Infinitely quotable and beloved by two generations of fans since making its first appearance on the silver screen in 2006, Lauren Wesiberger’s The Devil Wears Prada has become one of the most unforgettable fashion film classics from the past 20 years.
Much of that could be credited to its sure-fire formula from the get-go during the earliest stages of the blockbuster picture’s gestation: a light-hearted plot that promises a glimpse into the often elusive, esoteric, and exceedingly glamorous world of high fashion, played out among a cast of Hollywood’s most eminent names including decorated Oscar-winning actress Meryl Streep, post-Princess Diaries fame Anne Hathaway, and Stanley Tucci after his stints on Road to Perdition and The Terminal.
In fact, some would go so far as to assert that it was the film’s critical acclaim which bolstered both Stanley Tucci and Emily Blunt’s commercial popularity in the mainstream.
Its influence, however, doesn’t merely stop short of being one of the 21st century’s most recognisable cultural tenants. I would go so far as to say that it could very easily fall into the league of becoming one of the most influential fashion films of this era, joining the likes of such luminaries as Angelina Jolie’s Gia, Robert Atlman’s Prêt-à-Porter, and perhaps even Audrey Hepburn’s seminal classic, Funny Face.
Each of the aforementioned films has garnered cult status for its deft intertwining of style and substance, often serving as a means of self-reflection and commentary for an industry that has been typecast for its unapologetic excess and elitism. Take Prêt-à-Porter, for example, a mockumentary which depicts a collective fashion community in mourning upon the death of a fictitious fashion council bigwig. One of its most memorable scenes captured Italian actress Sophia Loren in peak 1990s finery, wearing a fiery stole and matching broad-brimmed hat, in vivid contrast against the plunging neckline of her black dress apropos for a grieving widow.
Similarly, The Devil Wears Prada plays its part as a direct reflection of the fashion climate in the mid-2000s, typecast by fear-mongering Wintour-esque editors and the cults of personality that they have assembled around them, stick-thin Kate Moss figures parading the runway, and slouchy It-Bags. Of course, that isn’t to say that the movie didn’t take on a considerable berth of creative artistic license with hyperbole, but in retrospect, is any of it really that difficult to imagine?
Between the cocktail parties, outfits galore courtesy of a generous closet of designer loans, proximity to fame and of course, the promise of fashion week invitations, this was a movie that single-handedly inspired reverence, awe, and aspiration from an entire league of modern-day fashion professionals, myself included. So perhaps I may not necessarily be the unbiased adjudicator in this regard, with my thoroughly worn copy of The Devil Wears Prada purchased on a prepubescent allowance serving as both a Bible and a roadmap for the professional tangent upon which I would later embark. I still have it tucked away in my bookcase, wrapped in plastic to keep its withering paperback cover intact, while yellowing dog-eared pages indicated favourite chapters to revisit.
Not unlike the industry it is based upon, fashion’s lustre is what first draws you into the book and consequently, the movie, embodied by a bevvy of shockingly timeless looks assembled by costume designer Patricia Field.
“When enjoying the sublime, the eye doesn’t want to be distracted by pedestrian markers like current trends.” Fields wrote in her book, Pat in the City. It was through this principle that many of the movie’s most memorable costumes were conceived, whether it be Miranda’s power suiting, courtesy of archives from Donna Karan, or Andrea’s post-glow-up transformation in Chanel’s best. To date, the film’s entire costuming budget of almost $1 million remains one of the most expensive in cinema history, especially when taking into account the archival runway looks on loan and custom pieces made specifically for the cast.
I still think of Andrea’s thigh-high Chanel boots to this day.
But beyond apparel, it is The Devil Wears Prada‘s sense of self-awareness that has cemented its relevance even in 2024, especially when discussing matters that are still very much entrenched in contemporary fashion. For one, we watch on as Andrea comically struggles to juggle between the overbearing and in some instances, impossible demands of her editor-in-chief across all hours of the day, glaringly aware that this was not at all a poor facsimile of the truth.
From obtaining copies of an unreleased Harry Potter manuscript to arranging for a flight during storm season in Miami, the meltdown of her life comically unfolds on screen as she rushes to appease Miranda at the cost of her already suffering personal life, seemingly without reprieve. That may seem like a tall tale, but those in the industry can readily attest to the long hours as part of a trial by fire for most initiates, between rushing off to collect loans to arriving ahead of absurd call times at location shoots.
Then, of course, there’s the general toxicity of the work culture at Runway magazine, characterised by clique politics and mean-girl sensibilities led by Camp Emily and Serena. Making no effort to conceal their distaste for Andrea’s outwardly plebian appearance and general lack of fashion knowledge, this was best exemplified by Bündchen’s sneering derision embodied in the line “She held up the Shu Uemura eyelash curler and asked, ‘What’s this?’”, as well as Priestly’s cerulean monologue over two belts that look nothing alike.
Leaning further into fashion’s problematic relationship with self-image, seasoned viewers will also likely remember Emily’s off-handed fad diet comment as she made her way up the steps of the Metropolitan Museum, speaking on account of her preparation for Paris Fashion Week by subsisting on a cube of cheese to keep hunger pangs at bay. For a time when cellulite and stretch marks were often demonised by industry pundits without batting so much as an eyelash, showrunners knew full well how off-coloured and cruel those standards were and would eventually become.
Fashion has attempted to clean up its act since then, no thanks to the advent of social media and rampant call-out campaigns for bad behaviour keeping insiders in check. But the memories remain, deftly embodied in a 1-hour and 49-minute long film that reminds us of what we romanticise and revile from the fashion of the mid-aughts.
Its upcoming sequel, which rumour claims will see Meryl Streep and Emily Blunt reprising their roles respectively, is expected to take a similarly introspective depiction of the industry landscape as we recognise it today: legacy media publications running on their last legs against digital content creators that have far outpaced them in relevance, serving as supplicant eunuchs for advertising revenue from luxury conglomerates that they so sorely depend on to keep afloat.
There’s a longstanding belief in Hollywood that sequels of popular films are cursed to fail as they rarely live up to the success of their predecessor, but in this case, I say: let them cook. If its bravado is anything like its first entrant, then we’re in for another juicy backstage tell-all of today’s sartorial scene.
Feature and image credit: IMDb
