The Devil Steps Back, Not Down

The news, when it broke, sent a tremor through the worlds of fashion, media, and power. Anna Wintour, the Empress of Vogue, was stepping down from her day-to-day role leading the American edition of the magazine after nearly four decades. It felt like the end of an era. But for anyone who has observed or, indeed, worked for Ms. Wintour, the truth is far more complex. This is not a retirement; it is a coronation.

Most people know Anna Wintour through a fictional lens. The icy, impossibly demanding editor-in-chief Miranda Priestly in “The Devil Wears Prada” became her cultural avatar. In public, Wintour herself has dismissed this portrait. “It was entertainment,” she told 60 Minutes in 2009, “It was not a true rendition of what happens within this magazine.”

But for many who walked the hallowed halls of Condé Nast, the fiction felt closer to a documentary. Actually working for her, as one former staffer might say, could be hell. Ms. Wintour had a way of making everyone in the building feel as though they were supposed to know what she wanted before she wanted it. The unspoken rules were absolute. There was no excuse for dressing poorly, for not standing straight, for failing to address her as ‘ma’am,’ or for her tea being too cold.

This was not cruelty for its own sake. It was the byproduct of an almost inhuman standard of excellence. Vogue flourished into the “fashion bible” because she expected from everyone around her the same level of expertise, perfection, and intuitive foresight that she herself embodied. Her sense of style was cutting and unsentimental. A designer could be her favorite one season and tossed out on the next if their collection failed to impress her. She was notoriously sure of herself, and while she rarely missed the mark, no one dared tell her if they thought she had.

This exacting leadership style created an aura of immense power that radiated far beyond the magazine’s pages. As her reputation grew, she became a singular force in New York society. She could convince almost anyone to change their schedules, support a cause, or attend an event with a quiet request. She was a formidable Democratic fundraiser, spearheading a $25 million event for former President Biden, yet she was also pragmatic enough to secure a meeting with President Trump’s chief of staff to lobby against tariffs that would harm her industry. She was careful not to overplay this power, which is precisely what made it so effective. She wore leadership like a Prada suit: impeccably tailored and wielded with absolute confidence.

And so, the recent announcement is not the abdication it might seem. She is stepping away from the daily grind of running the American magazine, but only to fully ascend to her global throne. The iconic title of “editor-in-chief” is being retired with her. A new “head of editorial content” will be hired, and they will report directly to Anna Wintour.

This is the final move in a corporate chess game that began four years ago, a global restructuring that has put all of Condé Nast’s properties—from GQ and Vanity Fair to Wired and Bon Appétit—under her ultimate authority as Chief Content Officer.

In her own words to her staff, she framed the move as a desire to mentor the “next generation of impassioned editors.” But for those who know the culture she built, the subtext is clear. Anna Wintour is not retiring to travel for pleasure; she is moving from one desk to another to more effectively work her global connections. She will still be in the front row at the select few fashion shows that matter, her list of favored designers already trimmed. And the new head of American Vogue will be expected, like everyone else, to know what she wants before she wants it. The devil has not stepped down; she has simply moved into a corner office with a better view.