‘THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA 2’ Is All Prada, No Devil

Fashion is about bold choices, uninhibited artistry, the reckless pursuit of what is new. All traits that The Devil Wears Prada 2 conspicuously lacks. This nostalgia-baiting sequel from returning director David Frankel and screenwriter Aline Brosh McKenna, both back from the original, brings back the ruffles and frippery of the first film, but none of the bite that defined its central tension. The film is sorely lacking in the whole “devil” piece of its title, recasting Meryl Streep’s Miranda Priestly as less tyrant, more tough-love mentor. There’s not much in the way of devils here, even if the Prada remains plentiful.

Set roughly 20 years after the original, the film finds Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway) now a successful, well-respected journalist. On the night she wins a major award, she also learns that her newsroom has been gutted by corporate consolidation, taking much of her staff with it. Conveniently, Miranda’s magazine Runway, a magazine in name only at this point, now split between print, social, and digital content, has been implicated in a fast-fashion labor scandal. With the stars aligned, Andy re-enters Miranda’s orbit as the editor of Runway’s feature department, news that catches the notorious editor-in-chief off-guard. So begins Andy’s quest to (again) win the approval of her disapproving boss, all whilst dealing with Stanley Tucci’s ever-loyal second-in-command Nigel and Emily Blunt’s still-sharp Emily, now at a fashion house pulling budgetary strings at Runway.

The Devil Wears Prada 2 may satisfy fans looking for a low-effort return to this high-fashion world of Miranda and Runway, but the film itself is a glossy smorgasbord of couture and already established dynamics. To its credit, it doesn’t lean too heavily on nostalgia, but it does hit a lot of familiar beats, and the ones it doesn’t hit it gestures at limply. Unlike the sharp dresses and handsome tailored suits (costume designer Molly Rogers, returning from the original, does great work here), it falls flat.

The performances do what they can. Hathaway is solid, though her turn as Andy is so well within her comfort zone that she can do it on autopilot (she doesn’t, thankfully). Meryl Streep handles both Miranda’s lingering sharpness and a softer, more reflective undercurrent as the character grapples with legacy, aging, and relevance. It’s actually Justin Theroux’s turn as a giggly incel-coded billionaire that got the most laughs from this critic. The problem is the material around them does little to prop up their performances. McKenna’s script favors lateral motion over forward momentum, and reverence over perspective.

The film drapes its story around a message about the evils of corporate consolidation, layoffs, and the gutting of legacy media at the hands of private equity. It’s a worthy enough central theme, but one handled without much in the way of intrigue. Succession this is not. It gestures at some interesting ideas – namely how at every rung of the ladder, there’s always someone above you, dangling approval, higher status, and an increased salary like keys in front of a cat – but traps itself in a framework of ultra-wealthy power players making consolidation deals, downsizing staff, and chasing mergers. It’s a strangely inert backdrop for a story about fashion and bad bosses, one that attempts to be timely but mostly just feels, well, recast.

There’s no shortage of cameos and nods to the biggest names in fashion circa 2026, and the film clearly reveres the current state of the industry. But reverence isn’t perspective. As Andy and Miranda plot to keep Runway afloat and in the hands of those who appreciate its legacy, deals get cut and turns get made, and I couldn’t bring myself to care about any of it. The original asked what you’d give up to belong. This one asks whether the magazine’s print run survives Q3. Sashay away.

CONCLUSION: David Frankel returns to high fashion glitterati with Streep, Hathaway, Blunt, and Tucci in tow for ‘The Devil Wears Prada 2′, a sequel that trades the original’s sharp class anxiety for boardroom horse-trading, proving that even Miranda Priestly can’t make private equity look fabulous.