The Devil Wears Prada

I’m not quite sure just what Prada actually is, I definitely can’t tell it from Manolo Blahniks, and I only know about Manolo Blahniks because I used to be a Sex in the City fan. I confess I find most designer clothes ridiculously ugly (a good example in the movie was a green dress with faux black and white fur trimmings), hideously expensive and not meant for my body shape anyway.

So how could I have possibly enjoyed a movie about the fashion industry, a formulaic Hollywood don’t-think-and-feel-good movie? Well, probably precisely because it was a don’t-think-and-feel-good movie. Picture this: a tired brain that wants to be entertained (but not stretched), a glass of wine, a Saturday night (one of those rare nights on which I chose to relax instead of catching up on work).

As I watched the heroine take on an impossible work load, send emails at 2am and kiss her dream of being a writer goodbye, I thought: yep, I can relate (except that my boss is heaps nicer).

So, in a sense, the movie was an eye opener for me. I will try to work less and to write more. And when I am an Orange Prize winner, I can say: “And this is all thanks to the movie The Devil Wears Prada”. Not that I will say that, of course. I’ve got my speech and (outfit) all planned, and neither contains anything Prada.