of myself in you” moment complicates her villainy, revealing a woman who had to become a “devil” to succeed in a system not built for her. It was a glimpse of the price of power for women—something a male boss would never have to articulate.
A Sequel for a Changed World
This historical context makes a legacy sequel a genuinely compelling prospect. The world has changed. The #MeToo movement, the reckoning with workplace bullying, and the rise of remote work have fundamentally altered the conversation around power and labour. A modern-day Miranda Priestly can no longer exist unchallenged.
The central question isn’t just “where are they now?” but “how do these characters navigate a world that has left their old dynamics behind?” Andy, who walked away, is now a successful professional in her own right. Will Miranda be a relic, or will she have adapted? Will Andy confront the woman who shaped her, or seek a different kind of resolution?
The original film’s ending was Andy walking away. She chose integrity over ambition. A sequel that brings her back without addressing why she left, and why she would return, would be a betrayal of that ending. And a sequel that ignores #MeToo would be a betrayal of the moment.
The Legacy Sequel Playbook
Disney has perfected the formula: bring back beloved stars, recreate iconic moments, add a wink to the camera, and cash the cheque. The Force Awakens, the live-action remakes, Freakier Friday—they all follow the same blueprint. As the Field of Dreams quote goes, “People will come, Ray. They’ll pass over the money without even thinking about it. For it is money they have and peace they lack.”
The audience is not paying for a new story. They are paying to feel like they did in 2006. Disney knows this. They have built an empire on it.
Stuck in the Past: The “Top Gun: Maverick” Parallel
The core criticism of Top Gun: Maverick was that its protagonist had not grown up. Reviews noted he was “the same guy”, someone who “has had no lasting relationships” and “never matured”. The film was celebrated for its thrilling nostalgia, but the character, at its centre, was frozen in amber.
This is the same trap The Devil Wears Prada 2 appears to be falling into. The trailer shows Miranda Priestly, now in her 70s, still terrorising the Runway bullpen. The core dynamic—Miranda’s tyranny and Andy’s resilience- has not evolved. The world has changed, but the characters haven’t.
The Torch That Wasn’t Passed
The Force Awakens understood the assignment. Han Solo died, clearing the space for Rey, Finn, and Poe to become the heroes. The torch was ripped from the old guard’s hands.
Top Gun: Maverick and Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny refused that choice. Maverick could have died saving Rooster, completing an arc that began with Goose’s death. Instead, he lives, and the film’s final act is still about him. Indiana Jones could have stayed in ancient Syracuse, finally letting go of the whip. Instead, he’s dragged back to the present.
The Devil Wears Prada 2 is certainly making the same mistake. Miranda will not step aside. Andy will not truly break free. The torch will not be passed. It will just be carried a little further by the same tired hands.
The Ageism That Forces Their Hand
The real reason Anne Hathaway and Meryl Streep finally said yes is not creative. It’s economic. Hathaway’s last major original hit was The Intern in 2015. Since then: Ocean’s 8 (a reboot), The Hustle (a remake), The Witches (a remake), and a string of indies that barely registered. Streep’s last major theatrical hit was Mary Poppins Returns in 2018, another reboot.
Meanwhile, male actors of the same generation—Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Denzel Washington—continue to headline blockbusters well into their 60s and 70s. A 2019 study found that male leads are, on average, ten years older than female leads. For actresses over 50, the only calls are for legacy sequels.
Julia Roberts is in talks for My Best Friend’s Wedding 2. Cameron Diaz is starring in a Troop Beverly Hills sequel. Lindsay Lohan returned for Freakier Friday because it was the only high-profile offer she received. These are not creative choices. They are survival strategies.
The Shows That Already Did It
For two decades, television has been quietly producing Devil Wears Prada variants for every generation. Millennials had Ugly Betty and The Bold Type. Gen Z had Girlboss and Emily in Paris. The Intern, starring Anne Hathaway herself, feels like a spiritual sequel. Girl Meets World created a new global icon in Sabrina Carpenter.
By the time Disney announced The Devil Wears Prada 2, the cultural ground had been thoroughly tilled. There was no gap to fill. There was only nostalgia to exploit.
The Audience’s Complicity
The millions of women who will pack cinemas for The Devil Wears Prada 2 are the same women who ignored Anne Hathaway’s Armageddon Time, Eileen, and The Hustle. They complain that Hollywood only makes sequels, but they don’t show up for original films.
The studios have run the numbers. A legacy sequel with a beloved cast will open to $50-80 million. An original drama with the same cast will struggle to reach $10 million. The audience is voting with their wallets. And they are voting for nostalgia.
A Tale of Two Interviews
Claudia Winkleman’s interview with Rita Wilson was less about Wilson’s new album and more about the possibility of Mamma Mia 3. Sarah Michelle Gellar was ready to promote Ready or Not 2 when Hulu abruptly cancelled the Buffy revival, hijacking her press tour. For actresses, the struggle to break away from a breakout role is real. The role that makes them a star can also become a cage.
The Streaming Alternative
Original, female-led stories are being made. Just not by the legacy studios. While Disney, Warner Bros., and Paramount mine their libraries, Netflix is actively investing in new voices: My Crazy Feminist Girlfriend, Apex, Night Always Comes, What Lies Beneath, Plus/Minus. The Netflix Director Incubator supports emerging directors. Gina Atwater has signed a multi-year deal to create a prestige series focusing on underrepresented characters.
The contrast could not be starker. The legacy studios are offering Anne Hathaway, Meryl Streep, and Lindsay Lohan the chance to replay their greatest hits. Netflix is offering new talent the chance to create something new.
The Hollow Victory
The press tour will be a masterclass in professional obligation. The cast will smile. They will say how wonderful it was to be back. But everyone watching will know the truth: they are selling something they once refused to buy.
The joke about the clothes not fitting is a confession. It’s the film admitting that it doesn’t fit anymore. But instead of tailoring a new garment, they are asking you to laugh at the old one.
Once the pixel dust fades away, you’re left with the same characters in the same clothes, making the same jokes, trapped in the same dynamics. The nostalgia hits for a moment. Then the credits roll, and the emptiness settles in. You realise you’ve paid £20 to watch a rerun. The magic wasn’t recreated. It was just repackaged.
The Way Forward
Girl Meets World understood that a legacy sequel should build a bridge to a new generation, not a museum to the old one. The show focused on Riley and Maya, Rowan Blanchard and a then-unknown Sabrina Carpenter, while keeping Cory and Topanga as beloved background figures. It created a new global icon.
The Devil Wears Prada 2 could have done that. Instead, the trailer suggests it has simply recreated the past. Miranda is still the editor. Andy is still her subordinate. The world has moved on, but the film hasn’t.
This is not a celebration. It is a symptom of an industry that has failed a generation of extraordinary actresses, forcing them to “go back to the future” because it is the only road left to travel. The film will make money. The stars will smile. But the hollow feeling you’ll have when you leave the cinema is not negativity. It is the recognition that you have been sold a product, not a story. And that is the real tragedy of the legacy sequel.