Where would we be without the arts? That’s the trembling question that “The Devil Wears Prada 2” asks with much trepidation. Upon watching the film during its premiere day, I expected fashion, glamour, and excitement. Instead, I was met with an existential dread, brushing up against it through the laughter while still enjoying the fashion. Ironically, the debate surrounding the initial question is being scrutinized through the story of a sequel, to the chagrin of some. However, the film’s words echo the very grim realities of a rapidly evolving and devolving world, plunging itself into ever-advancing technology. Our protagonists, the ambitious Andy Sachs and forever icon Miranda Priestly, face different formidable foes stemming from the same invisible, much larger threat.
While the first film channeled its focus on criticizing the fashion magazine industry’s influence on beauty standards while highlighting its importance in other sectors, “The Devil Wears Prada 2” offers a stark contrast by portraying the ripple effects brought forth by the digital age in the last 20 years. Right off the bat, the film begins with synth sounds of Dua Lipa’s 2024 track “End of an Era,” referencing how times have changed in terms of the social dynamics, as well as every character’s circumstance. In Andy’s case, the “end of an era” quickly foreshadows that the career she has built will crumble in seconds. Within a few minutes, we have enough context to understand that her career as a journalist was both prolific and personally satisfying.
Darkness looms immediately when her entire team is fired through text during a substantial event, a feeling all too familiar and sickening to any writer who has been dismissed during the last few years. If, like me, you had a slight PTSD flashback during this scene, then said scene was effective and frankly realistic. Journalism and Creative Writing in their full glory are quite difficult to portray in film, as said fields require showing a part of the work that audiences may find too trite or monotonous. However, Andy’s speech as she receives her award in both the pinnacle and downfall of her career carries the rage that often gets ignored.
As she delivers her war cry, “Journalism still f-ing matters!”, it functions as both a moment of epiphany and a call to comrades in this field to salvage people’s ability to think critically. While such a task on a global level may take far too long to properly accomplish, the film addresses the elephant in the room: the credibility of people’s basic media literacy skills is hanging by a thread. In a world where media content is developed to cater to shorter attention spans, all while the consumption of said media increases at incredulous rates, who has time to calmly read news from around the world from credible sources? Shouldn’t catchy headlines of clickbait nature satisfy the need to keep people (superficially) informed? Is misinformation even an issue if you can just ignore it?
Therein lies the problem: ignorance fuels the fire that burns the bridges that true journalism has lifted over decades. Though there are a select few who still believe in the gravitas that journalism possesses as the vessel of information, this field has suffered numerous blows that include not just misinformation but desensitization caused by morphing every event into an ephemeral, comical moment through formats such as memes. Humor is a valid coping mechanism, but as such, can become a ghastly outlet if executed excessively.
People’s abilities to discern which events to reserve humor or solemnity have greatly dissipated due to these tendencies, ones that some journalistic platforms have grasped as a means to engage instead of utilizing said concern as a vehicle towards critical thinking. Many real-life examples spring to mind of companies resorting to all sorts of Internet banality as a way to maintain their relevance, even if prestige slips away. The film offers a similar portrait that audiences can reflect on.
On one hand, Andy’s turmoil stems from a crisis that spins out of her control and is irrelevant to how well she executed her work. On the other hand, we have Miranda Priestly, still the editor-in-chief at Runway, about to be promoted to oversee the content of the magazine’s parent company…until Runway faces scrutiny over ties with a sweatshop company. Yes, this part of the story sounds quite familiar as well, but what is fascinating about its brief portrayal is the overall acceptance of the public to oversaturate themselves with transforming a delicate situation into a “suitable” moment of humor.
Instead of analyzing the precariousness that such a magazine may face after unknowingly involving itself with an infamous company, coaxing the humor of it all depletes Miranda and her employees of their humanity. Whereas some celebrities are faced with a god complex, a character like Miranda plummets into a vortex of cancel culture that toys with the said complex she dealt with during the first film.
Runway’s crisis did not start there. Later in the film, Nigel explains to Andy how the magazine’s physical copies hardly achieve the sales numbers from two decades prior, another parallel to real-world magazine struggles due to the technological revolution that has brought forth digitalization of companies. Some may argue that the shift to digitalization comes from an environmentalist incentive to reduce deforestation. Others could definitely counterargue that the motive is purely financial, a way to sneakily execute their budget cuts while abhorrently filling their own pockets. All these strategies intersect within the plot of the film, with the invisible threats attempting to eradicate any artistic and creative value imbued by Priestly, Sachs, and company…which brings me to my next point.
Perhaps the most bone-chilling scene in the film (at least to me) is the Milan dinner in front of Da Vinci’s “The Last Supper.” A superb blend of both irony and excellent use of mise-en-scène, this scene propels the conversation of the question initially inquired in this essay. Discussing the state of the arts right next to the painting that immortalizes the epitome of betrayal in all its senses broadens one’s perspective. A vulnerable Miranda asserts how the arts are the mark of human expression, while the aloof Benji Barnes dismisses her argument with the idea that “artificial intelligence will just replace it” because empires rise and fall in this cyclical historical phenomenon.
While his dismissal infuriates me because of how eerily close it is to remarks by people in the public eye or around my life, his blind ignorance somehow manages to stumble upon his own point. If art vanishes under the guise that technological advancements will run circles around it every time, then how does Da Vinci’s work continue to be relevant? Why do millions of people flock to museums, cinemas, libraries, bookstores, and theaters every year if their worth “has dwindled over time”? Because not only is art the very fabric of human expression, but it also provides an escape from this boisterous world, an outlet for discussion to process societal changes, and, most importantly, it is the earliest source of historical preservation. Fictional or not, the arts encompass what makes the human experience so beautiful.
As previously mentioned, a legacy sequel boosting this conversation is quite ironic within the desires of developing more original stories. However, I truly believe that if a difficult conversation must be had about the jarring state of technocracy, which intends to permeate our individuality, “The Devil Wears Prada 2” was perhaps the best film to kick off the conversation. While there is far more to discuss about this wonderful film, I leave you all with food for thought that has been circulating my mind for the past week: Creativity promotes critical thinking, which boasts individuality and cements autonomy. If we lose our creativity and curiosity, do we lose our autonomy as well?
