Films for Breakfast

It’s hard to think of many so-called “chick flicks” that have aged as gracefully as The Devil Wears Prada. I’m not even arguing it’s definitively better than its peers, but its sheer replay value, and its near-constant life on cable for close to two decades, is kind of astonishing. It feels like one of those rare movies that everyone has seen at least once. Which makes the idea of a sequel feel almost impossible: how do you follow something with that kind of cultural stickiness? How do you recapture lightning in a bottle?

What’s most immediately encouraging about The Devil Wears Prada 2 is that they didn’t try to reinvent the formula – they just got the band back together. In an era where legacy sequels often hand things off to new creatives or sideline the original characters, this one brings back director David Frankel, writer Aline Brosh McKenna, and its core cast, front and center. That decision pays off right away. From the opening moments, there’s a palpable sense of care here, like everyone involved genuinely wants to get it right.

The story picks up years after the original, with Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway) and Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep) both at crossroads. Andy is reeling after a fall from her once-promising journalism career, while Miranda is quietly eyeing retirement amid a social media scandal. Their reunion pulls Andy back into Miranda’s orbit as she attempts to help navigate both the crisis and her own complicated relationship with the industry she once fled. Along the way, she reconnects with Nigel (Stanley Tucci) and Emily (Emily Blunt), as they all grapple with a fashion and media landscape that’s been completely reshaped by the digital age.

On a pure entertainment level, it absolutely works – it’s as sharp and funny as the original, with the cast slipping back into these roles like no time has passed. Hathaway remains endlessly watchable, bringing an effortless charm that makes Andy’s struggles land. Streep, meanwhile, hasn’t lost a step; her ability to deliver utterly brutal lines with surgical precision is still one of the film’s greatest pleasures. A lot of the humor now comes from watching Miranda operate within a more HR-conscious, PR-sensitive world, and the film mines that tension for some genuinely great comedy.

Emily Blunt is a standout, adding new depth to the character of Emily and delivering what quietly might be one her best performances in years. Stanley Tucci, though, is once again the film’s quiet MVP – Nigel remains its emotional anchor, carrying over all the warmth and humanity that made him so beloved the first time around. The new additions are fun, if a bit underused; Kenneth Branagh pops in as Miranda’s husband, but Justin Theroux nearly steals the movie as a billionaire tech bro, committing so hard to the bit that it catches you completely off guard.

What’s most surprising, though, is how pointed the film becomes in its commentary. There’s a sharp throughline about the erosion of cultural value – about the death of physical media, the disposability of online writing, and the increasingly transactional nature of art. Andy’s arc really lands here; her frustration with creating work that vanishes into the digital void feels uncomfortably real. At times, the film veers into something almost Succession-like, interrogating the idea that the best outcome for art now might just be acquisition by the least objectionable billionaire. It’s a bleak angle for a Devil Wears Prada sequel, but an unexpectedly compelling one.

What’s impressive is how well it balances those heavier ideas with the expectations of a crowd-pleasing follow-up. The character work feels sincere without tipping into sentimentality, and the film manages to stand on its own while still delivering what people loved about the original. I’m not sure it’ll match the original’s endlessly rewatchable quality – but honestly, I might even prefer it. At the very least, it’s a rare sequel that feels not only justified, but made with genuine affection for the characters and world it’s revisiting.