Who Is Your Miranda Priestly?

by Kim Johnston

I waited with great anticipation for the Devil Wears Prada sequel. I had watched the first one many times, and I know why. It was emblematic of so many corporate stories I had either witnessed or been a victim to. If you have never had a Miranda, count yourself lucky. Most of us have.

Eye-level view of a serene landscape with a winding path

As I got older and further along in my career, I loved coming back to that movie again and again. Because the more I experienced, the more I could see. So now that I have watched the sequel and liked it (if you disagree, don't tell me), I feel inspired to write about my Miranda. And to ask you: who is yours?

Miranda Priestly did not become our favorite villain we love to hate because she is a powerful woman with high standards and an intimidating presence. That part alone would not get her to villain status, probably just "bitch" status. No, she rose to villain status because she can be cruel, she is incredibly self-serving, and she seems to be completely indifferent to the other humans in her massive orbit.

I think we can all agree, woman or not, she was a scary force to be reckoned with. Nothing was good enough for her. She effortlessly put out unrealistic expectations. She always put herself first and sacrificed anything or anyone who stood in her way. And don't get me wrong, I also liked the way they tried to show the human side of her and the motivations that were eventually exposed. But that is not why we are here.

We are here to talk about the Mirandas of your work life. What can I share with you to shine a light on the toxic boss, the workplace bully, your Miranda?

You can actually spot them before it's too late.

The Miranda Priestlys of our careers rarely announce themselves right away. They are often charming at first. Impressive, even. They have a gift for persuasion and communication. They know how to make you feel chosen.

Here are the signs that are easy to miss when you are ambitious and hopeful:

They talk about people who are no longer around with thinly veiled contempt. There is always someone else's incompetence at play. The common denominator in every failure is never them.

They are impossible to read. Standards shift without warning. Work is simply wrong with no explanation of why or how to fix it. They do not develop people. They extract from them. There is no investment in your growth, your career, your future. You are useful until you are not. They are extraordinarily skilled at managing up. Whatever chaos they create below, the people above them see a polished, capable, results-driven leader. The stink never sticks. But the best sign of all is your gut. It just knows. You feel it before you can name it. That slight unease. That sense that something is off underneath the opportunity. The trick in that moment of realization is to listen to yourself.

Meet Stacy.

I had a Miranda. Her name was Stacy.

She had ascended quickly, faster than her background seemed to warrant. Nobody quite understood how she got where she was, but she was there, and she was powerful, and she was the gateway to growth at the large organization I was a part of.

For some reason, she liked me. And I, fueled by blind ambition and the ignorance of youth, decided that working for her was worth walking into the fire.

I prepared obsessively. I listened with acute intensity. I took detailed notes. I listened for what she wasn't saying. I was not going to mess up.

My first big meeting, someone asked her a question she did not know the answer to. She turned and looked directly at me. Asked me to brief the group.

I had no context. No background. Did not fully understand the question. My face went beet red. I fumbled through something along the lines of here is what I hear you asking, and I would be happy to get back to the group with a full summary.

As we walked out of the meeting, close enough to others that everyone could hear, she said: I have to be able to volley to you, Kim. That is your job. You cannot freeze up like that.

Once we were out of the room I ran to catch up with her, literally ran, chasing the red soles of her five inch heels, and said: Stacy, I did not know anything about that. Should I have?

She said: I do not know. Should you? I will never sacrifice myself in front of that group. So you better get real good at anticipating what might come up.

I was at a loss.

This happened daily.

She had a pile of bodies of those who came before me. There was always someone else's incompetence at play. She did not tell me anything, did not answer my emails, and any work I sent her was simply wrong. No explanation. Just do it again.

She could throw people under the bus, run them over, and then back up to do it again like no one I have ever seen. Somehow, the stink never stuck to her. She was extraordinarily gifted at persuasion and communication. She could talk her way out of anything. And she did. Constantly.

What Stacy cost me.

That is the thing with people like Miranda and Stacy. They leave a mark. I mustered all of my alleged high potential to try to succeed, try to do a job, try to survive. But this is actually how it went down.

I tolerated it. I repeatedly put my energy into changing tactics, course correcting, working longer, trying harder. I tried to outfox her. I gave her my loyalty, my energy, and my career future. All of it.

It drained me. It took my confidence. It damaged my reputation with others. And because I was so defeated, I stopped showing up as myself. The bright, energetic, can-do person I had always been got quieter and quieter.

Stacy was eventually found out. She was ridden out on a rail and suddenly everyone spoke openly about how awful she had been the whole time. But I had taken on a year's worth of collateral damage by then.

After she left, other leaders asked me why on earth I had not come to them. I could have helped you, they said.

I realized I had given everything to one person. And she was the wrong one.

If you are in it right now.

First: you are not crazy. What you are experiencing is real even when the organization around you does not seem to see it.

Second: stop giving everything to one person. Maintain your other relationships. The leaders who knew you before. The colleagues who see you clearly. You need a sounding board, a thinking partner, someone who can help you stay grounded in who you actually are while the Miranda in your life works to make you forget.

Third: advocate for yourself. I was paralyzed by fear at the thought of speaking up. But I could have. I should have. The silence cost me more than speaking up ever would have. Find someone you trust and tell them what is happening.

Fourth: decide how long you are willing to stay. There is no shame in leaving. There is also no shame in staying strategically while you build your exit. But make the decision consciously. Do not let it be made for you by slow erosion.

And fifth: watch your organization. Miranda Priestlys exist because organizations allow them to. If the culture protects her, if results are valued over how those results are achieved, if people are afraid to speak, that tells you something important about where you are working. You cannot fix that alone and you should not try.

When to stay and when to go.

This is the question nobody answers honestly so I will try.

The case for staying: if you are learning something genuinely valuable, you have other leaders in your corner, you have a plan and a timeline, and the damage and your mental and physical health is manageable.

The case for exiting stage left: if you are losing yourself. If you no longer recognize how you show up. If your confidence is eroding in ways that are starting to affect other parts of your life. If you have stopped being the person you were when you walked in. That is the signal. Not the bad days. The slow disappearance of you.

What Stacy taught me.

Here is what I know now that I did not know then.

Listen to your gut. I knew. Before I said yes, I knew something was off. I let my ambition and the opportunity I saw override what I already understood to be true about her. She had no ethics. She cared for no one but herself. She was not interested in developing anyone or growing their career. I knew that. I chose to ignore it.

Do not take shortsighted opportunities when you know it is the wrong person. Had I waited a year, built more experience, developed relationships with leaders whose values I respected, other opportunities would have come. They always do. The right opportunity with the wrong person is still the wrong opportunity.

Do not isolate yourself. I gave my loyalty to one person and stopped leveraging the other people who knew me and believed in me. Had I maintained those relationships I would have had at minimum a sounding board, a coping partner, someone in my corner.

Advocate for yourself. I was paralyzed by fear at the thought of speaking up. But I could have. I should have. The silence cost me more than speaking up ever would have.

Remember who you are. This is the biggest one. Stacy did not take my identity. I gave it to her, piece by piece, in my attempt to survive her. The work of getting it back was significant. And entirely worth it.

And this one I did not expect: she made me a better leader. Experiencing that kind of careless, self-centered leadership up close did something important. It helped me understand the damage a leader can do simply by not caring about their wake. From that point forward I thought more carefully about how I showed up for my team. How I gave feedback. How I developed people. How I made sure the people around me knew I was invested in them, not just in what they could produce for me. Stacy showed me exactly who I did not want to be. And I am grateful for that even though I would never choose to repeat it.

Your Miranda is not the end of your story.

Pretty much everyone I know has a Miranda or Stacy story. They are the stories you remember in vivid detail because they were painful. And they usually cost you something important. The best we can hope for is learning something useful from the experience.

I know we don't always have the choice to avoid working with someone like this. But if you do have that choice, keep your wits about you and be courageous enough to say no.

What bad leaders can give you, if you let them, though, are insights. You learn what kind of leader you do not want to be and can behave accordingly. You learn about yourself. What you will and will not tolerate. What the signs are that you are abandoning yourself. How you want to respond the next time you are faced with a similar leader.

Best of luck to you, Stacy, wherever you are. I hope you are not still out there torturing people. I hope you somehow came to a great awakening of self and turned over a fantastic new leaf. I bet you probably do not even remember me. And that's ok. I sure will not forget you and all the painful lessons you taught me. And hey, I paid it forward and became a better leader because of you, so even though it goes down as the worst career experience I've ever had, I guess I am still compelled to say thank you.

If you are living your real life Stacy situation right now, just know I see you. If you have made it to the other side, I hope you are finding your way back to your true self. And if you could use some support, reach out because I'd love to help. This is exactly the kind of work we do at The Delta.