Ever since the days when The Devil Wears Prada and the high priestess of fashion Miranda Priestly hit our screens, much talk has been made of the realities of journalism. Widely believed to be based upon the goings-on at U.S Vogue and its renowned editor-in-chief Anna Wintour, the film's characterisation of a female magazine editor produced one of the most memorable villainesses in recent times. Andrea, an aspiring journalist, lands a job that, apparently, " a million girls would kill for"; and thus endures Priestly's icy and often humiliating treatment for a year in the hope of climbing the greasy pole. So what, we laughed, that Andrea had to court the company of a great dane one day at work, or hunt down unpublished Harry Potter manuscripts for Priestly's beastly twin daughters? What of the woes of trying to book a private plane in the grip of a tropical storm, or being subjected to a rant on the colour of "cerulean blue"? We laughed at the dramatisation, thanking our lucky stars that those caricatures of female authority had disappeared long ago alongside pointy shoulder pads, shellacked hair and filo faxes bristling with executive busyness.
