In The Devil Wears Prada 2, Miranda Priestly is still icy, terrifying and perfectly dressed, but even she must adapt to a changing magazine world, HR complaints and Gen Z assistants. Hanzala Fayaz reviews a glossy, funny sequel.
Miranda Priestly hanging up her own coat should not be funny. It is a woman putting fabric on a hook. That is all. Except, in The Devil Wears Prada 2, it is basically cinema’s version of a natural disaster. Twenty years ago, Miranda’s coat flew across the Runway office like a royal command. Now, thanks to one HR complaint too many, she has to wrestle with a hanger like the rest of us. It is tiny, ridiculous and very funny. It also tells you exactly what this sequel is about: the devil is still wearing Prada, but the world has changed the dress code.
The film picks up two decades after Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway) escaped Runway with her dignity, her fringe and, somehow, her soul mostly intact. She is now a serious journalist, which in 2026 means awards, principles and no job security. When her newsroom folds, Andy is dragged back into Miranda’s orbit, not as the terrified assistant this time, but as Runway’s new features editor. The magazine is in trouble. Print is fading, budgets are shrinking, scandals move faster than editors can control them, and everyone is pretending that short-form content is culture.
This is where the film works best. Runway has had to become digital, desperate and slightly embarrassed by itself. There are clicks to chase, audiences to flatter and, more importantly, advertisers to keep happy. Watching Miranda deal with all that is delicious. She is still Miranda, obviously. Meryl Streep barely has to move an eyebrow to make a room feel underdressed. But there is a strange tiredness to her now. More like a dragon being asked to fill in a risk assessment before breathing fire.
The best running joke is that Miranda can no longer say whatever she wants without being monitored by her new first assistant, Amari. Simone Ashley gives Amari a sharp confidence that makes her more than just “the new Emily”. She is efficient, stylish and not nearly terrified enough. Whenever Miranda is about to say something ancient, cruel or legally risky, Amari appears with a brisk “No, no”, like a human pop-up warning. The office is still scary, but the fear has changed direction.
And yes, the line “Who gives away Chanel?” is correct. Who does give away Chanel? That one got me.
The plot takes a while to warm up. The early scenes spend too long arranging everyone back into position, like expensive mannequins in a window display. Andy’s romance with Peter is the weakest stitch in the outfit. It is fine, but fine is not enough when Miranda, Nigel and Emily are standing nearby with actual voltage. Stanley Tucci is still wonderful as Nigel, all dry warmth and sad little smiles, while Emily Blunt’s Emily has sharpened into someone powerful, glossy and dangerous.
Then Milan happens, and suddenly the sequel finds its strut. The fashion week setting gives the film the glamour it has been saving up, and the Runway power struggle finally feels urgent. The threat of AI-driven content gives the story a popular villain: a future where taste is replaced by data and editors become decoration. That is when the film stops just winking at the first one and starts having a point of its own.
The Devil Wears Prada 2 is not as sharp as the original. How could it be? But it is funny, glossy and better than it needed to be. It understands nostalgia only works if something has changed. Miranda has. Andy has. Runway definitely has. The coat, sadly, now goes on the hanger.
Still, she hangs it beautifully.
