Gird your loins: an honest review of ‘The Devil Wears Prada 2’ (2026)

Still, at the heart of it all, it is a sequel worth the wait because it remains true to its roots—The Devil Wears Prada 2 is also a seriously unserious film. Beneath the glamour, just like its predecessor, it offers deeper commentary on the place of artistry, journalism and profound creation in a changing world. In this sequel, there is a lot of conversation on being agile, the role of AI and the essence of beauty in a global culture that champions utility. These are not small questions, and the film is wise enough not to pretend it has tidy answers. It sits with the discomfort, drapes it in Chanel, and lets it breathe.

As a writer and editor myself, watching the film felt almost like a mirror. We at publishing also encounter similar questions on being, becoming and the purpose of content in print and online. The existential dread of irrelevance is part and parcel of our lives as cultural workers. In the film, Andy remains a symbol of hope—the idea that authentic, human storytelling still has currency—and Miranda a vanguard of excellence and high culture, even if the court over which she presides has grown considerably smaller.

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In the 2006 world of Runway, editors and magazines were the undisputed bastions of culture and taste-making. Today, with TikTok and Instagram, celebrities, actors, artists and even online personalities can dictate taste and trends. Influence has been unapologetically democratised, and publishing is forced to evolve lest it be left behind. The sequel understands this acutely. It does not mourn the old world with rose-tinted nostalgia; it acknowledges, somewhat painfully, that the democratisation of taste is both a beautiful and bruising thing. Anyone can have a platform now, even if not everyone has a point of view.

The film, while largely meant for fan service, explores the ebb and flow of influence. Miranda is now the old guard—still magnificent, still terrifying, but operating in a landscape that no longer organises itself around her approval. Andy, played wonderfully by Anne Hathaway, is now the authentic voice that readers clamour for, the one who has traded proximity to power for something rarer: credibility. It is a meaningful reversal, and the film earns it.

BJ Novak plays the role of nepo baby Jay Ravitz, son of Irv Ravitz, owner of Elias-Clarke, whose dream of unloading Runway becomes the main challenge throughout the film. It is a timely casting choice—the spectre of legacy wealth making decisions about legacy institutions is hardly a fictional concern in 2026. Novak plays him with just enough charm to make the menace believable, which is precisely the right calibration.

Stanley Tucci reprises his role as Nigel, Miranda’s long-suffering creative director, and remains one of the film’s most quietly affecting presences: a man who has made peace with playing second fiddle to greatness, and whose loyalty to Runway reads less as deference and more as devotion.

Emily Blunt returns as her eponymous character Emily, now working for Dior. She receives, in my opinion, the most iconic Miranda line in the film — “You’re not a visionary; you’re a vendor” — which Meryl Streep delivers in a way only the veteran actress can. It is the kind of line that will live well beyond the film itself, because it names something true: the difference between those who shape culture and those who simply sell it back to us. In an era saturated with brand partnerships, sponsored content and influencer economics, Miranda’s disdain lands with the force of diagnosis.

This cinematic plot, while simple, remains effective for modern viewers because it mirrors many of today’s realities. What is the role of beauty, fashion and artistry in our lives today? The movie does not aspire to answer it, but simply offers audiences an apt respite from the very tension we seem to face day in and day out. There is something almost therapeutic about watching characters who take aesthetics seriously—who believe, genuinely and without embarrassment, that how something looks and feels actually matters.

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The Devil Wears Prada 2 is a sequel fans have clamoured for, and it largely delivers. It will not upend cinema or redefine the genre, but it was never meant to. Like a perfectly tailored coat or a well-placed accessory, it does exactly what it is supposed to do: complement what came before while standing on its own. It is crowd-pleasing, occasionally sharp and undeniably watchable.

What keeps it from being mere nostalgia is its willingness to look the present moment in the eye—the AI encroachment, the collapsed gatekeeping, the quiet grief of industries in transition—and still insist that beauty, rigour and a singular point of view are worth fighting for. For devotees of the original, that is more than enough. For everyone else, it is a stylish reminder that some worlds are simply worth returning to.

The Devil Wears Prada 2 is showing at all Ayala Malls Cinemas from April 29 onwards.

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