BY LORRAINE DUFFY MERKL Ten years ago, we were introduced to the earnest and beleaguered Andrea “Andy” Sachs. The fledgling, would-be journalist was so desperate for a job that she’d take anything, even if it meant lowering herself to work at the number one fashion magazine on the planet for the most famous and powerful female executive. Andy, of course, has never heard of Miranda Priestly -- because as editor in chief pointed out, she took herself “too seriously to care” about what she put on your back. When I first saw The Devil Wears Prada in 2006, I harkened back immediately to my own humble professional beginnings. I felt for poor Andy, asked to do the bidding of this shrew, who expected her assistants to (gasp) get her schedule right, make sure her coffee was hot, and be able to get someone on the phone without it turning into an Abbott & Costello routine.
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