When The Devil Wears Prada opened in 2006, the fashion establishment was not, at first, entirely seduced. In a now-essential New York Times piece published on the eve of the film’s release—Ruth La Ferla’s magnificently tart “The Duds of The Devil Wears Prada”—the clothes were practically put on trial.

Anne Slowey (then fashion news director of Elle), quoted in that article, dismissed Patricia Field’s costumes as “a caricature of what people who don’t work in fashion think fashion people look like.” Hal Rubenstein (then fashion director of InStyle) added that real fashion women “fiercely edit what they wear,” unlike the “abundance for the sake of abundance” on display in the film. Vogue remained mum on the film’s fashion, but in some field reporting from La Ferla outside 4 Times Square, then the real-life headquarters of Condé Nast, she observed that the editors looked far less theatrical than their fictional counterparts—wearing airy dresses and slim pants, with, as she put it, “not a logo or ‘it’ bag in sight.”

And then there was Patricia Field herself, who delivered the perfect rejoinder regarding the film’s fashion accuracy, or lack thereof: “If they want a documentary, they can watch the History Channel.”

Indeed, The Devil Wears Prada was never reportage; it was mythology. It was magazine life lacquered to a high gloss, reality exaggerated for Hollywood. Miranda flings furs across desks like royal decrees. Assistants can nick head-to-toe Chanel looks from the fashion closet without anyone batting a Shu Uemura–curled eyelash. Everything is turned up a few delicious notches.

Rewatching The Devil Wears Prada 20 years later, I found myself less interested in whether Andy’s thigh-high Chanel boots were plausible office wear and more taken by all the looks I suddenly wanted to try for myself.

Below, a handful of trends and objects (with an honorable mention to the @devilwearspradafashion Instagram account, which I heavily referenced) that, this Vogue editor would argue, deserve a second act.

Bring Back…High-Kitsch Jewelry

Did you get it at the Chanel boutique or off a blue mover’s blanket unfurled on Canal Street? Patricia Field, in her wisdom, suggests the distinction scarcely matters, but Andy’s baubles were Chanel, Chanel. Here she layers two necklaces, including one from the 2006 Cruise collection that reads as an ode to Paris itself, dangling with Eiffel Towers and charms for 31 Rue Cambon. (In fact, Field was doing some foreshadowing here: Andy wears her Francophile necklace in the pivotal scene when Miranda asks her to go to Paris Fashion Week in Emily’s place. Andy may pretend to hesitate over the offer, but her jewelry is saying—nay, screaming—otherwise.)

After years of quiet luxury, including jewelry so discreet it almost apologizes for existing, I miss adornment with punchlines. Bring back jewelry that looks faintly fake. And, like Andy, take the trip to Paris.

Bring Back…The Bitchy Bolero

Emily Charlton’s is among the great character entrances in costume history, aided in no small part by that absurdly good Rick Owens cropped bolero hovering over her shoulders like designer armor. Emily Blunt has recently said she would still wear the look—and so would I.

The bolero belongs to that marvelous category of aughts fashion that makes very little practical sense (skinny scarves and just-because belts are in there too), and thus feels ripe for a comeback. Amid all the boyishly boxy blazers and CBK-coded camel coats, I miss outerwear that exists almost solely to complicate a silhouette. Emily’s did exactly that.

Bring Back…The Silly Little Mid-Arm Bangle

In the wild-goose chase for that Harry Potter manuscript, Andy races through Manhattan in an olive green Calvin Klein jersey dress, Giuseppe Zanotti pumps, Me&Ro necklaces…and a bangle shoved halfway up her forearm.

Cuffs are already back, yes—but cuffs sit elegantly at the wrist, the lowest point of the arm. They don’t defy gravity; they behave. I say we bring back the bangle and let it ride as far up the arm as anatomy allows. There is something very funny about a single bracelet worn almost as a tourniquet.

And it’s unexpectedly practical! While clunky jewelry worn the conventional way is liable to clang against your keyboard, the forearm bangle solves that problem while still delivering a touch of asymmetric eccentricity.

Bring Back… All Things Bill Blass

During her cerulean monologue—fashion’s favorite sermon, even if Oscar de la Renta did not, in fact, send out cerulean ball gowns in 2003—Miranda wears a spangly, gold medallion–embellished Bill Blass jacket so good it nearly steals the scene. It appeared as part of a suit on Bill Blass’s fall 2004 runway during Michaele Vollbracht’s underrated tenure. (Indeed, Patricia Field’s decision to put Miranda in late-period Blass, rather than some obvious European power brand, feels deliciously knowing.)

This is not merely a plea for a jacket comeback. It is a plea for Bill Blass.

Blass dressed Gloria Guinness and Brooke Astor, making luxury witty rather than solemn. After years of ownership changes, the label effectively shuttered in 2008—a loss that makes its absence amid today’s vintage mania feel even stranger.

Bring Back…The “Ugly” It Bag

In Andy’s first post–glow-up scene—cue Madonna’s “Vogue”—Nigel (who tells Andy she’s in “desperate need of Chanel”) delivers what Emily can scarcely process. “Are you wearing the…” she sputters. “The Chanel boots? Yeah, I am,” Andy cuts in.

The fall 2005 thigh-high Chanel boots are superb, as is the campy yacht-club blazer from Chanel’s 2005 Cruise collection, but let me direct your attention, dear reader, to the real revelation: Karl Lagerfeld’s 2005 green knit Fendi Chef bag swinging from Andy’s wrist.

What I love is that it isn’t conventionally pretty; with its crafty, crochet body and slouchy shape, it smacks of early-aughts boho. It’s a bag meant to be seen before you can make up your mind about it—or, put another way, an ugly It bag. In an era when everyone seems to be carrying the same, reverently anonymous leather tote, I long for a bag that practically interrupts a conversation.

Bring Back… The Unironic Pageboy

As a millennial, I have a soft spot for the aughty pageboy: I admired them on everyone from Hilary Duff to Ashlee Simpson in my teens. But those caps were often worn ironically, with band tees or indie-sleaze waistcoats. Andy’s Chanel tweed version, paired with prim white Yigal Azrouël coat and Marni pumps, is worn in earnest, and the wholesomeness of it feels oddly refreshing. There is something amusing, too, about Patricia Field putting a hat associated with boys hawking newspapers onto a young woman clawing her way through print media.

So, why bring it back now? Because I think we should all be wearing more hats, period.

Bring Back…The F-You Fur

You know “F-you money,” the level of wealth at which one can live lavishly without consequence? Consider this the fur equivalent…and before you come for me, I mean vintage or faux.

Miranda’s red fox fur by Canadian designer Izzy Camilleri—which she wears with a purple Gucci Horsebit Glam shoulder bag and black suede knee-high boots—is not practical outerwear; it’s peacocking. It’s performance. It’s practically a Muppet.

And that is why it’s an F-you fur. The wearer owns enough sensible coats to justify one utterly senseless one—a coat worn not for endurance but for an entrance.