The Devil Wears Prada

I want to be a journalist, so I thought I'd move to New York. I'm a bit edgy - I wrote a piece on janitors when I was at university and I live with my boyfriend who's a bit foreign looking. He may even be from immigrant stock. And my other two best friends are a black woman - with short hair - and a man who may or may not be gay, but he sure knows his fashion designers, he's like, totally clued up. So anyway, I take this job as assistant to the editor-in-chief of Runway magazine, which I've like, never even heard of, despite the fact that I'm into journalism, and should really have a passing interest in all major publications. But, like I say, I'm a bit edgy. I don't care about my appearance at all, I really like frumpy jumpers and sensible shoes. My jumper is vermillion, you know, not blue ( I learnt that at Runway). I didn't even straighten my hair the morning of my interview, and I ate an onion bagel. Get me. So I went, and they all made fun of me because of my clothes, and like, looked down their noses, but I got the job, because I made an impassioned speech about working hard. And the job started taking over my life, and I didn't even want the deep fried buttered cheese with extra butter and cheese toastie that my boyfriend made for me one night. Then I got upset becaue I made a mistake and got shouted at, and I wanted sympathy from my gay confidante at work (every girl's gotta have one) but instead he, like, totally put me in my place and told me I wasn't trying, so then I had the great idea, of like, making myself look super fashionable and I looked, like, totally on the pulse, and everyone looked at me, and went 'Who's that?!', and do you know who it was? It was me. And I became the best goddam assistant the boss had ever had. But then I became like, totally work crazy, and missed my foreign looking boyfriend's birthday, but I did look totally fabulous, and then this journalist guy who writes for serious newspapers but is inexplicably always hanging round all the fashion parties, kept asking me out, I mean, can you believe that?! God. So anyway, then I went to Paris for fashion week, and completely trampled all over the dreams of the other assistant, Emily, who was first in line to go, and I had a great time, and I had sex with the journalist guy (my foreign looking boyfriend had dumped me because 'we had nothing in common anymore') and in the morning he called me 'baby', and I said, 'I'm not your baby' and swished my hair. That showed him. Huh! And then I went to a party, and my boss totally screwed over my gay confidante friend, and then in the car on the way back, she said I was like her, and I was like, 'No, I'm not!' and she was like 'Yes, you are', and I was like 'Why?', and she was like 'Cos, honey, you know how to get what you want', and I was like 'I would never do what you did!' and she was like 'You already did. To Emily' and I was like, totally horrified. And then I said 'But maybe I don't want to live like this', and she said 'But everyone wants what we have', and then I like, had a total epiphany, which I showed by moving in slow motion, and turning my head and walking away. And then I threw my phone in the fountain. How totally symbolic is that?! Yeah. So then I went back to New York and I gave my foreign looking boyfriend this totally sincere speech about how I had totally negelected my friends and family, and I did it in this understated cafe with formica tables, to show how much I had reverted to my roots, and he said we could work it out. So then, totally by chance, I had a job interview for this serious paper, and he told me my reference from Runway said that he would be a fool not to hire me. Wow! Who would have expected that?! And then I finished the film by seeing my old boss from across a busy road, and she just looked at me, and then I sort of smiled a knowing smile to myself, and strutted down the street. I totally rule.