The return of the Devil wears Prada rekindles the myth of Miranda Priestley and establishes Meryl Streep as an absolute style icon. But between red carpets, global marketing and fashion nostalgia, one question remains: can glossy fashion still seduce in the Vinted era?
The frantic wait is over and this «That’s it». Or almost. For the return of the highly anticipated sequel to The Devil Wears Prada, finally in cinemas from April 29th, a war machine never seen before has moved. A presentation tour from Japan to Mexico City and a premiere in New York where, if Anne Hathaway undoubtedly has the best cosmetic surgeon in the world, for Meryl Streep, well, words are not enough.
A vision in a red cape (in any case the devil didn’t wear Prada on the red carpet) with long black gloves and dark glasses. At 76, the Oscar-winning actress enjoys global success. And the social media people praise her as if she were the Madonna of the Macarena: «Immense», «Stupendous and iconic», «The Queen is back», «Diva of the galaxies», «Twenty years have passed and she hasn’t aged a single day». It had never happened that Hollywood paid such glory to a woman (by their standards) on sunset boulevard. The astute Meryl has become a style icon in recent months, with animal print duster coats, green polka dot coats and gray haute couture suits. That devil Miranda Priestley took back everything that was hers. Vogue dedicates its cover to her alongside the powerful director brought to the big screen, with shots by Annie Leibovitz. If Anna Wintour had kept away from the scenes in the first round, now she is happily playing around. They post: «Meryl looks more like Wintour than the real thing», «A necessary cultural short circuit. The myth has surpassed reality.” Even Jungians for the total celebration of an event that twenty years later seems to have become the only obsession of our miserable times. Yet something is off: impressive marketing, much ado about (almost) nothing, it seems that fashion is clinging too tightly to cinema, almost giving up its crown. On the other hand, my lady, today we must make a virtue of necessity, to carry on with one shoe and “a ciavatta”. Miranda instead advances on red heels towards everlasting glory. All for a role that Glenn Close turned down, because she was tired of being bad (you can never be bad enough). The sadistic leader, the one we’ve all had, is the figure we feared, imitated and loved. Because he knows how to bring out the good dose of masochism that everyone hides inside. But is this still Priestley’s time? Inevitably the glossy images and the luxurious outfits will have to clash with the everyday life of Vinted. The risk, alas, will be to leave the room and have to put back on that cerulean and felted sweater that we didn’t choose and Miranda would never have approved.
