The Devil Wears Prada 2 And Andy Sachs Are The Reasons We Still Want To Write
By Michaela Benedetta Lopez
ENTERTAINMENT
Edited by Kelsey Liddell
6/4/20263 min read
There are those who have always believed that The Devil Wears Prada was simply a film for fashion lovers and, in part, that’s true. But with the arrival of the sequel, the story suddenly feels like something much bigger. It no longer speaks only about fashion, glossy magazines, or impossible bosses. It speaks about creativity, journalism, and the quiet identity crisis of an entire generation that once dreamed of building a life through words.
Back in 2006, many of us watched Andy Sachs running through the streets of New York with an onion cream cheese bagel in her hand, arriving at the Runway offices in her “cerulean” sweater and dreaming of becoming a writer. And somehow, we dreamed alongside her.
Andy represented a version of creative ambition that felt beautiful and meaningful. The idea of staying up late to write articles, walking into magazine offices with a laptop under your arm and a coffee in your hand, chasing stories that felt important enough to tell. For so many girls, she became more than a character. She became the reflection of who we hoped to become ourselves: ambitious, creative, insecure at times, but deeply determined to create something meaningful.
We were those wide-eyed little dreamers cutting pages to make collages, carrying notebooks everywhere and romanticising editorial offices. We imagined that maybe, one day, our names would appear inside the magazines we had spent years admiring — and that somewhere, another girl sitting on her bedroom floor surrounded by cut-out pages and journals would read our stories and begin dreaming too. Maybe we could become the reminder that creativity still matters, that there is still beauty in imagination, storytelling, and words capable of making someone feel less alone. That the future does not have to belong only to technology, algorithms, and science, but also to art, emotion, and the quiet power of words. Because without them, the world risks becoming a place that moves endlessly forward while forgetting what it means to truly feel human.
And maybe, without even realising it, we could become the Andy Sachs of another little girl’s story — giving her the courage to look at this increasingly digital world and still say, “I want to become a journalist too.”
The hardest part is realising that since 2006, everything has changed not only for magazines but for creativity itself.
Publishing continues to face shrinking budgets and digital pressures. Reading has become scrolling. Attention spans disappear through fifteen-second videos consumed from one lunch break to the next, and algorithm-driven headlines designed only to generate clicks. Somewhere along the way, writing stopped feeling like a vocation and started feeling like performance.
Perhaps the most devastating line in the sequel captures this shift perfectly: “I used to try to write stories that I thought people needed to read, now instead I have to find the ones people want to click on.”
That sentence alone explains the emotional weight behind this sequel. Because it reflects the reality many young writers and creatives are now living in: a world where girls are taught how to become brands before they even discover their own voice.
The pleasure of wanting to write an article, of being able to assemble and shape it the way we were taught to or the way we always imagined we knew how to do, is slowly dissolving. Everything now feels immediate: one AI search, one voice command, and suddenly stories, images, ideas, and entire worlds appear on a screen within seconds.
Increasingly, people create to satisfy algorithms and constant content demands. Everything must be visible, fast, consumable. Journalism, meanwhile, was always supposed to be something slower and more human. It was supposed to be curiosity, passion, finding meaning in things and explaining them to people. It was about telling stories that deserved to exist, to be told and read because we have both the opportunity and the ability to do so.
And somewhere within all of this noise, many of us have also lost the reason why we started writing in the first place.
That is why Andy Sachs still matters.
Because beneath the nostalgia, the fashion, and the glamour, she reminds us of the version of ourselves that once believed creativity could still mean something. She reminds us why we chose this work and why we continue to do it despite how exhausting, unstable, and disillusioning these industries have become. She reminds us that journalism is still one of the most beautiful jobs in the world precisely because it allows us to feel, observe, question, and transform emotions into stories.
Maybe that is the real reason why The Devil Wears Prada 2 feels so emotional for so many people. Not because it simply brings back beloved characters, but because it reminds an entire generation why they once believed creativity could change something. And deep down, many of us are searching for that girl in the “cerulean” sweater, running through New York still believing that words could change the world.
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