La, The Devil Wears Prada is a terrible, terrible book. I am thoroughly ashamed to say, however, that I finished it when I could have been reading improving books instead! You probably know the film's already out in New York and the word on the (very narrow fashion) street is that it's an inaccurate picture of the industry.
I'm sure you've read all the stuff about how fashion PRs are so scared of the redoubtable Editor of American Vogue that they wouldn't lend samples and so Patricia Field, the costumier, had to go buying vintage Karan etc. What fashion writers who have seen it have said to me is that everyone is kitted out how the general public would *expect* fashion editors to look (i.e. eccentric, crazy and dressed to the nines at all times) rather than how they actually do). But surely the point about that is that a film on general release can only hope to please both the paying public and if the narrow slither of subject matter about which the film is focused is pleased then that's a bonus. It's a bit like medics claiming that ER isn't very realistic. Who cares? Meryl's always great to look at and I loved her word to describe Anna Wintour's demeanour at the preview: 'cordial'. A very fine and much underused word. Expect it coming up in the blog...
Far more worrying is that it's another example of light entertainment aimed at women that will inspire people to want to *be* like that; the way people wanted to identify with those vile, unsympathetic consumers-dressed-up-as-'friends' in Sex in the City. 'Which one are you?': SWEET JESUS! None, I hope!
Anyway, it's an unpopular view I know. I must not get drawn into an argument about why Carrie Bradshaw is not actually a cipher for Global Capitalism rather than a person, someone who tolerates her acquaintances so she can perpetuate her lunching rather than a true friend to any of the other women at her Pastis table and the reason that most people want to be her is that she has so little personality as to be entirely uncontroversial...on my last day before I take a fortnight's leave or I won't get anything done.