A Few Men, A Pair of Manolos, and One Fabulous City

Review by Sarah Caitlin Lavery

The term “chick-flick” is a staple in the vocabulary of the average American filmgoer; the two words alone are enough to ensure groans from males and fluttering eyelashes from girls tempting their boyfriends to join them in affirmations of girl-power. Sex and the City became a cultural phenomenon by following its specific formula, and cliché-ridden films like How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days reaffirm the chick-flick mantra. These girl are tough and independent, with fabulous jobs, even more fabulous apartments, and white-knights who unfailingly come to the rescue before all hope is lost. Though Lauren Weisberger’s novel The Devil Wears Prada is immersed in couture references and the excitement of Manhattan, it transcends the formulaic chick-lit genre. The story focuses on the emotional journey of a girl who travels not following the map provided by a romantic interest but by her own compass. Her job is hellish, and her lifestyle far from glamorous. The novel’s protagonist, Andrea Sachs, is her own white knight.
Counting the number of times one of Sex and the City’s fabulous characters calls something “fabulous” would be a hefty task. The designation is a requirement of a chick-flick: the exciting job, the unimaginably expensive apartment to be paid for with the salary of said job, and the seemingly endless budget for Cosmopolitans at the hottest bars. The average mid-level reporter in New York City makes $39,000 a year—hardly enough to afford an apartment with a regal bellman (Salary.com).  Both of the main characters in How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days and Sex and the City are writers; both are effortlessly chic and well-groomed; and both enjoy all New York has to offer while never becoming flustered. Considering the generic chick heroine, columnist Jennifer Makowsky writes that “on the outside she’s liberated and ready to take on the world, but inside she’s insecure and longs for love. . . . Make sure there’s lots of sex and add in gay male friendships to help the banter along. Factor in some type of hurdle—like a bitch boss or a noncommittal man—and then add a dash of sardonic humor. Voilà: instant ‘Chick Lit’!”
There’s something about The Devil Wears Prada’s Andrea Sachs that is different, though. While she does move to Manhattan for a job that “a million girls would die for,” (Weisberger, 16) her lifestyle is far from fabulous and her chicness hardly effortless. Andrea has been thrust into the world of typical chick-flick characters and struggles to keep up. By focusing on Andrea’s ordeals rather than her fabulousness, Weisberger puts her on a different kind of pedestal than Carrie Bradshaw and How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days’ Andie Anderson, thus allowing the reader to envy her strength instead of her materialistic accomplishments.
Another trademark of the genre is “the boss from hell.” Clearly, this
is the major catalyst of Andrea’s dilemma. Carrie Bradshaw has Enid
Mead, the snappy, judgmental fashion editor of Vogue, and Andie Anderson has Lana Jong, the devoid-of-sympathy editor-in-chief of Composure magazine. Both are bitchy and annoying and provide just the right amount of resistance to the protagonists, but neither can hold a candle to the hellish-creature that is Miranda Priestly. Andrea’s reaction to her boss is further proof of her strength; while Carrie Bradshaw has an epiphanic moment of defiance with Enid, it is incomparable to Andrea and Miranda’s finale. After unnecessary criticism of her current writing assignment, Carrie finally sticks up for herself: “This article still positively reeks of you,” Enid says in her all-knowing tone. “Vogue readers don’t care what Carrie Bradshaw has to say about shoes. What does Carrie Bradshaw even know about shoes?” Carrie replies, “With all due respect, Enid: Men, I may not know. But shoes, shoes I know” (“A Vogue Idea”). Defiant, indeed, but it appears an act of cowardice when juxtaposed with Andrea’s climactic “Fuck you, Miranda. Fuck you” (Weisberger, 342). In normal chick-flick style, the boss-from-hell provides an adorable excuse for the protagonist to overcome an obstacle, all while wearing heels and sporting perfectly manicured nails. Not only is Andrea’s ability to suffer her torturous boss for the sake of her career admirable, her final declaration in her defense is equally inspiring. Weisberger makes it clear this girl is a force to be reckoned with.
Though the two aforementioned factors are enough to distinguish a chick-flick from a mile away, nothing defines the form more than the theme of love. Sex and the City is a formidable entry in the “feminist-with-heels” movement, but in actuality, the show is centered around the characters’ search for the perfect relationship. Their jobs, friendships, and families provide the back story, but the reason fans religiously tune in is to watch Carrie search for Mr. Right (aka Mr. Big). How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days offers a strong female in Andie Anderson—talented, determined, single, successful—but in the end, it is the love story that provides the movie’s climactic moment. The Devil Wears Prada, however, takes a different approach. Andrea’s romantic relationship with Alex, although sweet and supportive, provides merely the back-drop for her emotional journey into adulthood and success. Their relationship is devoid of the drama, heartache, and desperation that is typical of chick-flick/lit style, preventing the reader from becoming emotionally-attached to their pairing. Andrea is never seen as needy, overly-emotional, or sullen (unlike Carrie Bradshaw, who can be counted on to look even more adorable during her moments of man-fused distress), even during their love’s demise. She ultimately opts to sacrifice a “three-year-long relationship with someone [she loves] but can’t be with” (Weisberger, 357) for her career.
Belittling chick-flick/lit comes easily to anyone interested in the women’s movement. Writes one critic of the genre, “the subject is the mundane workaday world, the world in which we care about our stupid bosses, self-absorbed boyfriends, still fitting into that pair of jeans, and whether we have a prayer in hell of having the kinds of magazine-cover lives we keep being told we can have if only we can manage to get it all right” (Blanke). The Devil Wears Prada certainly jumps the fence of this narrow description. Calling Andrea’s boss “stupid” barely skims the surface of her cruelty; her boyfriend is sensitive and supporting but not fit to live in her career-driven world; and it takes a gaggle of professionals to make her presentable to the fashion-elite. 
The Devil Wears Prada teeters on the brink of chick-lit-dom but never completely dives in. Sure, Andie Anderson may have a deeper inspiration to write about peace in Tajikistan rather than beauty, and Carrie Bradshaw unfailingly reigns over Manhattan, going from man-to-man, always looking fabulous in her Manolo Blahniks, but what does that say about the power of women? Andrea Sachs goes from Brown grad to Miranda Priestly’s indentured servant, all to finally discover herself as a writer, a friend, a daughter, and a woman. It doesn’t take a man or a pair of Manolos to get her there, either.
Works Cited
“A Vogue Idea.” Sex and the City. HBO. 3 Feb. 2002.
Blank, Hanne. “Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Cute.” The Baltimore City Paper 10 Sept. 2003. 27 Nov. 2005
www.citypaper.com/special/story.asp?id=5973
Haskell, Molly. “Girls on Film.” The Guardian 28 Mar. 2003. 29 Nov. 2005
www.guardian.co.uk/friday_review/story/0,3605,922896,00.html
How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Dir. Donald Petrie. DVD. Paramount, 2003. Makowsky, Jennifer. “The Box Office Belletrist.” PopMatters 11 Aug. 2005. 27 Nov. 2005
www.popmatters.com/columns/makowsky/050811.shtml
Salary.com. 29 Nov. 2005
www.salary.com
Weisberger, Lauren. The Devil Wears Prada. New York City: Doubleday, 2003.