Picture this: a high-powered, effortlessly chic Black woman struts through the glass doors of a fashion empire, her heels clicking like a metronome of success. She’s the editor-in-chief, the visionary, the boss everyone both fears and reveres. Maybe she’s giving an intern a life-changing monologue about the difference between cerulean and cobalt, or maybe she’s flipping through a glossy mag, plotting her next legendary cover shoot. The drama? Immaculate. The romance? A slow burn with a well-dressed love interest who gets her. The problem? Hollywood has never made this movie.
We’ve seen the blueprint. The Devil Wears Prada cemented Miranda Priestly as the cold, commanding queen of fashion media. 13 Going on 30 gave us Jenna Rink, a bubbly, big-dreaming editor with a flair for storytelling (and a killer wardrobe). How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days made Andie Anderson the rare fashion mag writer with a press pass into both investigative journalism and the rom-com hall of fame. But where’s the film where a Black woman is at the helm of a major fashion publication, balancing power, love, and a wardrobe that could stop traffic?
And before you bring up Janet Jackson in For Colored Girls, let’s be clear—nobody is ignoring that. Her character, Jo, was a high-powered, Chanel-clad magazine exec, sure. But was that movie a rom-com? Absolutely not. It was pain, trauma and emotional wreckage wrapped in luxury separates. For Colored Girls is an important film, but it’s also not one you just throw on for a cozy night in. It’s not a movie we casually discuss over brunch, nor is it one we recommend to friends unless we’re issuing a serious content warning first. No shade!
What makes this Hollywood oversight even wilder is that the script has already written itself. Black women have been running major fashion and lifestyle magazines for decades. Look at Susan L. Taylor’s legendary tenure at ESSENCE, where she shaped the culture and set the standard for Black women in media. Consider Amy DuBois Barnett’s time as EIC of EBONY, where she modernized the brand while keeping its rich legacy intact. Fast forward to Lindsay Peoples, first at Teen Vogue and now at The Cut, proving that Black women can—and should—be the ones shaping the conversation around style, beauty and power. We’ve had the real-life Mirandas, the real-life Jennas, but somehow, we’ve never seen them brought to life on screen with the rom-com treatment they deserve.
Hollywood loves a formula, and we’ve let them cook with the same ingredients for too long. It’s always the quirky white woman who falls into a dream job, a dream wardrobe, and a dreamy love interest—whether she’s winning over her skeptical boss or pulling off a magazine-saving cover shoot at the last minute. Meanwhile, when Black women get screen time in media-centric stories, they’re often the best friend (27 Dresses), the rival (Ugly Betty), or the authority figure with zero romance (Hitch). Even when they do get leads in fashion-adjacent movies, like Boomerang’s Angela or B.A.P.S.’ Nisi and Mickey, the industry’s upper echelon rarely serves as their domain.
It’s not just about representation—it’s about fantasy. Rom-coms thrive on aspiration, on showing us lives we dream of living. We deserve to see a Black woman running her version of Runway magazine, serving looks, making power moves and—yes—falling in love with someone who understands that ambition and romance aren’t mutually exclusive. Imagine a story where the editor-in-chief of a Vogue-level publication is balancing an impossible cover shoot, an office power struggle, and an unexpected love story that unfolds over late-night deadlines and front-row Fashion Week drama.
The time is overdue. Give us our 13 Going on 30. Give us our Devil Wears Prada. Give us the rom-com where a Black woman commands the industry with style, power and a killer walk-in closet. Hollywood, are you taking notes?
