I went to see The Devil Wears Prada 2 expecting exactly what I got: gorgeous outfits, a glossy fantasy of the fashion world, and a genuinely fun Lady Gaga performance dropped in like a glittering centerpiece. As pure spectacle, it delivered. I enjoyed it.
But sitting there, watching the costumes do most of the storytelling, I kept thinking about something the movie doesn’t really critique — it just glamorizes it. And that something is attitude.
I live about an hour outside Milan, without traffic, and I’ve been going my whole life. So I’ve seen the real version of what the film turns into fantasy. I’ve watched fashion week roll through the city more times than I can count, and there’s a specific type of person it produces: the ones who had even the slightest brush with a “project” or an “event” and now carry themselves like they personally invented taste. The arrogance is the kind you can smell from the street.
It reminds me of the 1970s music industry, actually — that era when anyone tangentially connected to a recording session or a tour suddenly became a “major handler,” puffed up with self-importance that had nothing to do with actual talent or contribution. Fashion week has its own version of that energy. You see them everywhere once you’ve traveled in and out of Milan enough: the fashionistas who treat every train platform, every café, every sidewalk like a runway they’re gracious enough to let you walk on too. They don’t just dress well — they perform superiority, as if dressing well were a hierarchy and they’d been crowned at the top of it.
And here’s the thing: I genuinely admire the craft. The originality, the boldness, the eye for proportion and color — that part is real talent, and I respect it. What I don’t respect is the behavior that comes bundled with it, the unearned sense that great style entitles you to look down on everyone around you.
Here’s my issue, plainly: you are not Miranda Priestly. None of you are. Miranda Priestly is a fictional character built specifically to be terrifyingly excellent at her job — and even she earned that persona through decades at the top of an empire she actually built. Copying her ice-cold contempt without any of the substance behind it isn’t intimidating. It’s just rude, and it’s tired.
So here’s my actual ask, fashion world: be original. Dress as boldly and as strangely as you want — I’ll be the first to admire it. But leave the attitude at home. Nobody owes you reverence because you know how to pair a coat well. Talent and decency aren’t mutually exclusive, and pretending they are doesn’t make you Miranda. It just makes you exhausting to stand next to in line.
Fly low.