The Demon Does, Too

The Devil Wears Prada was so successful that the book became a movie, and the movie generated a sequel, now available on Hulu. Yes, Anne Hathaway looked phenomenal in the Chanel boots. But that’s not why we’re here. I read the book, and I saw the first movie (at home, for free). When the sequel becomes free, I may scrutinize it. We’ll see.

Perhaps the devil does, in fact, wear Prada. It’s a tough title to swallow even before the precious narrator gets her makeover and clothes from the closet. Why does it hit my gag reflex instead of sliding down my throat like a healing tonic?

I simply cannot stomach Andrea and her constant bitching, moaning, and whining about being expected to do her job. Yes, I know she has a journalism degree from Northwestern. So do a lot of people. Most of them work as reporters, and most do so with no expectations of joining the staff of The New Yorker within a year of receiving a bachelor’s degree. Anyone with a decent relationship with reality and lofty goals would pursue graduate studies or expect to spend a few years acquiring experience before even sending a resume to a top-tier publication, working to create and curate a published portfolio to demonstrate excellence to the editorial board. That’s not for Andrea.

We’re supposed to hate Miranda Priestly in this thinly veiled stab at Anna Wintour. After all, why should the editor in chief of the world’s premier fashion magazine expect her assistant to run errands and dress for the job? Doesn’t she realize that Andie has a bachelor’s degree from a prestigious university? That she was editor of the school paper? How dare she expect her employee in the fashion industry to learn about and show some respect for what’s paying her wages? The audacity!

Aside from the Chanel boots, my favorite part of the movie was the daily morning coat and bag drop on the desk performed by Meryl Streep as Miranda Priestly. They were all to die for.

The plot, however, leaves a lot to be desired. In a nutshell, a privileged, pretty white girl moves to the Big Apple with her boyfriend after graduating from a midwestern university, expecting that apple to be baked in a pie and served a la mode to her at a rustic table with integrity. Never mind that her personal stores of integrity are shamefully low. It would perhaps be more precise to say she expects the apple to be baked in a strudel for her to eat and keep.

Her friends share her devotion to living a fantasy life where social engagements are prioritized over work. Ehrmagahd, they made her work on her boyfriend’s birthday. I can’t understand why a complaint was never filed with the labor board, aside from there being no grounds for filing a complaint about having to actually perform the duties detailed in the job description. Remember, there’s the promise of being recommended for a position at the creme de la creme of American intellectual periodical literature after one year successfully performing this job. Anyone in touch with reality would chase that carrot with gusto instead of expecting to enjoy surf and turf while jumping from a lower rung of the career ladder onto the elevator to the penthouse.

All of these adolescents hungry for success share Andie’s entitled attitude. One breath after telling her she should quit because she had to be late for drinks because of work, they greedily accept the secondhand swag she brings to the table from her wretched, soul-stealing job that forces her to do things like pick up coffee on her way in to work and arrive on time. Evil incarnate. Don’t these people know who she is? She went to Northwestern, in case you’ve forgotten.

We’re led to believe that tasks like picking up the boss’s dog from the vet or car from the shop impose upon this assistant, perhaps keeping her from her “real work.” Sometimes she also has to take clothes to fashion shoots for the fashion magazine that employs her. Really? Does any of this seem out of the ordinary?

The makeover. This is the volta Andie’s friends don’t experience. She begins to learn a little bit about the industry that employs her, but first, there’s a scene that features ambitious Andie being disrespectful and arrogantly assuming that her lack of an eye for detail somehow makes her the authority in the room. She insists that two belts are just alike, as if one of the largest giants in the fashion industry is hallucinating differences that don’t exist and doesn’t share her assumed expertise.

Andie’s friends reject her growing interest in actually applying herself and making an effort to do her job well, hurling accusations that prioritizing work over their desire to have a birthday party is evidence of selling her soul for some new clothes. Andie is the only character who shows any growth, but it’s pruned in short order. She shrinks away from her professional obligations when everyone in her personal life, parents included (hmm, wonder where she got her values) expects her to take a last-minute transatlantic flight home from Paris fashion week because her friend was in an accident. Totally rational.

At least we get the happily-ever-after ending Hollywood feeds us about New York and entry-level employment. Finally, everyone realizes that Andie went to Northwestern.

At least we got an epic lip sync battle as a result of the fashionable whinefest.