Miranda: I don't understand why it's so difficult to confirm an appointment.
Emily: I'm so sorry, Miranda, I actually did confirm –
Miranda: Details of your incompetence do not interest me. Tell Simone that I'm not going to approve that girl that she sent me for the Brazilian layout. I asked for clean, athletic, smiling; she sent me dirty, tired and paunchy. And RSVP yes to Michael Kors' party. I want the driver to drop me off at 9.30 and pick me up at 9.45 sharp. And then call Natalie at Glorious Foods and tell her no, for the fortieth time, no, I don't want dacquoise. I want tortes filled with warm rhubarb compote. And then call my ex-husband and remind him that the parent–teacher conference is at Dalton tonight. And then call my husband. Ask him to please meet me for dinner at that place I went to with Massimo. Also, tell Richard I saw all the pictures that he sent for that feature on the female paratroopers, and they're all so deeply unattractive. Is it impossible to find a lovely, slender, female paratrooper? Am I reaching for the stars here? Not really. Also, I need to see all the things Nigel has pulled for Gwyneth's second cover try. I wonder if she's lost any of that weight yet. Who is that?
Emily: Nobody! Oh, uhm, well, Human Resources sent her up about the new assistant job, and I was sort of "pre-interviewing" her for you, but she's hopeless and also totally wrong for –
Miranda: Well, the last two you sent me were completely inadequate, so … send her in. That's all.
Miranda: And before today you had never heard of me?
Miranda: You have no style or sense of fashion.
Andrea: I think that depends on –
Miranda: No, no, that wasn't a question.
[Miranda and some assistants are deciding between two similar belts for an outfit; Andy laughs]
Miranda: Something funny?
Andrea: No. No, no. Nothing's... You know, it's just that both those belts look exactly the same to me. You know, I'm still learning about all this stuff and, uh...
Miranda: 'This... stuff'? Oh, OK. I see. You think this has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select, I don't know, that lumpy blue sweater, for instance, because you're trying to tell the world that you take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back. But what you don't know is that that sweater is not just blue, it's not turquoise. It's not lapis. It's actually cerulean. And you're also blithely unaware of the fact that in 2002, Oscar de la Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns. And then I think it was Yves Saint Laurent, wasn't it, who showed cerulean military jackets? I think we need a jacket here. And then cerulean quickly showed up in the collections of eight different designers. And then it, uh, filtered down through the department stores and then trickled on down into some tragic Casual Corner where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin. However, that blue represents millions of dollars and countless jobs, and it's sort of comical how you think that you've made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact, you're wearing the sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room... from a pile of stuff.
Andrea: [on phone] Hello Miranda?
Miranda: [on the phone from Miami] My flight has been cancelled. It's some absurd weather problem. I need to get home tonight. The twins have a recital tomorrow morning at school.
Miranda: AT SCHOOL!
Andrea: Absolutely. Let me see what I can do.
Miranda: Good. [hangs up on her]
Andrea: [answering the phone few minutes later] Miranda, hi, I'm trying to get you a flight but no one is flying out because of the weather.
Miranda: Oh, please... it's just- I don't know- drizzling. [Background in Miami shows a huge storm and smashing thunder] Some one must be getting out. Call Donatella. Get her jet. Call everybody else that we know that has a jet- Irv?- Call every- This is your responsibi- THIS IS YOUR JOB!- Get-me-HOME! [hangs up on her]
Andrea: Oh, my god! She's going to murder me.
Richard Sachs: What does she want you to do, call the National Guard and have her airlifted out of there?
Andrea: Of course not! [beat] Could I do that?
Andrea: She hates me, Nigel.
Nigel: And that's my problem because... Oh, wait. No, it's not my problem.
Andrea: I don't know what else I can do because if I do something right, it's unacknowledged. She doesn't even say thank you. But if I do something wrong, she is vicious.
Nigel: So quit.
Nigel: I can get another girl to take your job in five minutes... one who really wants it.
Andrea: No, I don't want to quit. That's not fair. But, I, you know, I'm just saying that I would just like a little credit... for the fact that I'm killing myself trying.
Nigel: Andy, be serious. You are not trying. You are whining. What is it that you want me to say to you, huh? Do you want me to say, "Poor you. Miranda's picking on you. Poor you. Poor Andy"? Hmm? Wake up, six. She's just doing her job. Don't you know that you are working at the place that published some of the greatest artists of the century? Halston, Lagerfeld, de la Renta. And what they did, what they created was greater than art because you live your life in it. Well, not you, obviously, but some people. You think this is just a magazine, hmm? This is not just a magazine. This is a shining beacon of hope for... oh, I don't know... let's say a young boy growing up in Rhode Island with six brothers pretending to go to soccer practice when he was really going to sewing class and reading Runway under the covers at night with a flashlight. You have no idea how many legends have walked these halls. And what's worse, you don't care. Because this place, where so many people would die to work you only deign to work. And you want to know why she doesn't kiss you on the forehead and give you a gold star on your homework at the end of the day. Wake up, sweetheart.
Andrea: My personal life is falling apart.
Nigel: That's what happens when you start doing well at work. Let me know when your entire life goes up in smoke, means it's time for a promotion.
Miranda: So, first of all, we need to move Snoop Dogg to my table.
Andrea: Your table's full.
Miranda: Stephen isn't coming.
Andrea: Oh, Stephen is... so I don't need to fetch Stephen from the airport tomorrow?
Miranda: Well, if you speak to him and he decides to rethink the divorce, then, yes, fetch away. You're very fetching, so, go fetch. And then, when we get back to New York, we need to contact Leslie, and see what she can do to minimize the press on all this. Another divorce. Splashed across "Page Six". I can just imagine what they're gonna write about me. "The Dragon Lady. Career-obsessed. The Snow Queen drives away another Mr. Priestly." Rupert Murdoch should cut me a check for all the papers I sell for him. Anyway, I don't... I don't really care what anybody writes about me. But my... my girls, I just... It's just so unfair to the girls. And it's just... Another disappointment. Another letdown. Another father. Figure. Gone. Anyway, the point is... the point is... the point is, we really need to figure out where to place Donatella, because she's barely speaking to anyone.
Andrea: I'm so sorry, Miranda. If you want me to cancel your evening, I can.
Miranda: Don't be ridiculous. Why would we do that?
Andrea: Is there anything else I can do to help?
Miranda: [Nods] Your job. That's all.
Miranda: You thought I didn't know. I've known what was happening for quite some time. It just took me a little while to find a suitable alternative for Jacqueline. And that James Holt job was just so absurdly overpaid that of course she jumped at it. So I just had to tell Irv that Jacqueline was unavailable. Truth is, there's no one that can do what I do. Including her. Any of the other choices would have found that job impossible and the magazine would have suffered. Especially because of the list. The list of designers, photographers, editors, writers, models, all of whom were found by me, nurtured by me and have promised me they will follow me whenever and if ever I choose to leave Runway. So he reconsidered. But I was very very impressed by how intently you tried to warn me. I never thought I would say this, Andrea, but I really, I see a great deal of myself in you. You can see beyond what people want, and what they need and you can choose for yourself.
Andrea: I don't think I'm like that. I couldn't do what you did to Nigel, Miranda. I couldn't do something like that.
Miranda: You already did. To Emily.
Andrea: That's not what I... no, that was different. I didn't have a choice.
Miranda: No, no, you chose. You chose to get ahead. You want this life. Those choices are necessary.
Andrea: But what if this isn't what I want? I mean what if I don't wanna live the way you live?
Miranda: Oh, don't be ridiculous. Andrea. Everybody wants this. Everybody wants to be us.
Andrea: Learned a lot. In the end though, I kind of screwed it up.
Editor: I called over there for a reference, left word with some snooty girl. Next thing you know, I got a fax from Miranda Priestly herself... saying that of all the assistants she's ever had... you were, by far, her biggest disappointment. And, if I don't hire you, I am an idiot. You must have done something right.
Andrea: Hey Emily! It's Andy. Don't hang up. I have a favor to ask you.
Emily: [Accusing] You have a favor to ask of me?
Andrea: You see, I have these clothes from Paris, and I don't have any place to wear them, so I was wondering if you could take them off my hands.
Emily: [smiling] Well, I don't know. It's a huge imposition. I mean I'll have to get them taken in, I mean they'll drown me. But I suppose I could help you out. I will have Roy pick them up this afternoon.
Andrea: Thanks Em. Good luck!
Emily: [Hangs up and smiles] [to Andy's replacement] You have some very large shoes to fill. I hope you know that.