It has been a shocking seven years since Meryl Streep’s face graced the big screen, it’s only appropriate that she’s done so to resurrect what might be her most famous (certainly most quotable) role. Yes, Miranda Priestly has lost none of her ice cold, soul-shivering cinematic impact, but another twenty years deep into her ever-evolving industry have further chipped away her control. Her emotional cracks may have been exposed to us in the final act of the original Devil Wears Prada, but her grip on the culture of fashion and everyone that worked below her still seemed indestructible as long as she was still breathing. But there was one thing Miranda couldn’t control: the evolution of capitalism.

The original film, a cautionary tale of idealist career pursuits and self-worth, was both a glamorous comfort-watch of stunning materialism and a simple, but heartwarming frenemies two-hander between the earnest and driven Andrea Sachs (Anne Hathaway) and her vicious, but self-righteously meticulous Miranda Priestly (Streep). The 20-years-later sequel, simply-titled The Devil Wears Prada 2, is a cautionary tale of maintaining a career and the integrity of preserving an art form in a tech-forward and monopoly-ridden present era.

Andy has since pivoted her brief fashion aspirations for a passionate life of award-winning journalism, a career that gets harshly stripped when budget cuts abruptly lay off her entire reporter team. Desperate for a safety net, she ends up with the unexpected offer to become the features editor at Runway to work alongside her old nemesis Miranda. Miranda is unaware of her hiring (and seemingly, briefly unaware of Andy’s entire existence despite their history) as the offer was made by Runway’s chairman Irv Ravitz (Tibor Feldman), who is hoping Andy can use her tough talent to help soothe a recent bad PR situation. Miranda, in the last few years, has been knocked down a few pegs, even having to hang her own coats after an HR complaint. Despite surviving through a concentrated pivot to online media, Runway is facing continuous setbacks and intrusion by Ravitz’s son Jay (B.J. Novak), whose eventual influence leads to the recommending of extreme cost-cutting measures. Nearly powerless, Miranda must rely on the strength of Andy’s optimistic willpower and unique strategies to stay afloat and make certain Runway stays alive and in the right hands.

While Streep’s explosive, career-defining performance was the true magic trick of the original, she takes a quiet, yet still effective step back to let Anne Hathaway shine. She’s still Miranda exactly as we know her, but her presence can’t help but feel tamer with age. Hathaway, whose effervescent aura has been a constant onscreen pleasure for nearly three decades, was a sparkly and sympathetic young lead in the first film, with a fairly conventional arc. This time out, Andy has overcome a lot of her initial weaknesses, mature and experienced enough to handle certain pressures she only barely could before. Hathaway’s bright confidence is a beaming beacon of light, carrying this sequel on her shoulders more as Streep’s equal than ever before, even if Miranda still attempts to loom over Andy’s confidence any chance she can.

Also returning is Stanley Tucci’s Nigel Kipling, still Miranda’s second hand after all these years, still too satisfied in his work to ask for more. Tucci doesn’t get a line as memorable as “gerd your loins!” but his reunion with Hathaway continues to be sweet and fatherly. Emily Blunt also returns as Emily Charlton, now working a more lavish position at Dior, which is one of Runway’s biggest advertisors, forcing Miranda to often confront and negotiate with her former assistant. Now romantically-partnered with the goofy tech-bro billionaire Benji Barnes (Justin Theroux), Emily is on an even playing field with Miranda and Andy at Runway, still enamored with her own fantastical aspirations. Blunt is still brilliantly bitter, finding immense conviction in a character who is always just adjacent to making the more honorable decisions or speaking the kinder words, almost always letting her stubbornness get in the way. She’s also just so damn funny, spewing such lines as “may the bridges I burn light my way.”

Theroux’s over-the-top comic demeanor (and hideously fake hair piece) remain a bit of an eye sore despite the gorgeous scenery and locations around him. At times, The Devil Wears Prada 2 takes a step too far in its exaggerated characterizations and even in the flair of its directorial choices. Hand-held camera choices likely meant to evoke a paparazzi-style pizazz in montages or scene transitions and obvious drone shot city establishing shots sometimes visually distract from what is still, for the most part, a very snappy and refreshingly-lively paced sequel. The verve and spirit of the original, as well as the eye-popping costumes, remain perfectly intact with nearly everyone from director David Frankel to screenwriter Aline Brosh McKenna to composer Theodore Shapiro back behind the scenes. If you are a big fan of the 2006 classic, it’s hard not to slide back into the cozy comfort of these characters in this world, written just as you remember them, just now with earned and honest growth through a passage of time.

The references to the original are subtle, if not impressively spare. There are barely any instances of quotes regurgitated for the point-at-the-screen empty pleasure of fan service, a plague that has cursed most “legacy” sequels. The film may not need too much praise and credit for what it “doesn’t” do, but after a decade of fan-appeasing revivals, it’s a noted breath of fresh air. The film certainly is bigger, filled with more cameos and extravagant locations, but somehow avoiding being bloated, still maintaining a runtime under 2 hours and a tight focus on its story. Yes, a few small side plots and characters barely get a chance to blossom, including Andy’s obligatory romance with an Aussie realtor Patrick Bramall or the inclusion of Miranda’s adorably supportive new musician husband Stuart. Lucy Liu enters the film for one brief, but pivotal sequence in the middle as Benji’s wealthy celebrity ex-wife Sasha, and is simply just plugged in to eventually be the all-too-obvious catalyst of the film’s final act.

It’s clearly not a perfect film, lacking the same level of firecracker line deliveries and memorable sequences as the original, but it’s a perfect pleasure, one that understands its core audience but almost never panders to them. If it panders at all, it’s to those of us who already are so in the bag for the onscreen magnetism of Streep and Hathaway, who remind us with every second of their movie-star bewitchment and how brilliantly calibrated their chemistry is. The Devil Wears Prada 2 never uses their reprisal as a crutch though, still managing to stand on its own as a sequel with something else on its mind and heart: a straightforward but sincere plea for job security in our modern era.

…That’s all. *shoos*