Book Review: The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger
As a self-proclaimed book lover and movie enthusiast, I was drawn to The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger for a couple of reasons—mainly because the film adaptation had recently caught my eye, and I recognized the title as a pop culture staple. I had heard countless friends rave about it, all while Meryl Streep’s unforgettable portrayal of Miranda Priestly held a unique place in my heart. However, my adventures through the pages of the book have left me with a decidedly mixed bag of feelings, and let’s just say, if I had been wearing designer heels, they would’ve been tough to keep on!
The story follows Andrea Sachs, a young woman who takes a Junior Assistant position at Runway, a high-fashion magazine, hoping this difficult year will pave the way to her dream job as an editor at The New Yorker. Unfortunately, she quickly finds herself ensnared in the web of the tyrannical Miranda Priestly. While the movie paints this narrative with a sprinkle of humor and a fairytale ending, the book delves much deeper into the toxic realities of balancing ambition with personal values.
What struck me most was the stark contrast between Andrea’s character in the book and Anne Hathaway’s portrayal in the film. In the book, Andrea is not only bullied by Miranda but also neglects her own life in favor of managing the countless demands of a neurotic workaholic, leading her to distance herself from her boyfriend and childhood friend, Lily—a subplot that the movie barely grazed. Instead of the meteoric rise that the film allows her, Andrea’s decline into the fashion world feels like a slow burn, and frankly, I found myself growing frustrated with her lack of agency. I wanted her to command the chaos, to reel it back in, but she got lost among the racks of designer clothing.
Weisberger’s writing style leans into the repetitive nature of Andrea’s job, which, while likely intentional to evoke empathy and solidarity, often felt tedious and disheartening. I stumbled through the endless descriptions of her relentless tasks, which seemingly mirrored Andrea’s exhaustion and wore me down in the process. There were humorous moments that shone through, certainly, but the sheer volume of her mundane duties left much to be desired.
One notable highlight is when Andrea finally tells Miranda off—a pivotal moment that should have signified self-empowerment but instead fell somewhat flat. The ending saw her stepping away from fashion’s grasp, yet I found it lacking the catharsis I craved; it felt as if we were cutting to commercial just when the real drama was about to unfold.
In conclusion, The Devil Wears Prada may resonate with readers who enjoy humorous, albeit repetitive tales of ambition and personal sacrifice. However, I would caution prospective readers—if you’re looking for a light, feel-good read, this might not be the one for you. For me, this reading experience was not quite what I had hoped; it served as a reminder that sometimes a movie can better convey the essence of a story than the book itself. If you’re curious about the interplay of fashion and friendship, give the movie a chance instead—it might just leave you laughing and inspired.
Ultimately, while this book may not find a permanent shelf in my collection, I’m glad to have explored its pages. After all, every read enriches our understanding of storytelling, even if it doesn’t always strike the right chord.
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