When I was in NYC I was lucky enough  to attend the premiere of THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA ("a feel good movie about feel bad people!") and in spite of the rather half-hearted moralistic ending (choose substance over style;  choose hot brunette dude over hot blonde dude) I left feeling only one thing:

I want to be rich, wear haute couture and go to Paris for the collections!


Emily Blunt is a comic genius!

    I also felt that the glamour of the evening was compromised just a tad by the fact that the film was screened in a huge multi-level multiplex  instead of a classy old Deco movie palace (do any exist in Manhattan anymore? I mean ones that don't house some overblown cheesy musical?) . Alas, the Ziegfield wasn't available so we found ourselves at the AMC Loews Lincoln Square where a stunning Anne Hathaway, in a floor-length, blood-red Valentino gown, breezed by the less-than-stunning hoi polloi who were dressed in less-than-vogue-ish gym shorts and XXL t-shirts. Many of these polloi  were playing "downmarket" video games in the lobby while the high-heeled anorexic retinue with VIP passes  lunged for the free popcorn on the other side of the velvet rope.  

    A good time was had by all .... or at least the fashion saavy crowd who laughed knowingly at all the appropriate signifiers. I would've liked to have seen a little more blood on the floor ( I had just visited the Conde Nast building earlier in the week and was told -in hushed paranoid tones- that there was plenty of it where the VOGUE dynasty reigned) but I suppose the whole thing had to be defanged for the future bulimiacs who grew up on Disney babes like Pocohantas and The Little Mermaid and are now ready to trade in their Princess Diaries for a Treo and a pair of three-hundred-fucking-dollar Jimmy Choos.

    Basically the film is an extended glossier episode of "Sex in the City' (big suprise, same director) and, in the words of one smarty pants writer we enjoy, " is a recruitment letter from New York to America". As if the  the HBO series didn't already ruin the city by encouraging milions of Sarah Jessica Parker wannabes to move in and jack up all the rents. Just don't tell this next wave of Carries and Samanthas and Mirandas that none of the Jay McInerney-esque media cads in Manhattan are nearly as dreamy as Simon Baker (oooh, he can edit my copy any day!).

    Video by Kelly.

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