What 'The Devil Wears Prada' Taught Me Not To Do When It Comes To Love
My entire life, I've been completely obsessed with Vogue magazine, but with Anna Wintour in particular. Oh, that blunt bob that NEVER moves, even when the brutal urban air gets trapped in between the city sky scrapers, turning the streets of Manhattan into a giant wind tunnel. Those black-out sunnies, the Chanel tweed suits and that chic, frozen facial expression that doesn't reveal any emotions whatsoever. UGH. I LOVE YOU, ANNA.
And Vogue? The shiny pages, made up of vacant-eyed models casually clutching $12,000 Chanel bags with the frivolity of half-smoked cigarettes doomed to be stubbed into the concrete, I wanted to be one of those models. That is, until I quickly realized I was probably going to peak at 5'6'' and have far too expressive of a face to be the removed, Kate Moss-type waif that was all the rage at the time. I became an actress instead, so I could at least play a fierce fashion maven on TV.
So, when the book "The Devil Wears Prada" hit the shelves when I was a pimply teen, you better believe I was the first in line at the Barnes & Noble on 72nd Street to buy that coveted book. It was rumored to be loosely based on my icon, Anna. I shamelessly love chick lit, especially ~fashion~ chick lit. I might as well have Candice Bushnell's name tattooed across my chest.
Anyway, as soon as the book was in my precious possession, I snuck off to my angsty bedroom and planned to devour the whole thing in one sitting. But it turned out to be a snooze (zzzz) for me because the lead character was whiny and from boring old Boston. And I just couldn't handle it.
However, when the movie came out, I couldn't wait. I wanted to see those poorly-described clothes in their gorgeous flesh. And this was a decade ago, babes. When the movie came out, I was a 20-year-old with blonde hair and an eating disorder. That's how long ago this shit was. I went to see it with my mother (she's a total fashion bitch, too), and we literally clutched hands and gasped throughout the whole movie.
The sky-blue Marc Jacobs bag Anne Hathaway's character gets for free! The over-the-knee boots and drop waist blazer she wears when that fierce queen, Nigel, makes her over! The kelly GREEN, Jackie Kennedy-looking coat with the leopard collar made me erupt into a spine-tingling fashion orgasms all over the theatre! And don't even get me started with Anne Hathaway's hair makeover moment, when she cuts bangs! I died. I immediately cut bangs.
So, while I might have been fashion-orgasming all over the place while watching the movie, I will say ONE aspect of the movie destroyed my soul. And that was that wimpy little fuckboy, Nate, played by Adrian Grenier. He plays Anne Hathaway's character's spineless boyfriend.
I'm sorry, but when he guilted her for missing his measly little birthday party because she attended a once-in-a-lifetime fashion event that could further her career forever, instead? Really? What are we, 5?! Plus, she did come home with a cupcake with a candle in it or something, which was really sweet and thoughtful of her after she had just come back from one of the most powerful, iconic events in fashion. HE should have congratulated HER, not thrown her pathetic little-boy-lost shade, you know?
I mean, SERIOUSLY? She was a young woman just starting out her career in the cruel world of publishing. Even if she didn't want to stay in the world of fashion, she was passionate about making it in publishing. And social sacrifices are just what it takes to make it in this industry (in New York), honey. Go back to Boston and find a sweet New England girl if you can't handle an ambitious city girl. Also, he totally glamour shames her, too. When he tells her he liked her "old clothes better," I wanted to jump out of my seat and sock him in the nose.
Anne Hathaway looked incredible with her professional makeover! Part of growing up and evolving is being exposed to new, more sophisticated clothes that better your overall look. You can't wear mom jeans forever, sweet pea. He couldn't handle her new wardrobe because he was threatened by his meek little nerd girlfriend coming into her own and turning into a world-class goddess. He knew if he let her get too hot, she was going to be wildly out of his fuckboy league very soon.
He did what every fuckboy does when he's threatened: tried to make her feel bad about working so much and looking so gorge. HONEY, these are the years when we put in the blood, the sweat and the tears into our careers.
And, yes, little Anne Hathaway shouldn't have had flirtations with the super hot "Christian" character who helps her get the "Harry Potter" manuscript. I'm a nice jewish girl raised in civilized East Hampton, Long Island, and I don't condone cheating. But look, shit happens when you're in your 20s, OK? She had an oppressive boyfriend! Now suddenly she's in the middle of electrifying Paris and a hot, smart man is taking an interest in her. He was part of her new world, Adrien was part of her old world. Sometimes you just grow out of people, and she had grown out of that loser.
Lemme ask you: Would you rather kiss an ambitious person in the city of lights at one of the most important global fashion parties in the world, or kiss your crybaby boyfriend from Boston in a cramped apartment in Bed Stuy? Let a girl live, and let a girl evolve!
I'm a lesbian (shocker) who has dated women who have done the same thing to me as Adrien did to Andy. Bitches have shamed me for having to work late nights, or not being able to attend some shitty Brooklyn bar with them because I had an important audition the next morning. I dated women who told me I looked "cuter" in jeans and a t-shirt than a sophisticated body con dress, and I saw right through that bullshit.
I look "cute" in jeans because you don't have to worry about me getting attention in basic jeans. Now, I deem that kind of talk a bright, shiny red flag! Now I only date people who find my ambition sexy. I only date women who love my expensive lipstick kisses, Chanel-bag toting, work all day and work all night ways. And honestly, I only date my own kind now, too. And together, we rule the world and lift each other up. We don't shame each other for our endless ambition. And we're going to be RICH and accomplished one day, babe.
The worst part is, is that Anne Hathaway's Andy made the biggest textbook mistake of all time. She quit her job and went to BOSTON (GAG) to chase her wimpy, troll-like chef of a boyfriend. Yes, Meryl Streep's Miranda Priestly was a brutal boss, but I've had worse. She could have stuck it out another year! Being abused by a power babe is a rite of passage in this industry.
Do you know how many amazing get-togethers all of us Manhattan up-and-coming power babes miss because our bosses needed us escort them to some bougie event last-minute?! It's just part of the game, sugar. It's part of paying your damn dues. And it's not like she had it that bad.
Poor, doe-eyed Andy was in PARIS staying in a luxury hotel, with her OWN ROOM. I've been stuck in a bed-buggy motel while my glam boss stayed at the goddamn Plaza. I didn't just quit! She had more to learn. Even if the boss was a bitch, she was a successful bitch. And little, unsuccessful Andy still had a lot to learn from her.
But no, she chased the boy and left the glimmering, exciting Manhattan for basic Boston. I'm sorry, but that's a step down if you want to be successful in the world of media. NYC is the media capital of the world.
And our heroine got frumpy again when she went back to bae. What kind of message does this send young women? To chase boys? To feel guilty for working hard? To dumb down your style as to not threaten fragile boy creatures?
Look, one day we can all settle the hell down and have babies and chase love, but when you're fresh out of college it's about PUTTING IN THE WORK if you want a big career. Nothing will be handed to you in this town, kid. You've gotta hustle.
In fact, I think I'm going to pen my own version of "The Devil Wears Prada." It will have all the designer clothes, the wicked/chic Editor-in-Chief, the hardworking woman and the gorgeous city of Manhattan, except the girl will leave the stupid boy the second he whimpers like a little wimp ass.
She'll keep working her way to the top, and then date the ambitious hot guy with the connections instead. Or she'll realize she's a power lesbian and date the Editor-in-Chief of the magazine instead. OR, even better, she will just coldly hook up with everyone because she's too hard working, too ambitious and too independent for love.