A staple of films aimed at women and girls, the movie makeover is about so much more than lipstick and a fresh haircut.
Midway through The Devil Wears Prada, the audience catches sight of a new Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway). She confidently swerves between cabs and lamp posts, parading a new chic designer silhouette every few seconds. Minutes earlier she ditched the chunky knit sweaters and thick grey tights upon fashion director Nigel’s (Stanley Tucci) advice, adopting a crisp white coat and an expensive-looking haircut, paired with on-trend oversized sunglasses and a statement Chanel necklace. Director David Frankel wields this makeover to confirm a more fundamental, tectonic shift in Andy’s character. She moves from who she was to who she wants to be: a professional. The valley in between is the ‘Vogue’-soundtracked makeover montage, a space of ungoverned, feminine play.
Makeovers are capable of exploring the shifting space between women and the world, reimagining how women can take up space in the confined areas available to them. The Devil Wears Prada represents a very peculiar journey of self-actualisation; Andy steps into a wardrobe – one tailored to her new professional aspirations. A wardrobe curated for a different kind of working woman. Andy grows into this person, but it’s notable that the film ends with her flashy wardrobe unceremoniously gifted to the recently bed-ridden Emily (Emily Blunt). In the new The Devil Wears Prada 2, Andy’s costumes straddle the line between label-adorned brands and high-street knockoffs – crafting something more aligned with who she really is.
This isn’t the first time Anne Hathaway starred in a beloved makeover montage. Garry Marshall’s 2001 teen classic The Princess Diaries follows Mia (Anne Hathaway), who must undergo a radical refashioning after discovering she is next in line for the throne of Genovia. Marshall effectively stretches the tenets of the makeover to cover the full film – Mia’s coming-of-age is spurred on by the changes she must adhere to. Yet it’s a two minute sequence, helmed by the eccentric beauty-expert Paolo (Larry Miller) which sits, quite literally, at the centre of the film, representing Mia’s shift from ugly duckling to beautiful swan. Marshall packs the scene full of interstitial shots of polished nails and cucumber-covered eyes, cut together according to the wordless beat. Gradually, Mia’s hair is straightened – unruly curls rendered straight and simple, her lips are glossy and her eyebrows are plucked into neat lines, contact lenses replacing her glasses. These are the music video-inspired building blocks of the makeover; a piece of poetry to match the narrative film’s prose. All of it coalesces into a dream-like blur, acting as feminine wish fulfilment. It’s a familiar language for teen comedies, utilising sparkly, shallow indicators of beauty to trace the path from outcast to popular. The makeover is not just an act of self-molding, it represents the place where a person meets the world.
Princess Anne (Audrey Hepburn) is a very different kind of young royal, forcibly confined and unable to encounter the world beyond her throne room. Roman Holiday follows her brief taste of freedom, and early on she utilises this to embrace a new look. Director William Wyler cuts between journalist Joe Bradley (Gregory Peck) keeping an eye on the naive princess from afar and Anne getting her hair chopped with every camera cut revealing a shorter style. This less showy sequence speaks to something crucial about the necessary isolation of carving out your next iteration. For Anne this sense of loneliness is well-earned and carefully honed. She is used to being closely observed, micro-managed, and her trajectory is inwards. The resulting haircut is something dramatic and sweet, cropped to curl under her chin. It’s unfussy and in keeping with a roaming princess, newly freed from prying eyes.
Unfortunately, the more impressionable the girl, the more the world infringes on her malleable sense of self. “You look a lot better without all the black shit on your eyes.” Self-styled princess Claire (Molly Ringwald) asserts, dragging an eyeliner pencil across Ally’s (Allison Reynolds) lower lashes. “Hey, I like that black shit,” she retorts. The Breakfast Club embodies the more frustrating facets of the makeover, which can reduce people to mere puppets of gender. When Ally steps out of the bathrooms, the outline of her cooler, grungier self is barely discernible beneath the layers of powder and frills. Toula’s (Nia Vardalos) similar transformation in My Big Fat Greek Wedding doesn’t leave the same bitter taste in viewers' mouths. Her decision to replace her shapeless jumpers with brightly coloured cardigans is spread over weeks, and the cosmetic retooling is paired with a newfound social confidence. Between tweezing and brushing we catch sight of Toula approaching strangers on her lunch break, eagerly raising her hand to answer questions in class – slowly unfurling from her protective crouch. Her newly made-over self is a more honest container for her outgoing self.
When Toula finally goes on her first date with Ian (John Corbett) she has to account for this radical change: “I was kind of going through a phase…up ‘til now…” Toula haltingly explains, “And, uh…I was frump girl.” Ian tilts his head encouragingly. “I don’t remember frump girl, but I remember you,” he flirts. It’s a necessary exchange, earnest and sweet and upholding the radical potential of self-fashioning. This carefully constructed recognition is mirrored by Roman Holiday’s Joe and Anne and their post-haircut encounter: “Well, it’s you! Or is it?” He teases. It’s an innocuous exchange that covertly affirms Anne’s fundamental shift from damsel in distress to independent woman. Toula and Anne journey along vastly different routes to the same self-determinant place; they construct bridges between how they feel internally and how they want to appear outwardly. Such a hopeful framing contrasts with Ally’s makeover, which sees her succumbing to the world – reconstructing herself according to someone else’s blueprint.
Making yourself over can also engender empathy. In Mark Waters’ 2003 update of Freaky Friday, rebellious teen Anna (Lindsay Lohan), now inhabiting the body of her type-A mother Tess (Jamie Lee Curtis), utilises the advantages of grown-up finances to remodel her Mum. In one afternoon – condensed to a single minute in the film – gone are the grey suits and sensible shoes, replaced with a form-fitting Diane von Furstenberg dress, stiletto boots, and an edgy pixie cut. “My hair! It’s gone!” Tess wails upon seeing her newly adorned body. “Mom, it’s cool,” Anna protests. This makeover is what the film hinges on, forcing mother and daughter to take a walk in each other’s shoes and come to a place of understanding in order to switch their bodies back.
Just as Nigel has to explain that Runway magazine’s importance extends beyond its physical pages, standing as “a shining beacon of hope” for outcast artists everywhere, the makeover montage collects all the discarded girlish daydreams of making yourself anew, and gives them a tangible form. When I think of the makeover montage, I do think of brushed hair, shiny French manicures, brash prints and vibrant colours – but I also think of the younger versions of myself, unsure of her style and desperate to enter these magical makeover portals, who would watch these films. While intent and execution can massively alter the meaning of a movie makeover montage, at their best, these scenes are an affirmation that it’s okay to care about how you present yourself externally to the world – and to change it based on who you want to be on any given day.
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