Could the Second Devil Wears Prada save Journalism?

Blockbuster films have a way of embedding themselves into our psyches in the way that other art forms have not.

Working Girl spawned a decade of power dressing women making it at the top of industry. Baby Boom kicked that trope into touch a year later, showing us that clever women could still triumph in business but do it from the comfort of their kitchen table, surrounded by apple sauce, and a hunky vet to keep our evenings warm.

Top Gun fostered a patriotic desire to become a US Navy Pilot, prompting an increase in recruits in the period that followed the film’s release of between 8-500% (depending on which report you read). The Social Network in 2010 led to a boom in young male tech entrepreneurs in the decade that followed.

These films all follow a similar pattern. Plucky underdog risks it all to become successful.

In Top Gun, the aptly named Maverick doesn’t follow the rules, but succeeds anyway because he’s cheeky and, most importantly, talented. In Legally Blonde, Elle overcomes prejudice and misconception to win her case because, while she might wear pink, she is clever, kind and thoughtful.

What these films don’t do is showcase an industry that is coming apart at its seams.

The Devil Wears Prada 2 breaks that mould in what is a warped bid to reflect the challenges of the publishing industry, and perhaps suggest how it can all be fixed. Like, with vision, and leadership.

The opening scenes begin with award winning journalists being kicked to the kerb as yet another brutal victim of editorial cutbacks and closures.

By the time the film gets to it, the iconic Runway magazine has been reduced to budget photoshoots, digital editions, Miranda hanging up her own coat (let’s be honest, there’s no need for that) and “content creation”. Long gone are the days of fashion influence and leadership. No longer are they there to influence the selection of cerulean blue for next season’s cut price jumpers, but to kowtow to advertisers’ whims and abuse of power to, well, just sell stuff. Expensive stuff.

The undercurrent of the entire film is one of survival rather than of triumph. It’s less about beating the odds, which are stacked against them, but limping through just to face another day.

The publishing industry might be on its knees, but will the intent behind that message cut through? Can it be saved?

Will the 40 or so teenage girls who piled into the (roughly 20% full) cinema alongside a handful of middle aged folks like us on Friday night make the connection between the disintegration of print media and its impact on jobs?

Honestly? I doubt it.

While The Devil Wears Prada 2 tried in vain to deliver its heroic message (that journalism is worth saving), what we really learned was that click bait interviews and salacious gossip were what people really wanted to read. It was made quite clear that serious articles weren’t getting the clicks through results that mattered. And so, therefore, serious journalism doesn’t matter. Commercially, at least.

If you think that’s a position that’s just reserved for a fictional construct, I can tell you that editorial teams have turned down stories about companies we represent because very few people read the last article about them. Journalists now measure success in terms of how many people read the article. Not whether the article was worth writing. Or even, maybe, in the public interest.

In the past they would write and publish with absolutely no idea whether it was read or not. And, strangely, their whole industry was more successful. More profitable. Employed more people. Attracted more advertisers. Had significantly more readers. Weird, huh? Almost like there might be something in the curatorial aspect of the published product that people liked. Valued, even.

Also, imagine if the Post Office Scandal story had only had a small number of click throughs when it first broke and then no follow ups were done….. oh, wait. That’s exactly what happened. Except the publication that broke the story kept digging. And writing. And digging. And writing. Until someone cared. Then everyone noticed.

If The Devil Wears Prada spiked an interest in internships in journalism or fashion publications, then its sequel is most likely to see them running speedily in the opposite direction. No one wants to join an industry whose next strategic stop on the demand curve is a cafeteria based meeting with a gaggle of inexperienced young guns from McKinsey who are going insist you get to meetings on a bus to save money. It wouldn’t matter how funky the clothes might be, it’s a fast route to the job centre however you look at it.

So back to my question: could The Devil Wears Prada 2 save journalism? No, but it might, just might, give the publishing world the kick up the backside it badly needs.

I’ve stopped reading digital magazines, but I do read the print ones. Why? Because I read in places that are not necessarily where I take my phone, or isn’t in front of my PC. You need a digital device to read a digital magazine. Print can go anywhere. I read on the sofa. Or in bed. Or in the loo (not even going to apologise for this one, it’s a legitimate reading location). The print format magazine is infinitely more convenient a format for all three.

And, yes, I know I can take my phone to the loo, or to bed. But I don’t. And I won’t. Fairly certain I am not alone in this.

Let’s zoom out for a minute though. You might be surprised to know that 3 out of the 4 top selling print magazines in the UK are effectively TV guides. TV Choice, What’s on TV and Radio Times are all holding their own in sales and circulation and, yet, they provide information all of us can simply access (for free) at the touch of a button on our actual TVs. So why are they still so popular? Why?

Tesco magazine has the highest magazine circulation in the UK. Waitrose magazine is not far behind it. Both are free print magazines readily available in every shop that simply profiles food and other products you can buy in their supermarkets. Yet, you can visit the supermarket and see all the food. Why bother with a magazine?

Because humans are explorers. We like to discover, think and plan. We like it when someone makes that easy for us. It’s why we scroll and scroll. We’re looking for something. It’s just so much easier when someone puts it all together for us in one fabulously printed place.

I think of the print magazines that I used to read which have since been reformatted into a digital format, and which I haven’t read since. The Chartered Institute of Marketing’s members magazine, for instance. I thought they might have known better, but, no. Seems not. PR Week. Campaign. The Drum. Business Insider. The list is long, and sadly now missing from my regular reading repertoire. By going exclusively digital, they’ve lost my attention. The Chartered Institute of Management Accountants is bringing back its print edition of its members magazine this June. Why? In its own words: “Member feedback and wider research show that print remains highly valued, particularly for in-depth, reflective reading.” Highly valued for in-depth, reflective reading. That’s indicative.

While it might be cheaper for the magazine curators to do it online only, it may not be the ideal format for the reader. Let’s face it, print is expensive, and so is distribution so there are cost savings to be had, but since the industry started cutting back, and back, and back, and making things digital, has their readership really grown? Is their distribution really better? Are people really benefitting from the reading experience? Really? Or is your whole offering just cheaper? And not as good?

There’s something about print that digital will never replace. I was buoyed this week by reading about how fashion retailer Boden had returned to profit after it ditched its digital catalogue in favour of a return to their old-fashioned print catalogue, driving sales growth of 19% at the same time. Not bad for old technology.

And you know what business growth creates? Profit, yes. But also jobs. Real jobs, for real people, in real fashion empires. Cool, that, don’t you think?

Let’s hope that the publishing industry heeds the subtle warning in the film’s subtext: the minute you start to compromise on quality, demand will fall. Some budget cuts are foolhardy. Some format changes are fundamental. And not every bandwagon needs to be jumped on.

There’s more where this came from. I share more of my thinking on Cunningly Good Marketer on Substack. Subscribe to get my opinions, experience and real-world lessons straight to your inbox.