Somewhere in the world, women scientists are trying to determine the nature of dark matter, are measuring and composing computer models regarding gamma ray bursters. They are crouched in the bush in Africa, observing bonobo behavior, and they are hunched over telescopes in laboratories, seeking a cure for cancer and doing micropaleontology. Women are building office buildings, designing bridges, doing climate research in Antarctica, and trying to design disease-resistant rice strains to help stave off famine.<br /><br />But not in this movie. In this movie, women are obsessed with their exteriors in the mirror and with a bunch of goofy-looking clothes which, when they see themselves photographed in them fifteen years down the road will look as ludicrous as disco fashions look to us. They are permanently damaging their leg tendons from wearing high heels. They celebrate anorexia. This is a depiction of a slice of the real world, of course. While it is possible that most of these women are not smart enough to do science or engineering or real work, surely some of them are and it's a sad waste of human resources that they spend their time in this oppressive and oppressing career.<br /><br />To a large degree, this movie celebrates this waste. Although our protagonist, at the end, leaves the fashion industry to do real journalism, the movie-makers obviously adore the fashion industry and do not lampoon it at all. They take it as serious as the ludicrous, misogynist 'devils' in the industry take it. For me, watching this is like watching a movie about faith healing that takes it deadly seriously. What a bunch of idiots thinks about some delusion is interesting only if the filmmakers and audience are also aware that it is delusion.<br /><br />Certainly the film is workmanlike in technique. There are no shadows from boom mikes or inaudible dialog. And yes, Meryl Streep is fine as the understated boss from hell. But if this is the best Hollywood can do offering "strong female roles," that's just tragic for us all.