When the first The Devil Wears Prada hit screens nearly two decades ago, it didn’t just define a generation’s understanding of high fashion. it established a very specific blueprint for the “supporting man” in a high-power female environment. From the razor-sharp competence of Nigel to the dangerous, polished charisma of Christian Thompson, the men in Miranda Priestly’s orbit were defined by their utility, their style, and their ability to navigate a world of absolute demand.
Fast forward to the long-awaited sequel, and the conversation has shifted. While the wardrobe remains impeccable and the tension between Miranda and Andy is as electric as ever, a strange consensus has emerged across social media and film forums: the men are profoundly underwhelming. The discourse, fueled by critics and viewers alike, suggests that the sequel has failed to provide a male counterpart that matches the intellectual or aesthetic intensity of the leads.
The critique isn’t necessarily about physical appearance—though “unattractive” is the word being thrown around on X and YouTube—but rather a lack of character appeal. In a world where the women are written as titans of industry and ambition, the men in the sequel often feel like footnotes, lacking the “competence porn” that made the original’s supporting cast so memorable.
As someone who spent years in the high-pressure environment of software engineering before moving into journalism, I recognize this disconnect. In any high-stakes industry, we are drawn to characters who are the best at what they do. When the supporting cast lacks that edge, they don’t just become boring; they become invisible.
The Competence Gap: Why Nigel Set the Bar Too High
To understand why the men in the sequel feel flat, we have to look at the shadow cast by Nigel. In the original film, Nigel wasn’t just a stylist; he was the gatekeeper, the mentor, and the only person who truly understood the machinery of Miranda’s mind. He provided a necessary bridge between Andy’s bewilderment and Miranda’s expectations.
The sequel attempts to introduce new male figures into the fashion ecosystem, but they often fall into the trap of being “too nice” or “too passive.” While the industry has evolved to be more inclusive and less overtly toxic, the narrative tension suffers when the men lack a clear, authoritative purpose. The “unattractiveness” being discussed by users like 조서형 and Jack King on social platforms stems from this lack of agency. A character who simply exists to support the protagonist without having their own formidable skill set often feels like a plot device rather than a person.
The Trap of the Modern Supportive Partner
There is a recurring theme in modern cinema where male characters are rewritten to be “emotionally available” and “supportive” to avoid the tropes of the outdated, oppressive husband. While What we have is a positive shift in real-world sociology, in the vacuum of a stylized cinematic world like The Devil Wears Prada, it can lead to a lack of friction.
The original film thrived on friction. The tension between Andy and her boyfriend was a catalyst for her growth; the tension between Andy and Christian was a test of her ambition. In the sequel, the male romantic interests often lack this catalyst. They are written as “safe,” but in the high-octane world of luxury fashion, “safe” translates to “forgettable.”
| Archetype | Original Film (2006) | Sequel (2026) |
|---|---|---|
| Professional Role | Power-brokers and Gatekeepers | Support staff and Facilitators |
| Primary Appeal | Competence and Sharp Wit | Emotional Availability |
| Narrative Function | Catalysts for Conflict/Growth | Emotional Anchors |
| Dynamic with Lead | Challenge and Mentorship | Agreement and Validation |
A Shift in Power Dynamics and Romantic Tension
The lack of appeal also speaks to a broader struggle in writing modern romantic tension. In the first film, the appeal of the men was tied to their status and their intellect. They were peers or superiors in a meritocracy of taste. The sequel’s men often feel as though they are orbiting the women, rather than occupying their own space in the industry.
When a character’s only trait is that they are “good to the protagonist,” they lose the mystery that makes a character attractive. The audience doesn’t want a perfect partner; they want a compelling one. By stripping away the ambition, the flaws, and the professional rivalry that defined the men of the first film, the writers have inadvertently stripped away their magnetism.
This has led to a wave of criticism across YouTube and X, where viewers argue that the film has mistaken “kindness” for “character development.” For a movie centered on the ruthless pursuit of excellence, having characters who are merely “pleasant” feels like a misalignment of tone.
the frustration with the men in The Devil Wears Prada 2 is a symptom of a larger storytelling challenge: how to create a modern, healthy male character who still possesses the gravitational pull of a classic cinematic foil. Until writers find a way to marry emotional intelligence with professional dominance, the “unattractive” label will likely stick.
Industry analysts are now looking toward the upcoming press tour and the director’s commentary for insight into the casting and writing choices behind these roles. With the film’s performance currently being tracked by major studios, the feedback regarding character dynamics may influence how future sequels or spin-offs are approached.
Do you think the men in the sequel were too bland, or is the audience just missing the toxicity of the original? Let us know in the comments and share this article with your fellow fashion—and film—critics.
