In Defense Of: The Devil Wears Prada's Miranda Priestly
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VOICE OVER: Phoebe de Jeu
WRITTEN BY: Tyler Allen
We're still glad she isn't our boss! Welcome to MsMojo, and today we're unveiling a brand new series where we defend some of film and TV's most misunderstood characters and franchises. On trial today is “The Devil Wears Prada's” Miranda Priestly. We'll have a look at origin story, the cutthroat fashion industry, private struggles and more!
Welcome to MsMojo, and today we’re unveiling a brand new series where we defend some of film and TV’s most misunderstood characters and franchises. On trial today is “The Devil Wears Prada’s” Miranda Priestly. So what’s your verdict? Is Miranda guilty of all her wicked sins, or does the ultimate culpability of this story's tragedies lie elsewhere? Let us know in the comments below!
Played by Meryl Streep, this chief fashion editor is set up as an antagonist who inspires fear in everyone around her. Yet behind her devilish facade is a deeply intriguing woman whose coldly calculated disposition actually makes a lot of sense. So here’s why we all owe Miranda one big apology.
There’s a manic fervor in the air as employees rush around to set the stage for Miranda’s arrival. When she saunters in looking stunningly constructed, nobody around her is ever able to settle. This constant state of high-alert and desperate desire to aid the editor-in-chief immediately makes it clear that she’s the royal queen bee, and she’s the one running the place entirely. We get a glimpse of the culture at the office very soon after entering. When Emily picks apart Andy’s appearance, it’s an attempt to, firstly, prop herself up in Miranda’s eyes but also to, secondly, erode her identity and commit her to her role as a cog in the high-fashion Miranda machine. There’s an unwillingness to divulge any personal information as well, reinforcing a total lack of self beyond Miranda’s hive. In addition, the toxic work-life balance is established as an expected symptom of succeeding at Runway.
Upon meeting her, we’re quickly treated to some of Miranda’s devilishly quippy insults. This is her superpower throughout the film: her words, while spoken flippantly, are able to cut deep. It’s this disinterested affect as she guts someone before moving on like it never happened that makes her so lethal. If you can scare with just a look in your eyes, you’ve won. Her assistants struggle to keep up with the endless lists of impossible orders that flow from her omniscient tongue. And when Andy is concerningly late, Miranda still values the drip coffees the P.A. has in tow over her wellbeing. All this sets Miranda apart by highlighting just how little impact anyone in her orbit can truly have—they exist to service her and keep her on her A-game because they’re totally incapable of stepping into her satin pumps themselves. But, it also sets Miranda up as a soulless villain, who radiates cruelty. Even her baddie underling Emily has adopted this cruelty, using it casually in conversation with Miranda as if it’s expected for her minions to be equally vicious. Emily bosses Andy around out of fear that she will be on the receiving end of Miranda’s ire if Andy falls out of line; this is learned behavior. In this video, we want to investigate beyond how this cycle of abuse operates, and instead understand how and why it came to be.
It’s no surprise that the Miranda effect is so strong. After all, her colleagues are trained to observe every detail of her mannerisms, from a shake of the head to the pursing of her lips. As we witness this malevolent persona be passed down from Miranda to Emily to Andy, it becomes apparent that this pattern must have started somewhere. Does it necessarily mean it started with Miranda? We think there’s reason to believe that she, too, followed a similar trajectory from the bright-eyed, young hopeful to ruthlessly jaded industry woman. And, if we can forgive Emily and Andy for adopting these wicked traits, then why should Miranda be the outlier?
The evidence for this theory is best observed in Miranda’s dynamic with Andy. Initially, her interest in Andy is shocking, considering how high her standards are. She acknowledges that Andy has no sense of style and no experience in the fashion world. Though, after surrounding herself with a fleet of subordinate mini-Miranda’s, Andy actually provides something fresh. She admittedly doesn’t know who Miranda is, doesn’t read Runway, and has no sense of office decorum. This change in pace seems to be the very thing that lands her the job. Andy’s refusal to bow to Miranda gives the head honcho a strange sense of excitement, too—she’s practically giddy when Andy corrects her infront of her colleagues… Is it too much to believe it’s perhaps something Miranda once did herself in order to get to where she is now? There’s also the possibility that Andy reminds Miranda of someone she once was before she became so cutthroat: naive, green in the industry, and not yet so bankrupt of niceties.
For such a devilish character, Miranda’s given the last name “Priestly”, implying that she’s the head of this fashion church she’s running. To her credit, she’s operating an incredibly well-oiled machine.1 Miranda educates Andy on the meaning of the color cerulean, and informs her how the clothing she refers to as a “pile of stuff” has been meticulously crafted in a painstakingly thoughtful process from ideation to rack. After all, Runway is a purveyor of culture, launching ideas and influencing fashion around the globe. And it’s all helmed by the mogul Miranda herself. Understanding just how Miranda came to be the wildly successful “devil who wears prada” requires some introspection on her psyche, though. Just a hint: it’s not because she was born ruthless, but because she understands the “game” women in her space are forced to play.
Although Miranda appears to have it all together on the surface, we’re willing to bet there’s a deeply vulnerable and hurt woman hiding inside. She isn’t the end-all-be-all of the fashion world. She reports to others too: accountable to a host of wealthy men. It’s implied that there’s limited space for women at the top, both in the fashion industry and in other spheres. So, in order to make her mark, to compete with the boys, a woman would need to shed her more feminine qualities. Miranda’s short haircut and predator-like costuming are very intentional in this regard. This also means putting her career above family and romantic prospects. Interestingly, she refers to her latest ex-husband as Mr. Priestly, meaning her surname takes precedence as the patriarchal breadwinner. Whether or not the people she answers to grant her respect, Miranda has certainly found a way to give it to herself. Like those on the receiving end of her pithy insults, she is also forced to compartmentalize whatever troubles she’s experiencing and get back to work. This masculine approach to business may serve Miranda in this stage of her career, but she had to fight tooth and nail to get there. Again, while we never see that early version of Miranda, the way women have to step on each other for that rare seat at the top is made apparent in the competition between Miranda’s assistants, Emily and Andy.
As Andy comes into her own and excels at her job, others refer to her as “Andrea.” At the same time, Emily begins to falter and, as a result, is overlooked and regarded as “Em”. It’s as if these nicknames during different parts of their arcs makes them seem more childlike or flippant, and like they don’t belong in this more serious world. Ultimately, there’s only space for one of them on the Paris trip, and that invite is granted to Andy who chooses to oust Emily and take her place.
Because we experience the story primarily through the eyes of protagonist Andy, Miranda is largely portrayed as the Big Bad™. Through this lens, it’s easy to write her off as a villain on first viewing. When all is said and done, however, Miranda’s characteristics are not merely a careless choice, but a necessary set of traits she was forced to assume in order to survive a sexist fashion world—one that forces women to shrink their size and squeeze themselves into the latest trending outfits that determine their beauty and value.1 Miranda’s ego is not a whimsically reckless construction, but a self-defense mechanism serving as the logical conclusion to everything that shaped her.
As the film comes to a close, we discover that Miranda’s boss Irv has elected to replace her with a new editor in chief because “Jacqueline’s a lot younger than Miranda, she has a fresher take on things.” Woof, if that doesn’t hammer home the message! Are all the older men at the top also being replaced? Or are they seen as wise and irreplaceable? Though Miranda does manage to keep her job and Jaqueline is appointed head of Holt, she lets Andy know that she’s aware of much more than she necessarily lets on.2
The defense of Miranda Priestly is simple: Miranda is not evil for the sake of being evil; she’s the victim of a deeply misogynistic time and her actions are the product of a world she inherited. Is the solution to rip up the old unjust system and create a new one? Yes. Can Miranda do all that by herself? We wouldn’t put it past her to try. But, what’s more likely is that she’s priming these young women to play the game properly so that they can one day seize their own seat at this male-dominated table and, just maybe, change the game from within.
Played by Meryl Streep, this chief fashion editor is set up as an antagonist who inspires fear in everyone around her. Yet behind her devilish facade is a deeply intriguing woman whose coldly calculated disposition actually makes a lot of sense. So here’s why we all owe Miranda one big apology.
THE DEVIL’S IN THE DETAILS
There’s no denying that Miranda is cruel but, by truly investigating the inner workings of her tightly run ship, we’re provided plenty of clues about where this wrath stems from. When Anne Hathaway’s Andy is applying for a position at Runway magazine, everyone around her reinforces just how sought-after an assistant role to Miranda is.1 Ironically, it’s a job that nearly kills anyone who takes it on. The strict office rules are made glaringly apparent,2 and we’re told about the miserable fates of those who’ve stepped out of line.There’s a manic fervor in the air as employees rush around to set the stage for Miranda’s arrival. When she saunters in looking stunningly constructed, nobody around her is ever able to settle. This constant state of high-alert and desperate desire to aid the editor-in-chief immediately makes it clear that she’s the royal queen bee, and she’s the one running the place entirely. We get a glimpse of the culture at the office very soon after entering. When Emily picks apart Andy’s appearance, it’s an attempt to, firstly, prop herself up in Miranda’s eyes but also to, secondly, erode her identity and commit her to her role as a cog in the high-fashion Miranda machine. There’s an unwillingness to divulge any personal information as well, reinforcing a total lack of self beyond Miranda’s hive. In addition, the toxic work-life balance is established as an expected symptom of succeeding at Runway.
Upon meeting her, we’re quickly treated to some of Miranda’s devilishly quippy insults. This is her superpower throughout the film: her words, while spoken flippantly, are able to cut deep. It’s this disinterested affect as she guts someone before moving on like it never happened that makes her so lethal. If you can scare with just a look in your eyes, you’ve won. Her assistants struggle to keep up with the endless lists of impossible orders that flow from her omniscient tongue. And when Andy is concerningly late, Miranda still values the drip coffees the P.A. has in tow over her wellbeing. All this sets Miranda apart by highlighting just how little impact anyone in her orbit can truly have—they exist to service her and keep her on her A-game because they’re totally incapable of stepping into her satin pumps themselves. But, it also sets Miranda up as a soulless villain, who radiates cruelty. Even her baddie underling Emily has adopted this cruelty, using it casually in conversation with Miranda as if it’s expected for her minions to be equally vicious. Emily bosses Andy around out of fear that she will be on the receiving end of Miranda’s ire if Andy falls out of line; this is learned behavior. In this video, we want to investigate beyond how this cycle of abuse operates, and instead understand how and why it came to be.
THE DEVIL’S ORIGIN
Understanding the viscous and frankly sexist world that creates Runway’s nasty career women may not totally justify the way Miranda behaves, but it does explain it. In Miranda’s defense, the chances of her being a “good girl” in the fashion world were next to none. We don’t get to see much of Miranda’s backstory, but we can see the way this environment molds women into a militant army of evil clones by following Andy’s journey. After being judged for choosing corn chowder at lunch, Andy refuses a grilled cheese later that evening. Afterwards, when she receives a makeover consisting of Dolce, Chanel, and Manolo Blahniks her confidence skyrockets and her demeanor shifts completely. Now that she’s accepted by her peers she completely abandons her former principles, now realizing the tremendous significance of what she’s become part of. Like Emily, Andy has also taken up Miranda’s blunt and witty way of speaking. Her new behavior results in a breakup with her normie, beer-chugging boyfriend, Nate.It’s no surprise that the Miranda effect is so strong. After all, her colleagues are trained to observe every detail of her mannerisms, from a shake of the head to the pursing of her lips. As we witness this malevolent persona be passed down from Miranda to Emily to Andy, it becomes apparent that this pattern must have started somewhere. Does it necessarily mean it started with Miranda? We think there’s reason to believe that she, too, followed a similar trajectory from the bright-eyed, young hopeful to ruthlessly jaded industry woman. And, if we can forgive Emily and Andy for adopting these wicked traits, then why should Miranda be the outlier?
The evidence for this theory is best observed in Miranda’s dynamic with Andy. Initially, her interest in Andy is shocking, considering how high her standards are. She acknowledges that Andy has no sense of style and no experience in the fashion world. Though, after surrounding herself with a fleet of subordinate mini-Miranda’s, Andy actually provides something fresh. She admittedly doesn’t know who Miranda is, doesn’t read Runway, and has no sense of office decorum. This change in pace seems to be the very thing that lands her the job. Andy’s refusal to bow to Miranda gives the head honcho a strange sense of excitement, too—she’s practically giddy when Andy corrects her infront of her colleagues… Is it too much to believe it’s perhaps something Miranda once did herself in order to get to where she is now? There’s also the possibility that Andy reminds Miranda of someone she once was before she became so cutthroat: naive, green in the industry, and not yet so bankrupt of niceties.
For such a devilish character, Miranda’s given the last name “Priestly”, implying that she’s the head of this fashion church she’s running. To her credit, she’s operating an incredibly well-oiled machine.1 Miranda educates Andy on the meaning of the color cerulean, and informs her how the clothing she refers to as a “pile of stuff” has been meticulously crafted in a painstakingly thoughtful process from ideation to rack. After all, Runway is a purveyor of culture, launching ideas and influencing fashion around the globe. And it’s all helmed by the mogul Miranda herself. Understanding just how Miranda came to be the wildly successful “devil who wears prada” requires some introspection on her psyche, though. Just a hint: it’s not because she was born ruthless, but because she understands the “game” women in her space are forced to play.
Although Miranda appears to have it all together on the surface, we’re willing to bet there’s a deeply vulnerable and hurt woman hiding inside. She isn’t the end-all-be-all of the fashion world. She reports to others too: accountable to a host of wealthy men. It’s implied that there’s limited space for women at the top, both in the fashion industry and in other spheres. So, in order to make her mark, to compete with the boys, a woman would need to shed her more feminine qualities. Miranda’s short haircut and predator-like costuming are very intentional in this regard. This also means putting her career above family and romantic prospects. Interestingly, she refers to her latest ex-husband as Mr. Priestly, meaning her surname takes precedence as the patriarchal breadwinner. Whether or not the people she answers to grant her respect, Miranda has certainly found a way to give it to herself. Like those on the receiving end of her pithy insults, she is also forced to compartmentalize whatever troubles she’s experiencing and get back to work. This masculine approach to business may serve Miranda in this stage of her career, but she had to fight tooth and nail to get there. Again, while we never see that early version of Miranda, the way women have to step on each other for that rare seat at the top is made apparent in the competition between Miranda’s assistants, Emily and Andy.
As Andy comes into her own and excels at her job, others refer to her as “Andrea.” At the same time, Emily begins to falter and, as a result, is overlooked and regarded as “Em”. It’s as if these nicknames during different parts of their arcs makes them seem more childlike or flippant, and like they don’t belong in this more serious world. Ultimately, there’s only space for one of them on the Paris trip, and that invite is granted to Andy who chooses to oust Emily and take her place.
Because we experience the story primarily through the eyes of protagonist Andy, Miranda is largely portrayed as the Big Bad™. Through this lens, it’s easy to write her off as a villain on first viewing. When all is said and done, however, Miranda’s characteristics are not merely a careless choice, but a necessary set of traits she was forced to assume in order to survive a sexist fashion world—one that forces women to shrink their size and squeeze themselves into the latest trending outfits that determine their beauty and value.1 Miranda’s ego is not a whimsically reckless construction, but a self-defense mechanism serving as the logical conclusion to everything that shaped her.
As the film comes to a close, we discover that Miranda’s boss Irv has elected to replace her with a new editor in chief because “Jacqueline’s a lot younger than Miranda, she has a fresher take on things.” Woof, if that doesn’t hammer home the message! Are all the older men at the top also being replaced? Or are they seen as wise and irreplaceable? Though Miranda does manage to keep her job and Jaqueline is appointed head of Holt, she lets Andy know that she’s aware of much more than she necessarily lets on.2
The defense of Miranda Priestly is simple: Miranda is not evil for the sake of being evil; she’s the victim of a deeply misogynistic time and her actions are the product of a world she inherited. Is the solution to rip up the old unjust system and create a new one? Yes. Can Miranda do all that by herself? We wouldn’t put it past her to try. But, what’s more likely is that she’s priming these young women to play the game properly so that they can one day seize their own seat at this male-dominated table and, just maybe, change the game from within.
