The Devil Wears Prada 2 has its world premiere in New York on Monday, the social media embargo ends immediately after on Tuesday at 2 am, and the social media reaction will be predictable. The posts will be breathless. The tears will be performative. The narrative will be centred entirely on one thing: seeing Miranda Priestly again, 20 years later, being iconic.
“Mother is back.” “The Queen has returned.” “Meryl Streep owns my soul.”
The algorithm will feast. The discourse will be insufferable. And the industry will celebrate as if a great injustice has been corrected.
On Wednesday, this will be repeated after the London premiere, and social media influencers will be all over the feeds saying how amazing it is, while the critics’ embargo doesn’t end until a week later, showing that Disney have no interest in what critics will think about the sequel.
But the enthusiastic LinkedIn posts and breathless trade headlines would have you believe that The Devil Wears Prada 2 is a victory for women over 30. “Finally,” the narrative goes, “women on screen who aren’t under 30. Not side characters. Not trying to be liked. Just… powerful.”
The reality is the opposite of a victory. It’s a symptom of failure.
Meryl Streep and Anne Hathaway spent two decades saying no to a sequel. They were right. The story was complete. The original ended with Andy walking away, a perfect statement about integrity over ambition. A sequel that brings her back undoes that ending.
So why did they finally say yes? Not because they suddenly believed in the story. Because the phone stopped ringing with original, age-appropriate leading roles. Streep’s last major theatrical hit was Mary Poppins Returns (2018), a reboot. Hathaway’s last original hit was The Intern (2015), a decade ago. Both have found richer, more complex roles on television: Streep in Big Little Lies and Only Murders in the Building, Hathaway in Modern Love and WeCrashed. But the film industry had moved on. They needed a hit. Disney offered one.
The people celebrating this as a “win for women” should be asked a simple question: where were they when Streep starred, and Hathaway starred in so many other films since? They didn’t show up. The audience that now celebrates Prada 2 ignored the original, riskier films these actresses made for the last decade.
The press conference will be fascinating if journalists are allowed to ask the real questions. Why, after 18 years of saying no, did you finally say yes? With so many TV shows that have already served as spiritual sequels, and with Anne Hathaway starring in The Intern a decade ago, why is a direct sequel needed now? Especially when, after #MeToo, Miranda Priestly isn’t seen as a “devil” anymore. She’s just a normal boss who wants the best from her employees, the same as Katharine Parker in Working Girl 38 years ago.
The Double Standard of the “Devil”
Miranda Priestly’s behaviour, the impossible demands, the 24/7 availability, and the withering critiques were hardly unique to a female boss in 2006. Male executives in finance, law, and publishing have acted the same way for decades. The difference is that when a man does it, he’s “demanding,” “a perfectionist,” “driven.” When a woman does it, she’s a “devil,” an “ice queen,” a “dragon lady.”
The film itself is aware of this double standard. Miranda’s famous “I saw a great deal of myself in you” speech is a confession: she became this person because the system forced her to. She couldn’t be soft. She couldn’t be accommodating. She had to be harder than the men to survive. But the film’s title and framing still lean into the stereotype. The “devil” sells tickets. The “demanding boss” doesn’t.
The Working Girl Blueprint
The quote from Working Girl Katharine Parker’s “ground rules” speech could be lifted directly from Miranda Priestly’s playbook. The emphasis on appearance, the “link with the outside world,” the demand for perfection, the “team” framing that is actually a one-sided power dynamic—it’s all there, 18 years before The Devil Wears Prada.
| Element | Working Girl (1988) | The Devil Wears Prada (2006) |
| The Boss | Katharine Parker – polished, ambitious, ruthless | Miranda Priestly – the same, with a better wardrobe |
| The Speech | “You are my link with the outside world… Dress impeccably, they notice the woman.” | “I need someone who can think for themselves. I need someone who can survive here.” |
| The Protagonist | Tess McGill – underestimated, clever, fighting for a chance | Andy Sachs – same arc, same struggle |
| The Transformation | Tess’s makeover, from “big hair” to sleek bob | Andy’s makeover, from “clueless” to fashion-forward |
| The Betrayal | Tess steps into Katharine’s role and is accused of overstepping | Andy steps into Miranda’s world and is accused of selling out |
| The Ending | Tess gets the job, but on her own terms | Andy walks away, but with Miranda’s respect |
The Coco Chanel line “Dress shabbily, they notice the dress. Dress impeccably, they notice the woman” is the thesis statement for both films. The lesson is the same: appearance is not superficial; it’s a weapon.
The difference is that Working Girl was about class and gender in the 1980s corporate world. Tess was a secretary from Staten Island, looked down upon by the Manhattan elite. The Devil Wears Prada was about ambition and integrity in the 2000s media world. Andy was a journalism graduate from Northwestern, naive but not working-class.
Yet the boss’s speech is almost identical. The power dynamic is the same. The assistant’s dilemma: how much of yourself do you sacrifice to succeed? s unchanged.
This is why The Devil Wears Prada 2 feels so unnecessary. The story was already told twice if you count Working Girl. The boss gives the speech. The assistant transforms. The assistant rebels or conforms. The ending is either triumph or bittersweet wisdom. There are only so many variations.
And yet audiences keep coming back. Because the fantasy of being the underestimated underdog who impresses the impossible boss is timeless. Tess became Andy. Andy will become someone else. And Miranda Priestly will still be giving the same speech, 40 years after Katharine Parker first delivered it.
The clothes change. The city changes. The speech doesn’t. That’s the real legacy of the “working girl” archetype.
A Sequel We’ve Already Seen
We already have the sequel. We’ve had it for years. We just didn’t call it that.
In 2015, Anne Hathaway starred in The Intern. She played Jules Ostin, the founder of a booming online fashion startup, a woman at the top of her game but drowning in pressure. Critics immediately noticed the connection. Review after review called it a “spiritual sequel” to The Devil Wears Prada, a “reverse” of the original, where Hathaway’s character has become the boss.
The Intern was the sequel. It showed Andy (or a version of her) ten years later: successful, overwhelmed, and facing a new set of challenges. It was the natural, quiet continuation of the story. And yet, when The Devil Wears Prada 2 was announced, The Intern was forgotten. Why? Because it wasn’t loud enough. It didn’t have the brand recognition. It didn’t have Meryl Streep. It was a sequel in spirit, not in name. And that wasn’t enough.
The real problem is that the story of The Devil Wears Prada wasn’t original in 2006, and it certainly isn’t original now. It is part of a long tradition of films about women navigating the treacherous waters of ambition, power, and a world not built for them.
Long before Andy Sachs walked the Runway, Tess McGill was climbing the corporate ladder on Wall Street. The archetype of the “demanding female boss” is everywhere: Margaret Tate in The Proposal (2009), the identical twin executives in Big Business (1988), the steel-willed corporate raiders in countless other films. The “devil” is a recycled trope.
The 1980s were a golden age for films that directly confronted the double standard and the unique pressures on working women:
- *9 to 5* (1980) was a revenge fantasy where three female secretaries kidnap their “sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigot” boss. It wasn’t about getting a promotion; it was about overthrowing the entire system.
- Baby Boom (1987) explored the impossibility of “having it all,” as a high-powered yuppie inherits a baby and is forced to choose between her career and motherhood.
- Erin Brockovich (2000) told the true story of a single mother who took on a giant corporation and won. Its message was more radical than anything in Prada: you don’t need to climb the ladder; you can build your own.
- Disclosure (1994) flipped the script on sexual harassment, asking a question Prada never dares to: what happens when the woman is the predator?
The point is not that The Devil Wears Prada 2 will be a bad film. It’s that its sequel is a capitulation. It’s a sign that Hollywood has run out of ideas and is now raiding its own back catalogue, dressing up old tropes in new designer clothes.
Before we applaud the return of Miranda Priestly, we should ask ourselves: why are we celebrating a rerun? The sequel we needed was already here. We just chose to ignore it.
The Real Villains: Andy’s Friends and Boyfriend
On first watch, you root for Andy to keep her relationship and her friendships. On subsequent watches, you realise: her friends and boyfriend are terrible.
They mock her job. They laugh at the importance Miranda places on fashion, while simultaneously benefiting from the products and culture that fashion creates. They offer zero support as she struggles to prove herself. They demand her time and attention while dismissing her ambitions as frivolous. And then, when she finally succeeds, they act betrayed because she’s “changed.”
They were laughing at the importance Miranda sees herself as having, yet they themselves are desperate to have the products that Miranda’s world produces. The hypocrisy is the point. Andy’s journey isn’t learning to survive Miranda; it’s about outgrowing the people who never believed in her.
The Shawshank/Escape from Alcatraz Parallel
The Shawshank Redemption and Escape from Alcatraz share the same DNA: a wrongfully imprisoned man, a harsh warden, a meticulous escape plan, and a triumphant ending. Both are excellent films. Neither diminishes the other. They simply prove that certain story archetypes are timeless.
Similarly, Working Girl and The Devil Wears Prada share the same archetype. Neither film invented the wheel. But both execute the wheel so well that it doesn’t matter. You can love both, for different reasons, and you can see the lineage clearly.
The mark of a great film is that it can withstand this kind of scrutiny. The Devil Wears Prada is not diminished by the double standard it perpetuates, or by the unsupportive friends, or by the dated technology. If anything, these layers make it richer. You can love the film while also recognising that Miranda is a product of a broken system, that Andy’s friends were never truly on her side, and that the world has only become more obsessed with the very things the film satirised.
That’s the beauty of rewatching a favourite film decades later. You don’t lose the magic. You just gain a deeper understanding of the machinery behind it. And sometimes, you realise the “devil” wasn’t the only villain in the story. Sometimes, the villain was sitting next to Andy on the couch, laughing at her dreams.
The 20-Year Shift: Social Media, Mobile Phones, WhatsApp
The world of 2006 is almost unrecognisable today. Miranda’s demand for immediate answers—”Get me the unpublished manuscript of the new Harry Potter” seems almost quaint in an era of instant messaging and leaked PDFs. Today, an assistant would be on WhatsApp, Slack, and email simultaneously, expected to respond within seconds. The pressure has not decreased; it has intensified.
Social media has also amplified the culture of aspiration that the film critiques. Andy’s friends in 2006 might have scoffed at “fashion,” but today, they’d be curating their own Instagram feeds with carefully staged outfits, desperately seeking the validation that Miranda’s world represents. The irony is that everyone has become Miranda’s employee. We are all performing for an invisible audience, judged by our appearances, our choices, our “brand.” The “devil” is now inside our phones.
Why the Working Girl Dialogue Still Lands
Working Girl and The Devil Wears Prada are separated by 18 years, but they speak to the same struggles. The clothes change. The technology evolves. The specific industries differ. But the core questions remain unanswered: how do you succeed without selling out? How do you navigate a system not built for you? How do you stay true to yourself while also playing the game?
That’s why the dialogue still lives up. It’s not just nostalgia. It’s recognition. We’re still having the same conversations. We’re still fighting the same battles. And we’re still quoting Tess McGill because she said it better than anyone since.
- “You can bend the rules plenty once you get to the top, but not while you’re trying to get there.” The central paradox of ambition.
- “And if you’re someone like me, you can’t get there without bending the rules.” Tess knows she doesn’t have the pedigree. She has to hustle.
- “I think it’s because she’s a woman. There’s none of that chasing-around-the-desk crap.” Hopeful, naive, and complicated.
- “You don’t get ahead in this world by calling your boss a pimp.” A brutal reality check.
- “Sometimes I sing and dance around the house in my underwear. Doesn’t make me Madonna. Never will.” A line about authenticity and self-awareness.
- “You’re the first woman I’ve seen at one of these things that dresses like a woman, not like a woman thinks a man would dress if he were a woman.” A brilliant observation about the performance of power.
The Legacy Sequel Trap: No One Will Be Quoting This in 20 Years
We still quote Working Girl. “Sometimes I sing and dance around the house in my underwear. Doesn’t make me Madonna. Never will.” “You’re the first woman I’ve seen at one of these things that dresses like a woman, not like a woman thinks a man would dress if he were a woman.” Four decades later, those lines still land. They’re quoted, shared, mimed, and remembered.
We still quote The Devil Wears Prada. “Florals? For spring? Groundbreaking.” “I’m not sure if could is the right question. Should there be?” “I love my job, I love my job, I love my job.” Twenty years later, these lines are embedded in the culture.
No one will quote The Devil Wears Prada 2 in twenty years. Not because it will be bad, necessarily, but because it will be unnecessary. It’s a legacy sequel, not a cultural artefact. It exists to be consumed, not remembered. It’s designed for the opening weekend, not for eternity. The dialogue will be functional, not quotable. The scenes will be callbacks, not originals. The emotions will be manufactured, not earned.
This is the Mary Poppins Returns problem.
The original Mary Poppins songs are embedded in our collective consciousness. “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.” “A Spoonful of Sugar.” “Chim Chim Cher-ee.” They’re timeless. The songs from Mary Poppins Returns? They’re fine. Pleasant, even. But they vanish from your memory the moment you leave the cinema. They’re imitations, not originals.
The Greatest Showman is the exception that proves the rule. It’s an original film that created its own cultural footprint. People didn’t just watch it; they listened to the soundtrack on repeat. They sang along. They knew every word. “This Is Me.” “The Greatest Show.” “Rewrite the Stars.” It wasn’t trading on nostalgia for a previous film. It was building its own legacy.
The Devil Wears Prada 2 will certainly fall into the Mary Poppins Returns trap. It will recycle visual motifs, the “cerulean speech,” the “Florals? For spring?” moment. It will bring back beloved characters. It will hit all the nostalgic beats. But it won’t create new ones.
The original gave us lines we quote 20 years later. The sequel will give us callbacks we recognise and then forget. That’s not creativity. That’s just curation.
A film endures when it creates something new. The Devil Wears Prada (2006) did that. The Greatest Showman (2017) did that. Mary Poppins Returns (2018) didn’t. And The Devil Wears Prada 2 certainly won’t.
The sequel will be a commercial success. The opening weekend will be huge. The nostalgia will be warm. But in 20 years, no one will be quoting it. They’ll still be quoting the original. And that’s the difference between a film that endures and a film that exploits. The original wasn’t made to be a “franchise.” It was made to be a film. The sequel is made to be a product. And products are consumed and forgotten.
The Working Girl of 1988 are still talking. The assistants of 2006 are still quoting. The influencers of 2026 will have moved on by next week. The legacy sequel doesn’t leave an echo. It leaves a receipt. And no one frames a receipt.
That’s not a prediction. It’s a pattern. And the pattern has never been wrong.
The Bottom Line
The Devil Wears Prada 2 will be a commercial success. The nostalgia will be warm. But the celebration is misplaced. It’s not a triumph of female-led cinema. It’s a testament to an industry that failed a generation of extraordinary actresses, forcing them to return to the roles that made them famous because it was the only road left to travel.
The sequel we needed was already here. We just chose to ignore it. The Intern was the quiet, natural continuation. Working Girl was the blueprint. *9 to 5*, Baby Boom, Erin Brockovich, and countless other films told these stories decades ago.
The clothes change. The city changes. The speech doesn’t. And that’s not a celebration. That’s a confession.