Better In Your Head?--THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA

 

Spoiler Alert: the point isn't to do it like the men! The point is to do it better! Kinder! Smarter! Furor!

THE BOOK-Written by Lauren Weisberger, released 2003

THE MOVIE-Directed by David Frankel, written by Alina Brosh McKenna, released 2006

THE STORY-Andrea Sachs wants to write--specifically, eventually, for The New Yorker. She's not interested in fashion, until suddenly she is, hired for a year-long stint as the junior assistant to the editor-in-chief of Runway magazine. For a pittance (and the promise of the professional reference to end all professional references), Andrea endures a tolerance test beyond her frizziest fears.

MIND THE GAP-In the tradition of debut novelists, Lauren Weisberger wrote what she knew, drawing on her experiences as personal assistant to American Vogue editor Anna Wintour, the notorious fashion freeze-queen. (Wintour is mentioned in the book, creating a world where she and her fictional doppelgänger co-exist.)

That I so dug this dishy glimpse into a gorgeous hell surprised me. I've an intermediate comprehension of fashion, and a past blemished by humiliating eruptions agitated by "questionable" clothing choices. People have made me over a thousand times in their heads. I enter a room, and laughter rushes to greet me. Every mirror I gaze into becomes a funhouse mirror. Burns my bacon, y'all. The Devil Wears Prada sucked me in though, thanks largely to first-person narration that kept the protag's journey full of intrigue even as her vessel of choice progressively the light and fight out of her spirit.

Andy Sachs isn't exactly role of a lifetime, and Anne Hathaway does the best she can. The superstar, in theory and in reality, is Miranda Priestly, the tyrannical editor played by Meryl Streep. White-haired and hush-voiced (quite a change from the book's barking blonde Brit), Miranda is the czarina of chic. I'd slap her teeth loose for upbraiding me, absolutely, but I'd admire her way with words nonetheless.

The movie accentuates the ensemble and duly re-renders characters. Andy's boyfriend, Alex, is a sweet, supportive sort in the book. The movie renames him Nate, now infamously vilified by the fandom as the real devil for daring to expect some of his lover's attention every once in awhile. Best friend Lily is an alcoholic slot machine in need of the hard talk. She barely registers in the movie, just another of Andy's obnoxious pals.

BETTER IN YOUR HEAD-Smash begat smash. Thirteen million books sold, $320 million in worldwide ticket sales. Here's me in the minority...the book is better. 

All honesty, the film can kiss my ass. Anne Hathaway is "fat" by the standards of that world, fat and naive and heinous. The actress herself is not fat, of course. That's the joke, right. I'm not an idiot. But it reminds me why reading about the fashion industry is less stressful than actually watching it play out. Some pretty clothes on some repulsive so-and-so's. High fashion is low tide, eroding the soul. If you are beautiful, or beautiful-adjacent, the world is your dog. And there are a million Nigels eager to sniff your heels, to act as apologist for trend-chasers of questionable probity, to excuse abuses as good business practice, to dismiss concerns as illegitimate or inappreciative.

Meryl Streep's insistence on humanizing her characters has led to the misinterpretation of Miranda Priestly as a fictional feminist icon. Any woman who actively degrades other women cannot be so upheld, so applauded, so envied. The book understood this, and Laura Weisberger is on record stating that her only issue with the film is the addition of scenes where Matilda shows vulnerability in Andrea's presence. Andrea's moment of truth is majestic on the page: profane, public, Page Six-worthy. In the movie, it's just a silly, splashy scene with all the payoff of an expired lottery ticket. 

I'm not even mad...just disappointed.