“Alright everyone,” Nigel shouts into the office. “Gird your loins!”
To music that could belong in a jauntier James Bond film, the office erupts into a controlled panic. Clearing off tables, applying last-minute lipstick, throwing out barely eaten breakfasts, switching out comfortable Crocs for Dolce & Gabbana heels—the staff transforms before our eyes.
We get our first glimpse of her. She moves through the lobby, the crowds parting like the Red Sea. She owns her space, commanding everyone around her with barely the lift of an eyebrow.
The elevator doors open, she whips off her sunglasses, and there she is: Miranda Priestly. She is elegance, grace, and poise as she walks through the halls, errant staff still frantically tripping over themselves to turn the office into picture-perfect efficiency and avoid her notice.
They are a herd of deer desperately trying to appease the ruthless lioness prowling among them.
In those two minutes, I fall in love. Every. Single. Time.
I’m not sure when I first saw The Devil Wears Prada, but it’s been my favorite movie for as long as I can remember. I’ve watched it easily over a dozen times in my not-so-long life, and I’m sure I’ll watch it at least another dozen before my life is over.
As you may suspect, I have a lot to say about this movie.
The Story That Keeps Us Coming Back
Released in 2006, The Devil Wears Prada is nearly 20 years old now, and unlike many films from the early 2000s, it holds up remarkably well. Thanks to an all-star cast featuring Meryl Streep, Anne Hathaway, Emily Blunt, and Stanley Tucci, its popularity hasn’t waned.
If you haven’t seen it, here’s a quick synopsis:
Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway) is fresh out of college and trying to make it in New York City as an aspiring journalist. She’s been taking interview after interview, and finally, she has two options left: Runway, the most prestigious fashion magazine in existence, or Auto-Universe, which … well, let’s just say it doesn’t scream “dream job.”
The catch? Andy knows absolutely nothing about fashion. She’s never even heard of Runway, let alone its perfectionist, no-nonsense Editor-in-Chief, Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep), whose reputation precedes her as a powerful and demanding force in the fashion industry. But Andy needs a job—any job—so she shows up for an interview to be one of Miranda’s assistants, hoping it will be a stepping stone to something better.
And so begins Andy’s transformation from a self-proclaimed “serious journalist” who dismisses fashion as frivolous, to a woman who begrudgingly grows to respect the craft, the complexity, and the power of the fashion industry. Under Miranda’s merciless tutelage, Andy becomes the most capable assistant Runway has ever seen. Her rise doesn’t go unnoticed—especially by Emily (Emily Blunt), Miranda’s senior assistant, who has been working herself to the bone in hopes of accompanying Miranda to Paris Fashion Week, a privilege Andy unwittingly threatens to take.
But as Andy climbs the ranks, her personal life begins to unravel. Her boyfriend, Nate (Adrian Grenier), openly resents her dedication to her job, despite being a chef himself and working odd, long hours. Meanwhile, Miranda’s own seemingly perfect exterior starts to crack—her marriage is crumbling, and a power struggle at Runway threatens her reign. Andy gets a front-row seat to the sacrifices Miranda has made, and she starts to wonder if she’s willing to do the same.
The film culminates in Paris, where Miranda shows Andy exactly what it takes to survive in a cutthroat world. Andy is tempted by the allure of success but ultimately chooses a different path, walking away from Runway and everything she’s worked for.
But that’s not the end of the story. At least, not for us.
A Sapphic Love Story in Disguise
The movie took the world by storm, but it especially spoke to one particular audience who quickly decided it was their anthem:
The lesbians.
Are you surprised? For a split second, I was, too. After all, the movie ends with Andy and Nate on the verge of reconciliation, and Miranda—divorced for the second time—showing no explicit interest in romance at all. How is this a sapphic film?
To really understand, you first have to understand what it means to be part of a community that has spent most of history watching stories that were never meant for us.
For decades, explicit queer representation in mainstream media was either nonexistent or so deeply coded that only those who needed to see it could recognize it. So we adapted. We took stories that weren’t intended for us and made them ours.
And sometimes, those stories lent themselves particularly well to that interpretation.
The Devil Wears Prada is one of those stories.
First Clue: Nate Was Never Endgame
If there’s one thing nearly every Devil Wears Prada fan agrees on, it’s this: Nate was never meant to last.
From the moment Andy starts excelling at her job, Nate becomes increasingly resentful—not of Runway, not of Miranda, but of Andy’s growth.
At first, he acts like a supportive boyfriend. But as soon as Andy starts thriving in her job, his attitude shifts. He starts pouting. He guilts her for missing dinner, for working late, for prioritizing something other than him.
And then, of course, there’s the infamous grilled cheese scene.
Andy comes home after a grueling day at Runway, completely drained, while Nate—who, I remind you, is a chef—is making a grilled cheese sandwich.
And it’s burnt. Like, charred.
Andy, understandably, says she’s not even hungry anymore. And Nate, instead of, I don’t know, taking responsibility for ruining his own sandwich, goes:
“Oh no no no, give me that, there’s like $8 of Jarlsberg in there!”
And here’s where I’m going to ruin your perception of this scene forever.
We did the math.
The average cost of a pound of Jarlsberg cheese in NYC in 2025 is about $14.70 per pound.
Adjusting for inflation, in 2006, that would’ve been $9.70 per pound.
Nate claims he used $8 worth of cheese in a single sandwich.
That’s nearly a pound of cheese. IN. ONE. SANDWICH.
No wonder he burned it! He wasn’t making a grilled cheese—he was trying to fuse two slices of bread into an unholy dairy abomination!
But here’s the real kicker: this moment is a metaphor.
Nate doesn’t just resent Andy’s success. He’s actively terrible at his own job and is projecting his failure onto her. Instead of stepping up, he expects her to step down.
He doesn’t want a partner. He wants a woman who prioritizes him over herself.
Nate wanted Andy to be smaller. To be softer. To be more available to him.
But Miranda Priestly?
Miranda doesn’t shrink for anyone.
Second Clue: Miranda Is an Ice Queen, and Ice Queens Belong to Us
If you looked up Ice Queen in a dictionary, you’d find Miranda Priestly.
Powerful. Emotionally guarded. Utterly untouchable.
This archetype has existed for centuries, and yet, Miranda remains one of its most defining embodiments.
Historically, Ice Queens have been framed as villains—cold, ruthless, and ultimately in need of “fixing.” But sapphics? We see them differently. We don’t view their walls as something to be conquered. We see them as boundaries, as the armor they’ve had to construct to survive in a world that demands women make themselves smaller.
Straight romances often follow a predictable formula: a man “tames” the Ice Queen, “melts” her, “softens” her—because, of course, she must eventually be made palatable to the male ego.
But sapphics don’t conquer Ice Queens.
We love them as they are.
We don’t demand they give up their power. We don’t see their walls as obstacles to be broken down but as the natural result of existing as a woman in a world that resents powerful women.
We see her. And in seeing her, we admire her—without expecting her to make herself smaller for our comfort.
And that? That is the difference.
Which brings us to…
The Ice Queen and the Smackdown of Patriarchy
Miranda Priestly is not just an Ice Queen. She is the Ice Queen.
Emotionally guarded
Powerful and untouchable
A commanding presence in a male-dominated industry
Admired and feared in equal measure
But the Ice Queen trope is not just a trope. It is a direct challenge to patriarchal expectations of femininity.
Because when men lead with ruthlessness and command absolute respect, they are called visionaries. When women do the same, they are bitches.
(Hey Siri? Play “The Man” by Taylor Swift)
In Down Girl: The Logic of Misogyny, Kate Manne breaks this down perfectly:
“Women may be resented precisely because they are achieving rapid social progress. Some women's success in hitherto male-dominated roles, as well as their abandonment of traditionally feminine forms of care work, would be predicted to provoke misogynistic hostility.”
Miranda’s “villainy” isn’t rooted in cruelty. It is rooted in refusing to be soft.
She does not coddle. She does not shrink herself. She does not offer the warmth that society demands from women.
And so?
She must be punished.
The higher she climbs, the harder patriarchy tries to drag her back down.
She is mocked. She is vilified. She is called “the dragon lady” and “the devil”—as if her mere existence at the top of her field is unnatural, as if she should apologize for it.
The Ice Queen trope is not just about power.
It is about resistance.
It is about a woman who refuses to give men what they feel entitled to.
And for sapphics?
That is irresistible.
The Sapphic Gaze: Why We Saw Ourselves in Andy and Miranda
Miranda watches Andy. She notices her. The small lick of lips when she sees Andy’s transformation courtesy of Simon (Stanley Tucci). The lingering glance as Andy walks away. (You can’t tell me she wasn’t admiring Andy’s assets in that skirt.)
Andy, in turn, defends Miranda in ways no one else does. When Christian Thompson (Simon Baker) tries to bait Andy into badmouthing her boss, she refuses. She doesn’t just tolerate Miranda—she sees her.
And for so many sapphic women, that’s what love has always been about: being seen.
The world may have moved on from The Devil Wears Prada, but sapphics haven’t. We’ve built an entire Mirandy fanfiction empire. Some stories have even been reworked and published as their own novels by authors like Roslyn Sinclair and Lee Winter. (I’ll include some of my favorite recs below.)
Was The Devil Wears Prada meant to be a sapphic love story?
Maybe not.
But that never mattered to us.
Because when the world refused to tell our stories, we told them ourselves.
A Path I Didn’t Know Existed
I was raised Mormon. Deeply, devoutly, patriarchally Mormon. My world was built on submission—on deference to men, on being small, quiet, pleasant, and agreeable. A good Mormon girl was supposed to support, not lead. She was supposed to smile and serve, not command respect.
And then, one day, I saw Miranda Priestly.
She was a woman who bowed to no one. Who walked through the world with absolute certainty, unshaken by the pitiful men around her. Who demanded excellence, not apologies. Who made men scramble at her feet.
I had never seen anything like her.
I didn’t have the words for it at the time, but something in me shifted. There was another path.
Maybe I wouldn’t have to shrink. Maybe I wouldn’t have to submit. Maybe there was a way to live in this world as a woman who was big and bold and unrelenting and successful, without apology.
Maybe I didn’t have to be the girl who bent over backward trying to please people who would never be pleased. Maybe I could be the woman who simply didn’t care.
Maybe I could be something else.
The first several times I watched The Devil Wears Prada, I didn’t know I was gay.
I only knew that I wanted to be Miranda Priestly.
Turns out, I wanted her too
Sapphic Ice Queen Book Recommendations
If you, too, have found yourself captivated by a certain Ice Queen, you’re in good company. Here’s where to start:
Truth and Measure by Roslyn Sinclair
The Brutal Truth by Lee Winter
Vengeance Planning for Amateurs by Lee Winter
The Headmistress by Milena McKay
A Whisper of Solace by Milena McKay
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