THIS devil wears H&M

Last night, I finally went to see The Devil Wears Prada. I readily admit that I devoured the book despite its weak sub-plots and even weaker (happy) ending. When your own work environment is the polar opposite of an adrenaline-loaded glamorous magazine HQ, you're positively lapping it up, I can tell you. Not that I'd mind having access to the famous "Closet" (provided they had something my "normal" European size 36/38) and getting FREE.HANDBAGS, either. I'd probably sell my soul to the devil and worse for that. Or maybe not.

The film was o.k. and entertaining enough but not that exciting. The best things by far were the outfits. Meryl Streep's performance was as good as all the reviews I'd read said it was (I just loved the way she flings her bag and fur coat on Andie's desk every day) and Anne Hathaway sort of grew on me, too in spite of the fact that she didn't look anything like (blonde) Weisberger.

Here @ Coma HQ freebies come in the guise of Japanese rice crackers and, admittedly, there IS the odd olfactory hazard , but on the whole you've got to appreciate the fact that the risk of a heart-attack is quite...um...manageable.