In 2006, a “chick flick” with a budget that had to be scrambled for permeated the mainstream: The Devil Wears Prada made a cerulean splash. In an era of consistently brilliant rom-coms, a movie with a similar tone, soundtrack, and cast earned two Academy Award nominations: Best Costume Design for Patricia Field and Best Actress for Meryl Streep. The box office numbers surprised studio executives and continue to shock them as stories like Barbie (2023) with women at the center rake in millions. In a recent Colbert interview, Streep reflected on all of this, cheekily bringing up the new sequel and saying, “This one, honey, they spent the money.”
And it paid off. The Devil Wears Prada 2 grossed $77 million in North America and $233 million worldwide during its opening weekend, earning a spot as the second-biggest global debut of 2026 (surpassing Michael’s recent $217 million but falling short of The Super Mario Galaxy Movie’s $372.5 million). It cost $100 million to make, compared with the first film’s $40 million budget.
The first film allocated only $100,000 to wardrobe, but through donations from designers, the clothing and accessories ultimately totaled closer to $1 million. When Streep was offered the role of Miranda Priestly, an Anna Wintour figure, she rejected the offer and asked them to double it. “I wanted to see if I doubled my ask, and they went right away and said, ‘Sure.’” Streep said she knew the film was going to be a hit, and wanted her pay to reflect that.
The Devil Wears Prada, written by Aline Brosh McKenna and based on the 2003 novel by Lauren Weisberger, follows the experiences of Andy (Anne Hathaway), an assistant to the editor-in-chief of the world’s most influential fashion magazine, Runway. It’s a cover (get it?) for Vogue Magazine.
20 years later, the gang’s back together in The Devil Wears Prada 2: Andy’s lost her journalism job and is hired as the new features editor of Runway, reconnecting with Miranda and Nigel (Stanley Tucci), Miranda’s loyal stop staff member. Emily (Emily Blunt), who was previously an assistant at Runway alongside Andy, has since taken a detour, leaving fashion editorials to become the head of retail at Dior.
The 2020s rear their ugly head in ways that are less relaxing than the 2000s, but thoughtfully accurate for the story. We see Miranda and her team dealing with online cancel culture. We watch as Andy’s writing publication staff gets laid off en masse via text. We witness the decline of print media, and we see an increase in billionaire monopolies, making Miranda beholden to a rich man-child named Jay (B.J. Novak).
So does the story still work? Is it as iconic when there are these realism guardrails? Were the 2000s actually a better time, or is it nostalgia’s cruel trick? Do we really live in a phone-obsessed, money-driven hellscape? Please bore someone else with your questions.
Both films, but particularly this sequel, do well at marrying the two sides of a rom-com lead archetype: the girl who excels in a feminine career like a gossip column or a fashion magazine, but hates it and dreams of being a “serious” writer. Andy Sachs, unlike How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days (2003) Andy, finds her footing at Runway and is a respected journalist in a realm she once deemed frivolous.
Interestingly, she’s a character who exists within the confines of the very genre she positions herself against in the first film. She’s in a 2000s rom-com, not a docuseries on global politics. There’s a lot of discussion about how great a writer she is in the sequel, but we don’t see the specific pieces she’s written or the awards she’s received, because that would stray from the film’s fashion focus. The widespread success of these movies proves they can live outside of the confines of gender and gendered interests or attributes.
The Devil Wears Prada 2 faces a dilemma of over-star-studdedness. It appears as though every big name that wanted their piece of the pie was given a spot (minus Sydney Sweeney’s cut cameo). This setup is reminiscent of Barbie, but the difference lies in Barbie’s ability to create space for a high volume of comedic one-liners or visual gags.
With a less over-the-top script, we don’t get that satisfaction from the lineup of famous people at the Hamptons, or Pauline Chalamet’s flat, singular line delivery. Dare I mention: the microscopic role they gave to my favorite new cast member, comedian Caleb Hearon. Now filling the shoes of Andy’s job in the first film, yet his lines are not at all on par with the humor he’s capable of delivering.
This sequel lacks the energy spikes that come from a fashion montage or a big reveal. As Nigel is picking out designer clothing for Andy, there’s a moment where she spots a dress offscreen that she falls in love with, and Nigel says it’s inappropriate for the occasion because it’s much too colorful and loud. The downfall of this buildup is that I spent the rest of the film unsure which dress they were referring to, because the hard cut to her boarding her transportation to the Hamptons in a bright, beachy dress feels extremely normal, and no one judges her for this Nuuly-looking find. There are sparkly numbers later on that deserve much more buzz.
The heavier tone from the passage of time and the state of the world seems to rob us of that chic, hopeful quality the first one possessed. Miranda is fatigued, unable to behave as her fully realized Sue Sylvester self due to HR complaints. Miranda’s primary assistant, Amari (Simone Ashley), keeps clearing her throat and shaking her head when Miranda says something she shouldn’t.
In a recent interview, Streep bemoaned the “Marvel-ization” of modern cinema and its dichotomization of villains and heroes in a rather boring way. “What’s really interesting about life is that some of the heroes are flawed and some of the villains are human and interesting and have their own strengths,” Streep expanded, highlighting the franchise for its messier nature. Andy is our protagonist, but she’s extremely stubborn and naive. Miranda is the self-involved “devil” the story refers to, but there’s a sense of admiration from Andy and the storytelling as a whole that makes her a chic, likable, antagonistic force.
When discussing the “rom” part of the “rom-com,” my teammates questioned: Is that what genre either of these films falls under? The era and aesthetics of the original certainly put it in conversation with films like Confessions of a Shopaholic (2009) or He’s Just Not That Into You (2009), but the central plotline involves career dedication as a threat to romance.
In its sequel, the creators listened to the public’s distaste for Andy’s boyfriend from her 20s and excluded him from the film entirely. Instead, we are met with a new love interest: an Australian apartment contractor named Peter (Patrick Brammall).
Again, when this topic arose during our discussion of the film, my colleagues made a great point: this plotline is entirely unnecessary and seems to posit that Andy is not enough with a successful career and rich friendships; she needs a man in her life, further evidenced by the film pairing Miranda and Emily with partners as well.
Nigel is excluded from the writers’ matchmaking, not helping their case as he’s the only man in the core cast. I theorize that he was written as a gay man in the 2000s, but they gave him the Michel from Gilmore Girls (2000-2007) treatment, where they felt they culturally couldn’t outright discuss his sexuality in the script at the time, so both films disallow any love interest storylines.
Although it could have been completely removed, I did not find Nate’s scenes with Andy to be as egregious as several of my peers did. The pair’s conversations feel fun and light, which Andy deserves amid high-intensity career turmoil and a previous relationship where we watched him neg her for two hours. Nate reminds me of Rhodes (Chris O’Dowd) from Bridesmaids (2011), a goofy foreign fellow who knows how to banter.
Their meet-cute, in which she complains about new apartment buildings demolishing history and creating bland, grey spaces lacking in character, almost feels like a valuable parallel conversation to the discussion around the death of print media, conglomerate layoffs, and the ever-pressing passage of time. It doesn’t quite achieve what it sets out to do, as Andy immediately moves into the new place and the comparison is revisited only briefly. However, it is ironic when you hear her belabor the blandness while watching her on a screen in the very tint she is complaining about. It’s sort of comical that she thinks this stuff has nothing to do with her, when the Hulu movie Disney Plus sheen is covering her in a world that was once so vibrant.
There is much more to dig into here (Lucy Liu’s plot device role, Lady Gaga’s mother-off with Miranda, Lily’s (Tracie Thoms) persevering friendship with Andy), but that may convey the fact that The Devil Wears Prada 2 could have kept its strengths and still cut out a large portion of fluff. The critiques in this piece are only out of love for the iconography and artistry of everyone involved in this project and its predecessor. This sequel could have been a lot stronger, particularly given its core cast and writers reprising their parts. It lacks the cinematic visuals and wardrobe of the original film. However, it’s a treat to watch nonetheless.
Here’s hoping the legacy sequels we continue to witness contain the best parts of The Devil Wears Prada 2, but bring their own brightness (literally and figuratively). Here’s looking at you, The Princess Diaries 3. That’s all.
Review Courtesy of Risa Bolash
Feature image credit to 20th Century Studios