‘The Devil Wears Prada 2’ Review: A Smarter, More Reflective Return to Runway

Late sequels to successful films often carry a built-in skepticism: they can feel less like organic continuations than like opportunistic afterthoughts, designed to squeeze a few more drops out of a recognizable brand. Like legacy rock bands reuniting for one last tour, or aging footballers returning to their childhood clubs when options run thin, these projects tend to be haunted by a sense of belatedness.

That’s precisely why The Devil Wears Prada 2 comes as a pleasant surprise. For all its obvious commercial ambitions—reviving what has become an unlikely modern classic—the film is unusually restrained and perceptive, more attuned (in its own way) to the real world than to the glossy fantasy of a universe where fashion and labels reign supreme. Functioning almost as a tribute to traditional media and journalism in an era dominated by corporations and artificial intelligence, the sequel feels more grounded than its predecessor. That said, it’s not quite as funny.

One early sign that this wouldn’t be a clumsy cash-in lies in its cast. Far from needing to revisit past glories, its leads are all at strong points in their careers. Back in 2006, Anne Hathaway and Emily Blunt were still on the rise; today, they’re established stars, which only amplifies the film’s commercial weight—especially given Disney’s full-scale, tentpole-style rollout.

The story picks up twenty years later, reconnecting its characters through a scenario that feels distinctly contemporary. Andy (Hathaway) is now a respected investigative journalist at a serious publication, but just before receiving an award for a major story, she learns that she—and her entire newsroom—have been laid off. Seizing the moment, she delivers an impromptu speech about the state of journalism that goes viral. The owners of Runway—the magazine where she once worked as an assistant—take notice and offer her a position, this time as an investigative reporter. There’s just one catch: Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep), her formidable former boss, isn’t informed.

Their reunion is, predictably, rocky—Miranda claims not to remember Andy—and for Andy, the real challenge becomes reconciling her brand of journalism with a fashion magazine that has little interest in stories “that very few people read.” She struggles to find her footing until she lands an exclusive interview with Sasha Barnes (Lucy Liu), the ex-wife of a billionaire (Justin Theroux), who is now romantically involved with none other than Emily (Blunt), once Miranda’s assistant and Andy’s frenemy, now a high-ranking executive at Dior.

This journalistic coup helps rebuild the dynamic between Andy and Miranda (now married to Stuart, played by Kenneth Branagh). Nigel (Stanley Tucci), still Runway’s fashion director and Andy’s longtime ally, welcomes her back warmly. Their renewed connection eventually takes the group to Milan Fashion Week—and into the middle of a new corporate power play. Jay (B.J. Novak), the owner’s son, is pushing to sell the magazine, oust Miranda, and abandon what he sees as the dying business of traditional journalism.

The weight of these themes gives the sequel a more dramatic, even melancholic tone. It’s less overtly comedic than the original, largely because it lacks that central clash of sensibilities: the wide-eyed aspiring journalist thrown into the ruthless world of high fashion isn’t there anymore. Andy is now fully at ease in that environment—she knows the rules, wears the clothes comfortably, and isn’t nearly as intimidated by Miranda—which shifts both the narrative tension and the film’s tonal register.

The passage of two decades is also evident in other ways. Visually, the film sheds the slightly retro feel of the original (which now looks more ’90s than mid-2000s), and Andy’s romantic subplot is far less contentious than before. The influence of the past decade’s feminist discourse is also noticeable, particularly in how the female characters are written: they’re generally less cruel and less overtly competitive with one another than they were in the original.

That shift, however, feeds into what may be the film’s central weakness. Miranda is no longer the fearsome, deliciously monstrous figure whose cutting remarks and erratic decisions kept everyone on edge. She remains powerful, demanding, and controlling, but the film reframes her as something closer to a heroine, turning what was once borderline villainy into a model of female empowerment. This gives the character greater emotional depth—something Streep handles with her usual precision—but it also reduces the number of sharp, absurdly funny moments.

The Devil Wears Prada 2 also leans more heavily on cameos, celebrity appearances, and overt brand placement than its predecessor, which at times undercuts its own critique of corporate culture and its portrayal of what Miranda herself calls “an unstable world.” But that contradiction is baked into the mechanics of this kind of film: it delivers a thoughtful, even critical discourse while simultaneously benefiting from the very corporate structures it gestures against.

Even so, the film works better than expected. It’s more reflective, warmer, and more intelligent than its premise might suggest, and it never loses its underlying charm. The humor may be dialed down, but that, too, feels in step with the times.