This week fashion-watchers have been girding their loins with the announcement of a potential sequel of “The Devil Wears Prada.” The return of Meryl Streep’s Miranda Priestly, the steely and cruel editrix loosely based on Vogue doyenne Anna Wintour, was met with cheers from the Chanel set.
Disney is developing the sequel to the 2006 acclaimed hit with the film’s original screenwriter Aline Brosh McKenna and producer Wendy Finerman. Streep, Emily Blunt and Anne Hathaway are also reportedly in talks to reprise their roles, along with Stanley Tucci.
But star casting aside, does it actually make sense to revisit this blockbuster?
Sure, the mid-aughts flick was a huge hit financially — it grossed $326 million globally — and critically, nabbing Streep a Golden Globe win for Best Actress and her 14th Oscar nomination. In the ensuing years, “Prada” has only grown in popularity — fully establishing itself as a bona fide cult classic.
And this month, a musical adaptation of the movie is previewing on London’s West End with Vanessa Williams slipping into the iconic role with an original score by Elton John.
However, times have changed drastically since we last saw Priestly ruling over the fictional Runway magazine with her icy demeanor and ruthless style. Sadly, the publishing business imploded during the financial crisis of 2008 and the last holdouts of print have continued declining.
Yes, Vogue is still hanging on, but its formidable clout and supersized September issue have thinned out much like the upper classes now on Ozempic.
And even though she still presides over Condé Nast and the Met Gala, Wintour no longer wields the iron clad power she once enjoyed.
Publishing is facing a bleak reality. Traditional print has gone the way of the bellbottoms — and this time, they’re not coming back.
Condé Nast’s famously bloated budgets are maxed out. Killing $300,000 fashion shoots because they aren’t good enough? Never! Two assistants like Priestly? With today’s meager funds? More like an intern using AI and remote resources.
A job a million girls would kill for? Let’s face it, today’s fashion-savvy #girlbosses know they can make more money on TikTok or OnlyFans. The front row of fashion shows is now dominated by iPhone-wielding influencers sponsored by athleisure brands.
Keeping advertisers at bay and threatening designers? Not anymore. The consolidated fashion conglomerates like Kering and LVMH are the ones setting the trends with their lucrative multi-brand portfolios, not the editors.
Calling Gwyneth, or really anyone, fat? You’d be canceled now that plus-sized models such as Paloma Elsesser and Ashley Graham regularly score magazine covers (including Vogue!).
Even more historic? In 2020, the withering Wintour had to, gasp, apologize to her staff for racial insensitivity and systemic bias.
As Page Six first reported, Wintour wrote an emotional note to her team after former Bon Appetit editor Adam Rapoport’s controversial blackface photo surfaced. Rapoport resigned, but it opened up Condé Nast and Wintour to accusations of race-based pay disparity and discrimination.
“I want to say plainly that I know Vogue has not found enough ways to elevate and give space to Black editors, writers, photographers, designers and other creators,” Wintour admitted. “We have made mistakes too, publishing images or stories that have been hurtful or intolerant. I take full responsibility for those mistakes.”
Since then, Vogue and other Condé Nast titles have course-corrected with DEI initiatives and “balanced” reporting promoting healthy body image.
Meanwhile, Teen Vogue has become a woke hotbed of Gaza sympathizers — with none other than Squad-member Ilhan Omar and her Columbia-protesting daughter Isra Hirsi on its cover.
Makes one miss the “Condé Nasty” days.
As for the sequel, will Miranda be relegated to doing GRWM (Get Ready With Me) posts and fetching her own coffee? Will Emily embrace body positivity while jabbing herself with Mounjaro? Will Andy wear a keffiyeh while reporting on pro-Hamas rallies? Please, no!
And while it was fab to watch Streep, Blunt and Hathaway briefly reunite at this year’s SAG awards, I don’t think I can handle the agony of watching the dying gasp of the magazine industry being portrayed on the big screen. After all, it’s bad enough experiencing it IRL.
That’s all.
