The song that suddenly appeared was "Try."
In Isabella's previous life, this song was released in the summer of 2014 by Colbie Caillat.
The song's meaning is straightforward. It reflects how Caillat feels the entertainment industry places immense, unreasonable pressure on women regarding appearance.
In the public eye, women in entertainment are expected to be beautiful — getting their nails done, wearing stylish clothes, and styling their hair to project a certain image. But Caillat argues this is unreasonable. No one is perfect; everyone has flaws. Embracing imperfection is genuine growth. Accepting your bare face and natural self is maturity — dressing up glamorously every day is not.
Through "Try," Caillat calls on all women to be who they want to be, to live for themselves rather than others' opinions, and to stop changing themselves to please others.
Isabella doesn't judge Caillat's perspective. America values freedom of expression, and everyone has the right to speak.
What Isabella does feel, however, is that "Try" fits The Devil Wears Prada perfectly.
After her revisions with Chris Columbus, the film became a story about dreams — no longer focused on shallow fashion and gossip, but on workplace conflict and the generational divide in attitudes toward life and work.
So, following the ideological clash between Miranda and Andy on screen, Isabella felt "Try" could express Andy's state of mind. In the film, Andy embodies youth — fearless and unguarded. Miranda, however, is no pushover. Her near-sermon-like guidance gives Andy the unsettling feeling of being lectured by an elder.
As Andy's resolve begins to waver, she starts questioning herself: Is the other person actually right?
Since only the verses of "Try" deal with confusion while the chorus champions self-assurance, once the verse ends, Andy's stunned close-up cuts away instantly.
The ending may seem abrupt — but it's exactly right.
First, this is a film, not a photoshoot. Every second of screen time is precious; there's no room for dramatic pauses.
Second, in a commercial film, the protagonist can't afford to stay lost for too long. Audiences pay to see the protagonist succeed, not to sit through a lecture. When people won't even listen in school, why would they sit in a theater and accept preaching?
So, as the soft singing fades, the screen cuts immediately.
Night. At home. Andy and her best friend crowd into the kitchen of their rented apartment, making dinner. Andy recounts the day's events.
When her friend learns that Andy clashed with Miranda again, got thoroughly lectured, and — crucially — even found Miranda's points convincing, she offers a candid take:
"Honey, I think Miranda has a point. We pursue beauty too, don't we? Even if we can't afford high-end clothes—" She gestures at Andy's sweater. "If I remember correctly, you spent a long time picking that out with me — even if it was from Walmart."
"But I think she's being unreasonable," Andy snaps, as if a nerve has been struck — or as if her beliefs are beginning to crack.
Faced with her friend's agreement, Andy pushes back loudly: "Miranda might be doing something remarkable, but it's so wasteful! Do you know what one photoshoot costs? Three hundred thousand dollars!"
"Three hundred thousand! Not three hundred, not three thousand, not thirty thousand — three hundred thousand!"
"If every criticism had a solid reason, fine — I could accept that. But when every criticism is just 'I don't like it' or 'I don't think it works' — isn't that just waste? Do you know this steak we're eating tonight cost eight dollars?"
Her friend goes quiet.
Once the staggering "cost of error" is named, she has no ground left to support Miranda. She appears to become Andy's ally again — but everyone watching can tell Andy is putting on a brave front. On the surface, she's still Miranda's harshest critic. In reality, she has already accepted Miranda's reasoning, begun thinking in Miranda's terms, and is showing the first signs of transformation.
That transformation comes quickly. After the conversation ends on a sour note, Andy hits a low point in her career.
Perhaps Miranda considers her hopeless. Perhaps Andy's defiance cost Miranda face. Either way, after their clash, Miranda treats Andy like the lowest-ranking employee — no longer with any warmth, only cold, mechanical tasks. Miranda's gaze, already distant before the argument, turns colder still.
Even so, Andy doesn't quit.
Why? Because by now, both the public and industry insiders can see two very distinct versions of Andy.
The first is her public image — polished and formidable. She's smart, competitive, and driven to excel. In the world's eyes, she's the picture of an elite.
The second is her private image — insecure and sensitive. She has her vanities. She loves beautiful clothes. She wants to dress up. But she can't afford to, so she takes the path many intellectuals do: she positions herself on the moral high ground of pragmatism, criticizing others' extravagance to mask her own insecurity.
That contrast makes Andy feel extraordinarily real — and deeply pitiable.
"..."
After enduring Miranda's harsh treatment for a stretch, Andy finally gets a break. This weekend, Miranda is vacationing in Miami, meaning Andy isn't on call around the clock. Better still, her father is flying in from Ohio. The warmth of family brings a rare taste of happiness.
But over dinner, her father raises the subject of her job — pointing out that it has nothing to do with her studies or her real passions, and therefore no long-term future.
Andy visibly bristles.
This time, instead of complaining about Miranda as she does with her friend, she defends her. She says she likes her job, that Runway has helped her grow, that her improved eye for aesthetics makes her work better, and — squeezing her father's hand — she adds warmly:
"Dad, Miranda Priestly is a legend. Work for her for a year, and you can get a job anywhere in publishing. Trust me — I won't stay at Runway long. This is just a stepping stone. It won't be my whole life."
Many viewers, hearing this, feel that Andy now resembles Miranda in certain ways. She may not love the job, but she knows how to extract value from it.
Then, just as Andy and her father are about to leave for Chicago on Broadway, Miranda calls. Stranded in Miami by a sudden hurricane, she needs to attend her daughters' recital in New York the next day — and she orders Andy to find her a flight immediately.
Andy responds decisively. But she fails.
The failed task ruins her weekend. Family plans are abandoned. And on Monday, she faces Miranda's fury — delivered with a cold smile that dismantles her completely.
"Do you know why I hired you?"
"In the past, I only hired fashionable, thin girls who were obsessed with Runway. They always disappointed me. Every time they failed, I wondered if they'd lost their minds while dieting — whether their heads were full of cabbage. That kind of stupidity disgusted me."
"And you — a strong resume, clear logic, a convincing argument. You said you could do this job? I believed you. I told myself: try it — hire someone who may not be conventionally pretty, a normal girl. At least she looks smart. At least she's capable."
"But—"
Miranda lets the silence stretch. She studies the red-eyed young woman before her the way one inspects merchandise, then delivers the verdict calmly:
"Andy, I gave you a chance. Even when you questioned my decisions, my choices, my beliefs — I still gave you a chance. But you disappoint me more than any fool I've hired before. I trust you understand what I mean."
Miranda's rhetorical question cuts to a close-up of Andy.
Her eyes dart away, unable to meet Miranda's gaze. She blinks rapidly, fighting tears.
She is, in this moment, heartbreakingly fragile.
But she doesn't defend herself.
After a few seconds, she gives a slow nod. "Yeah."
"Okay."
"That's it."
Miranda lowers her head and returns to work — silently, as if discarding something trivial.
Andy turns and walks out. But her face shows no relief. It shows the look of someone falling into the abyss — because what Miranda challenged was not Andy's taste or her values, but her competence: the very thing Andy uses as armor for her self-esteem.
"..."
"The title really isn't wrong — The Devil Wears Prada. It fits perfectly."
"Miranda really is like a devil. But why is she so hard on Andy? The hurricane wasn't Andy's fault. If all airlines grounded flights for safety, how is that Andy's problem?"
"Exactly — this has nothing to do with Andy. Why is she blaming herself?"
"Was this part filmed wrong? It feels disconnected from earlier."
Younger viewers are confused. In their eyes, Andy did nothing wrong — so why does the confident Andy suddenly spiral into self-doubt over something beyond her control?
For older viewers, the answer is clear:
"Andy's mindset has changed. She's been shaped by her environment."
"Andy is smart. She could stand up to Miranda before because she never made mistakes. As an assistant who could meet every demand, she had the standing to question authority — Miranda tolerated her edge because she trusted Andy's competence. But once she made a mistake, even an innocent one, that standing evaporated."
"That's exactly why she's upset. It's not just Miranda's disappointment. It's that she dislikes who she's becoming — someone who second-guesses herself after every clash with Miranda. And that self-doubt leads to more mistakes. She could have handled this better. The hurricane wasn't sudden — if she'd checked the weather forecast in advance, she would have known Miami might be hit and warned Miranda. Even if Miranda still got stranded, she wouldn't have had grounds to blame Andy. Or with a backup plan — a private jet, even a car — Miranda might have appreciated the initiative."
"This scene is actually very well done."
"Isabella's Andy is extraordinarily smart."
"And her performance is stunning — that tough exterior can no longer conceal the sensitivity underneath."
Although this version of The Devil Wears Prada diverges significantly from the original, the internal logic is worlds apart — even where the plot surface looks similar.
Audiences aren't disappointed. They find the changes excellent.
As Andy walks out of Miranda's office, sorrowful music fills the theater. Even when Emily calls after her, Andy doesn't respond. She just wants to disappear somewhere.
The scene cuts.
She's on the rooftop. Standing at the edge of a building a hundred meters high, wind in her face, the steel city spread out below — an intoxicating view she has no capacity to enjoy. All she wants is to release the frustration pressing down on her.
After she shouts a couple of times, a quiet voice comes from behind.
"Good — you're not planning to jump. That's a relief."
Andy spins around, startled.
When she sees it's Nigel, Runway's art director, she exhales — but still snaps: "Were you following me?"
"Oh — don't be so sensitive." Nigel shakes his head with a helpless smile, walking toward her. "When you stormed out of Miranda's office, I happened to be delivering documents. I saw Emily calling after you and you didn't respond, so — out of curiosity, and admittedly concern — I followed you up."
"So you came to laugh at me," Andy says flatly.
Nigel puts his hands in his pockets, gazes out over the city, and shrugs. "If you insist — sure, let's go with that. But I also want to say: I've seen situations like yours many times."
"This is Runway. Countless women fight to get in here. Your job could be filled by a hundred people in five minutes — which means no one much cares about the feelings of the person doing it. Before you came, Miranda had already driven two girls to quit. And before them, Emily was just one of many lucky candidates."
"So — still think I came to laugh at you?"
Nigel tilts his head, smiling.
Andy calms down. She knew from the start she shouldn't have lashed out at him. Now that her emotions have settled, she can think clearly again.
"Nigel — I feel like I haven't been myself lately." She leans back against the railing. "Before, I had everything under control. But ever since I argued with Miranda, I feel like I've been acting on autopilot."
"That's because you never used your head to begin with."
Nigel raises an eyebrow.
Andy opens her mouth to protest. He continues before she can.
"You think you were doing well before? No — that was an illusion. You were getting by on instinct. You never understood the job, and you never wanted to, because you hate this place. You think fashion has nothing to do with you."
"If you look down on fashion in your heart, how can you do fashion-related work well?"
"Sure, you can now spell Dolce & Gabbana. But if I asked you their product lines right now, could you answer? If Miranda said she wanted something with a Mediterranean feel, would you immediately know she meant Dolce & Gabbana menswear?"
"You wouldn't."
"When you approach your work with a 'just get it done' attitude, you'll never do it well. That's why you're in this mess."
Andy flushes, unwilling to concede entirely. "Can you guarantee that everyone in this building loves their job?"
Nigel laughs.
He gestures toward the Runway editorial offices below. "Darling, do you think everyone here likes Miranda? Hardly anyone does. They admire her ability to turn anything to gold — that's different."
"If you don't love a field, breaking into it is agony. If you don't love a job, every morning feels like a punishment. I'm not saying your job should become your whole life. I'm just saying — only genuine engagement allows you to excel."
"If you don't want to be here, leave sooner rather than later. You're different from the others. You have a degree from Brown — you can find work elsewhere. And one more thing:"
"It's genuinely hard to find work that truly suits you. Doing what you love matters — but sometimes, people also have to learn to change themselves."
"..."
"This dialogue is so well written," said A. O. Scott of The New York Times, clearly surprised. "I didn't expect Chris to weave real workplace insight so naturally into the film. Honestly impressive."
David Denby of The New Yorker nodded in agreement. "The original novel was essentially sensationalist trash — without the celebrity gossip, it probably wouldn't have sold a thousand copies. Novels like that are notoriously hard to adapt. But Chris somehow connected the whole story to workplace reality, dreams, a young person's first job, and the tension between fashion and the outside world. A genuinely strong adaptation."
"The takeaway: don't use your personal preferences to dismiss someone else's livelihood."
Anyone who has survived in the entertainment industry for decades can recognize quality. Before a film is released, most insiders can roughly predict its performance — and they're rarely wrong. The reason some say otherwise is purely self-preservation: if a major studio offers a prominent critic a generous fee to praise their upcoming mediocrity, refusing on principle is career suicide. Accepting the money, on the other hand, funds the life they want.
That's also why film critics' reputations have eroded in the internet era. Criticism depends on information asymmetry — and the critics who endure are genuinely skilled, having built their names on fair, considered reviews.
So when critics this caliber all agree that Prada is good — it probably is.
But that's not what matters right now.
Because Nigel's honesty opens Andy up.
"Actually, Nigel — it's not that I hate fashion. It's just... I'm poor. I like beautiful clothes. I just can't afford them."
"Oh, come on — how many people in this building do you think can afford luxury brands every day?" Nigel looks exasperated. "You're Miranda's second assistant. Your weekly salary is a thousand dollars. Do you think Emily earned ten thousand a week when she was in your position?"
"She earned a thousand too. And she wore Chanel. So — how does that work?"
"Don't tell me she's secretly wealthy and working here for fun. A rich girl serving coffee? Please."
Andy blinks.
For the first time, she realizes she doesn't actually understand how Runway functions.
Snap.
Nigel snaps his fingers. The scene cuts — and Andy finds herself in a glittering room that looks like a princess's wardrobe.
Nigel explains: this is Runway's wardrobe department. The girls at Runway can't afford luxury brands — but the labels that collaborate with Runway never reclaim their samples. When a project ends, every piece of clothing, every bag, every shoe and accessory stays behind. And employees can help themselves freely.
This is Runway's hidden benefit: everything can go home.
The luxury brand representatives at the premiere visibly twitched when this scene appeared. Because while it was true, the system carried an unmistakable undercurrent of exploitation — low salaries offset by access to expensive goods. Generous, until there's a dispute, at which point an employee can suddenly be accused of theft.
The luxury industry rarely produces major scandals precisely because employees are treated as potential thieves from the start. Capital does not run on kindness.
Still, Andy's delight at discovering this perk smoothed over those concerns — for the audience, at least.
She embraces the unspoken rules of fashion.
As she and Nigel move through the wardrobe, upbeat music fills the theater:
"Trouble will find you no matter where you go..."
The moment the music starts, a makeover montage begins.
The audience lights up.
"A new song?"
"That's definitely Isabella's voice—"
"What's it called? 'Trouble Is a Friend'?"
"It fits the scene perfectly."
"And it's actually a great song—"
The song was Trouble Is a Friend — released in 2008 by Australian singer Lenka. Its message is simple: trouble is inevitable, and embracing it is better than running from it. Because it suited the scene so well, Isabella chose to use it during filming.
It works beautifully.
The warm, bright melody carries a dazzling montage as Andy moves through outfit after outfit with Nigel's guidance — every brand given its moment — and Isabella's "max-level account" finally shows its full power:
"She's stunning—"
"Oh my God—"
"She looks even better than before! She might be the most beautiful person in Hollywood — no, in the world!"
"When she lifts her chin and glances sideways at the camera — it's overwhelming—"
"It's not intimidation — it's pure confidence!"
The cheers in the theater put the luxury brand representatives at ease. Clearly, audiences weren't dwelling on the implied exploitation.
More importantly, Isabella's magnetism was undeniable. A few seconds of screen time and the audience was completely captivated. Many, of course, were watching her rather than the clothes — but that didn't matter. As long as she was mesmerizing, her image would spread. There is no better advertisement.
The same logic Nigel mentioned: people only pay attention to what they love.
As the brands silently concluded their advertising fees were well spent, the song faded and Andy returned to work.
Her transformed appearance left her colleagues speechless. Emily was shaken. Even Miranda paused, setting her work aside to study Andy carefully.
Then she pressed her lips together and said:
"Excuse me... are you — Hermione Granger?"
The theater erupted.
"Professor McGonagall recognizing Hermione — that explains everything!"
"Now their arguments make total sense!"
"Wait, is the movie cheating? Resolving character conflict through outside context?"
"I have no idea why this line is here — but it's hilarious."
"I bet Isabella wrote this herself. She's done this before."