Review: The Devil Wears Prada 2 (2026)

Two decades after its original release, The Devil Wears Prada 2 arrives with the kind of impossible burden that crushes most legacy sequels. The original film became more than a hit,  it became cultural shorthand. Its dialogue entered everyday conversation, its characters became archetypes, and its sharp observations about ambition, vanity and power only grew more relevant with age. Revisiting that world after twenty years could easily have felt cynical or exhausted. Instead, director David Frankel delivers something remarkably rare: a sequel that understands exactly why audiences loved the first film, while also allowing its characters to age, mature and evolve alongside the world around them.

Perhaps what is most striking about the movie is how effortlessly everybody slips back into these roles. Anne Hathaway returns with a grounded confidence that gives the film its emotional core. Andy Sachs is no longer the frumpy, overwhelmed outsider desperate to survive the impossible expectations of the fashion industry. She has lived, succeeded, failed and grown, and Hathaway plays every moment with warmth and restraint. There is a maturity to her performance that never feels forced. Rather than trying to recreate the nervous energy of the original, she allows Andy to become someone shaped by experience, making the character feel authentic rather than nostalgic. That and she’s downright gorgeous. 

Emily Blunt is equally outstanding. The sequel wisely recognises that Emily Charlton became one of the original film’s breakout characters, and Blunt leans into that legacy without ever turning the role into parody. Her razor-sharp delivery remains immaculate, but there is now vulnerability beneath the wit and sarcasm. The film gives Emily room to become more than comic relief, and Blunt takes full advantage of it. Some of the movie’s funniest scenes still belong to her, but several of its most emotionally resonant moments do too. A great and almost unrecognisable Justin Theroux compliments her character so well!

Then there is Stanley Tucci, whose return feels like reconnecting with an old friend. Tucci’s Nigel remains effortlessly charismatic, delivering warmth and humanity in nearly every scene he occupies. He has always been the soul of these movies, the one character able to navigate its absurdity without losing his compassion, and the sequel smartly understands that. Tucci brings elegance and sincerity to the film, grounding even its more dramatic moments with charm and empathy. He feels like a warm hug.

Of course, the centrepiece remains Meryl Streep as Miranda Priestly. Streep does not attempt to simply repeat the iconic performance audiences remember. Instead, she subtly evolves Miranda into something far more fascinating: a woman confronting the reality that industries change, power erodes, and relevance is never guaranteed. Streep’s restraint is masterful. Every glance, pause and understated line reading carries weight. Miranda remains intimidating, but the sequel allows glimpses of exhaustion and uncertainty to emerge beneath the armour. It is one of the most nuanced performances in the franchise, and Streep makes it look effortless.

Visually, the film is stunning. Cinematographer Michael Ballhaus photographs the world with elegance and sophistication, balancing glossy fashion-world spectacle with intimate emotional storytelling. The film looks luxurious without becoming artificial. Offices, apartments, restaurants and magazine boardrooms all feel alive and textured rather than sterile. There is confidence in the way the camera moves through scenes, never drawing attention to itself yet constantly elevating the material. The visual style mirrors the original while embracing a more mature tone, creating continuity without feeling trapped in the past.

What ultimately makes the sequel so effective, however, is its emotional sincerity. Against all expectations, this is an incredibly wholesome film. That may sound strange given the cutthroat world it inhabits, but beneath the glamour and biting humour is a genuinely compassionate story about friendship, mentorship, reinvention and surviving change. The film understands that people age, priorities shift, and success eventually means something different than it once did. Instead of mocking its characters for growing older, it treats them with empathy.

Surprisingly, the film also becomes a thoughtful meditation on journalism and corporate consolidation. Beneath the fashion and comedy lies a sharp examination of modern media industries and the way giant corporations absorb smaller publications, restructure companies, and eliminate jobs in the name of efficiency. The screenplay explores the anxiety of creative industries being swallowed by larger business interests, where identity and artistry slowly disappear beneath profit margins and shareholder expectations. What could have been simple background plot mechanics instead becomes one of the film’s deepest themes.

The movie asks difficult questions about what happens when journalism loses independence, when creative voices become commodified, and when experienced workers are quietly pushed aside in favour of cheaper and more controllable systems. It never becomes preachy or heavy-handed, but the commentary lands because it feels painfully recognisable. In many ways, the film is less about fashion than it is about industries struggling to preserve humanity inside increasingly impersonal corporate structures.

Importantly, these themes are woven naturally into the character arcs. Andy’s perspective as a journalist gives the story genuine emotional stakes, while Miranda’s position inside a changing media empire becomes unexpectedly something you’re excited to see pan out. The film acknowledges that even powerful people are not immune to larger systemic forces - times certainly are changing. That complexity gives the sequel surprising depth and relevance.

What could easily have been a lazy nostalgia exercise instead becomes something richer: a smart, funny and emotionally mature continuation that respects both its characters and its audience. It captures the wit and glamour that made the original beloved while adding layers of reflection about ageing, work, loyalty and survival in industries that constantly reinvent themselves at the expense of the people inside them.

Most sequels arrive years too late and remind audiences why they should have stayed buried. The Devil Wears Prada 2 does the opposite. It justifies its existence completely. Twenty years later, these characters still have something meaningful to say, and remarkably, the people behind the camera and in front of it have not missed a single step.

"That's all".

4.5/5.