Twenty years have passed since audiences first stepped into the glittering yet ruthless offices of Runway magazine, and the world of fashion publishing has never looked more different. Aline Brosh McKenna, the writer behind the original The Devil Wears Prada, is now returning to that universe with a sequel that trades couture gowns for something far less glamorous: corporate layoffs, collapsing media empires, and the cold reality of algorithms over ambition. In an exclusive conversation with ETimes, McKenna revealed why she chose to begin the new chapter not with a fashion week spectacle but with Andy Sachs getting laid off in a painfully modern way.
For McKenna, the decision was deliberate. She wanted to capture how drastically the landscapes of journalism, fashion, and publishing have shifted over the past two decades. She explained, “A lot of the inspiration for this movie was to show how things have changed and how challenging the world of journalism has become. And it’s really all three of the businesses — journalism, fashion, publishing — all have been dealing with such significant challenges. And so I wanted to sort of get right off the bat the feeling that at any minute, you know, things can just disappear. Cultural institutions, newspapers, magazines, TV networks, businesses, you know, just can disappear like that. And I think it’s something that’s happening to everyone in a lot of different fields.”
That sense of instability runs through the entire sequel. Unlike the original film, which introduced viewers to the seductive chaos of working for Miranda Priestly, this new story forces its characters to navigate a world where clickbait headlines, influencers, and shrinking newsrooms have replaced the glossy certainties of print media. McKenna’s script doesn’t ease audiences back into the familiar glamour. Instead, it opens with a jolt — a reminder that no career, no matter how hard-won, is safe anymore.
Fans of the original will be relieved to know that the core trio is back. Meryl Streep, Anne Hathaway, and Emily Blunt are all reuniting for the sequel, and McKenna shared her genuine excitement about working with them again. There is something almost surreal about watching these characters return to a world that has aged alongside the audience. Miranda Priestly, once the untouchable queen of print, now faces a media environment that no longer bows to her whims. Andy, who once ran away from that world, finds herself pulled back in — older, wiser, and unemployed in the most digital of ways.
Yet for all the emotional and thematic depth of the sequel, McKenna is refreshingly honest about what it will take to extend the story further. When asked about the possibility of The Devil Wears Prada 3, she admitted that the future of the franchise rests on something Hollywood has never been shy about. She said, “Box office performance helps us feel there’s an audience for extending the story.”
That single sentence captures the delicate balance between art and commerce in modern filmmaking. No matter how much critics or loyal fans might want another chapter, the numbers ultimately speak louder than nostalgia. McKenna’s honesty here is a quiet acknowledgment of how the industry itself has changed — where even beloved intellectual properties must prove their worth in ticket sales before earning the right to continue.
What makes this sequel feel particularly timely is how it refuses to romanticize the past. The original The Devil Wears Prada was, in many ways, a fairy tale about surviving a dragon. This new film appears to ask a harder question: what happens after you’ve survived, only to realize the entire kingdom has crumbled? McKenna’s script reportedly leans into the chaos of modern media — the rise of influencers who command more attention than legacy journalists, the relentless churn of online content, and the strange, unsettling feeling that no institution is too big to fail.
There is also something deeply relatable about starting the story with a layoff. In the past few years alone, thousands of journalists, editors, and creatives have lost their jobs as newspapers shut down, magazines went digital-only, and television networks restructured. By anchoring the sequel in that specific kind of loss, McKenna ensures the story feels lived-in and real. It is not a distant fantasy about fashion elites. It is a mirror held up to anyone who has ever refreshed their email nervously, wondering if today is the day their role gets eliminated.
Of course, not every fan will be thrilled by the darker, more grounded tone. Some will miss the escapist thrill of the original — the sharp one-liners, the impossible wardrobe, the satisfying arc of Andy finally throwing her phone into a fountain. And that tension is worth acknowledging. On one hand, a sequel that ignores how the world has changed would feel tone-deaf and out of touch. On the other hand, a sequel that leans too heavily into bleak realism risks losing the very thing that made the original so beloved: its wit, its warmth, and its ultimately hopeful message about staying true to yourself.
