A recap and review from a screening with friends, post-film conversation at Santo, and a fashion-forward toast to friendship and philanthropy.

A fabulous group of ladies—Beth Alexander, Angela Bostelman-Kaczmarek, Janice Elliott, Sarah Fevry, Dr. Morel Harvey, Ashley Henry, Ashley Herring, Marci Houff (fresh off co-chairing the Symphony Fashion Show featuring Oscar de la Renta and raising over a million dollars), Emily Humphreys, Vicki Horne, Brittainy Jones, Sandra Lipman, Melissa Mahanes, Apphia Maxima, Anne Elizabeth McIntosh, Emily Noel, Sarah Reisner, Rachel Robinson, Julie Schneider, Joy Smith, and I—went to a screening yesterday, ready for couture, comedy, and a little catharsis.

If the first film taught us that fashion is a language, The Devil Wears Prada 2 reminds us it’s also a battlefield—one where ambition, reinvention, and loyalty all demand a price. The sequel delivers the delicious blend we hoped for: razor-sharp lines, impeccably styled scenes, and a knowing wink at how the industry (and our lives) shift with time.

We loved the movie—especially the way it balances high-gloss escapism with surprisingly grounded moments. It’s smart about the evolution of media, power, and personal branding, and it gives the audience plenty to savor: standout looks, perfectly timed callbacks, and a few scenes that had our row collectively gasping, laughing, and leaning in.

SPOILERS AHEAD. (Stop here if you haven’t seen The Devil Wears Prada 2 yet.)

Two decades after escaping Runway’s fluorescent-lit frenzy, Andrea “Andy” Sachs returns to New York journalism—only to watch the floor fall out from under her. In a bitterly modern gut-punch, her newsroom is abruptly hollowed out by layoffs, and the career she fought to build is suddenly at the mercy of spreadsheets and “restructuring.” At the same time, Runway is reeling from a reputational scandal tied to a puff piece that glamorized a brand connected to sweatshop labor, leaving Miranda Priestly cornered: she needs credibility, and fast.

Enter the twist none of them asked for: Andy is pulled back into Miranda’s orbit, not as an assistant, but as a much more visible editorial “fix”—brought in to help restore the magazine’s integrity and modern relevance. The film has fun showing how Runway has been forced to contort in the digital era: fewer glossy pages, more frantic online churn, and a constant pressure to chase virality without completely cheapening the brand. Miranda is still Miranda—icy, exacting, terrifying—but the movie makes it clear that even she can’t bully an algorithm into caring.

Then the corporate knife twists: after chairman Ira Ravitz dies, control passes to his son Jay, who arrives with the chilling confidence of someone who believes taste is a line item. His plan is simple—slash budgets, cut staff, and hollow out Runway until it’s a profitable shell. With layoffs looming and Miranda’s authority suddenly precarious, Andy starts playing the same high-stakes chess she learned in the first film, this time with sharper instincts and far fewer illusions.

To save the magazine, Andy turns to the last person you’d expect to help: Emily Charlton—now a powerful executive at Dior—and Emily’s billionaire partner Benji Barnes, a would-be “white knight” buyer. On paper, it’s the perfect rescue: money, influence, and a glamorous lifeline. But in true Prada fashion, every gift comes with a dagger. Miranda reveals (and the film revels in the reveal) that Emily’s help isn’t purely altruistic: she’s angling for Benji to buy Runway so she can finally run it herself, pushing Miranda out as revenge for the humiliations of the past. The confrontation is deliciously brutal—Miranda’s takedown lands like a stiletto to the heart.

The endgame becomes a scramble to keep Runway out of both Jay’s hands and Emily’s: Andy and Miranda pivot to an alternate buyer—Sasha (tied to Benji’s past), who steps in to acquire the magazine and keep Miranda in place, blocking the hostile takeover. The resolution reframes the core relationship of the franchise: Andy and Miranda don’t become friends, exactly, but they become something more complicated—two women who recognize the cost of power and the necessity of allies when the industry starts eating its own. Nigel, as ever, is the steady spine of Runway’s creative soul, and the film takes care to remind us that he has always been the one quietly holding the whole circus together.

Seen with the ending in mind, the sequel’s biggest pleasure is watching how it updates the original’s workplace-warfare thrills for 2026: the villain isn’t just a boss with impossible standards, but an entire ecosystem that treats journalism, taste, and craft as expendable. The betrayals sting, the alliances shift, and the film ultimately argues—between the zingers and the runway moments—that keeping something excellent alive sometimes requires playing very dirty in the name of protecting what you love.

After the credits rolled, we headed to Santo to discuss and dissect every detail—favorite outfits, biggest surprises, and the moments that felt most “true” to the original’s bite. We also celebrated Emily Noel and Sandra Lipman’s birthdays with a red velvet cake from SusieCakes, and I was grateful to wrap the evening by supporting my hosting of Dining Out For Life benefiting Nashville CARES.

If you want to keep the Prada magic going, Blue Aster inside the Conrad Nashville hotel is hosting The Devil Wears Prada 2-themed tea every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday from 1:00 p.m. to 3:00 p.m. through August 23rd—an ideal excuse for one more fabulous hat, one more perfectly poured cup, and one more round of post-screening debate.

Verdict: A stylish, satisfying sequel that’s as entertaining as it is conversation-starting—best enjoyed with friends who appreciate great fashion and even better one-liners.