As images emerge of Anne Hathaway reprising her role as Andy Sachs, the once-bedraggled and now-bejewelled assistant of The Devil Wears Prada, I found myself having my own little trot down Trauma Lane.
Visions of angry designers and fashion-week heart attacks flashed through my mind like a montage of repressed miseries. The last time we saw Andy being terrorised by an editor was in 2006, about a year before I moved to New York and started my own, slightly misguided venture into the fashion world. I was young, naїve, and believed Sex And The City was an instructional video on how to live life. I wanted to run around in ridiculous shoes and wear massive hats while carrying tiny handbags. I yearned to cry over Manhattan men while drinking a cosmo in a sexy restaurant called something like BED or NIGHTMARE.
