SCADFASH A T L A N T A
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BILL CUNNINGHAM
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BILLCUN BILL CUNNINGHAM
New York Times fashion photographer, Bill Cunningham is known his candid and street photography. He spots and distills the latest trendsfrom the runways of Paris to the colorful streets of New York. Bill photographs people and the passing scene in the streets of Manhattan every day. Most of his pictures, he has said, are never published. Designer Oscar de la Renta has said, More than anyone else in the city, he has the whole visual history of the last 40 or 50 years of New York. It’s the total scope of fashion in the life of New York. Though he has made a career out of unexpected photographs of celebrities, socialites, and fashion personalities, many in those categories value his company. According to David Rockefeller, Brooke Astor asked he be invited to her 100th birthday party, the only member of the media so honored. In 2008 he was awarded the title chevalier dans l’ordre des Arts et des Lettres by the French Ministry of Culture.
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TI ME L I N E
1940s Became a milliner, making hats under the name “William J�. Paid for studio in exchanged for cleaning.
1960s Hired as a writer at Women's Wear Daily, eventually also covering fashion for the Chicago Tribune and Details.
1950s Worked in the exclusive dress shop Chez Ninon, attracting society women including Jackie Kennedy.
BILL CUNNINGHAM
2012 Received the Carnegie Hall Medal of Excellence Featured on BBC Two's The Culture Show.
1970s Started working for the New York Times. Published group impromptu photos in the New York Times. This would become a regular series titled “On the Street�
2008 Awarded the Officier de l'ordre des Arts et des Lettres by the French Ministry of Culture.
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G E T T HE DAILY ITEMS
Nikon Strap $16
Khaki Pants $28 Nikon FM SLR $309 Burberry Scarf Camel $300
Black Shoes $80 Blue Wool Sweater $108
BILL CUNNINGHAM
Herringbone Cap $19
French Work Jacket $150
Black Bag $85
Red Linus Bike $665
LooK
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'' If you think what they're wearing is wrong, why don't
BILL ON
BILL
you redo them in your mind's eye.'' That was really the first professional direction I received.
BILL CUNNINGHAM
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I
started photographing people on the street during World War II. I used a little box Brownie. Nothing too expensive. The problem is I'm not a good photographer. To be perfectly honest, I'm too shy. Not aggressive enough. Well, I'm not aggressive at all. I just loved to see wonderfully dressed women, and I still do. That's all there is to it. As a kid, I photographed people at ski resorts — you know, when you got on the snow train and went up to New Hampshire. And I did parties. I worked as a stock boy at Bonwit Teller in Boston, where my family lived, and there was a very interesting woman, an executive, at Bonwit's. She was sensitive and aware, and she said, ''I see you outside at lunchtime watching people.'' And I said, ''Oh, yeah, that's my hobby.'' She said, ''If you think what they're wearing is wrong, why don't you redo them in your mind's eye.'' That was really the first professional direction I received. I came to New York in 1948 at 19, after one term at Harvard. Well, Harvard wasn't for me at all. I lived first with my aunt and uncle. I was working at Bonwit's in the advertising department. Advertising was also my uncle's profession. That's why my family allowed me to come here and encouraged me to go into the business. I think they were worried I was becoming too interested in women's dresses. But it's been my hobby all my life. I could never concentrate on Sunday church services because I'd be concentrating on women's hats.While working at Bonwit's, I met the women who ran Chez Ninon, the custom dress shop. Their names were Nona Parks and Sophie Shonnard. Alisa Mellon Bruce was the silent partner. Those two women didn't want me to get mixed up in fashion either. ''Oh, God, don't let him go near it.'' You have to understand how suspect fashion people were then.But finally, when my family put a little pressure on me about my profession, I moved out of my uncle's apartment. This was probably in 1949.
BILL CUNNINGHAM
I walked the streets in the East 50's, looking for empty windows. I couldn't afford an apartment. I saw a place on 52nd Street between Madison and Park. There was a young woman at the door, and I said: ''I see empty windows. Do you have a room to rent?'' She said, ''What for?'' And I said, ''Well, I'm going to make hats.'' She told me to tell the men who owned the house that I would clean for them in exchange for the room on the top floor. So that's where I lived, and that's where my hat shop was. Elizabeth Shoumatoff, the artist who was painting President Franklin D. Roosevelt when he died, brought in Rebekah Harkness, Mrs.William Hale Harkness. She and the ladies from Chez Ninon sent clients over. They had to climb all those stairs, and the stairs were narrow. The place had been a speakeasy in the 1920's. There was a garden in the back with a lovely old Spanish fountain, all derelict. That's where I had my first fashion show. The only member of the press who came was Virginia Pope of The Times. I got to know her very well years later, saw her almost every Friday for tea. But anyway, her rule was to go herself to see any new designer. So there was this lovely, gracious lady at my first show, and the next day in The Times there was a little paragraph: ''William J.''See, I didn't use my last name. My family would have been too embarrassed. They were very shy people. This was maybe 1950. To make money, I worked at a corner drugstore. At lunchtime, I'd stop making hats and run out and deliver lunches to people. At night, I worked as a counterman at Howard Johnson's. Both jobs provided my meals, and the dimes and nickels of my tips paid for millinery supplies.
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Society women were coming to get hats. It was a good education, but I didn't know it. I didn't know who these people were. It didn't mean anything to me. And then, of course, you get to realize that everybody's the same.I made hats until I went into the Army. I was drafted during the Korean War. When I came out in 1953, I was still looking for empty windows. I found one on West 54th. John Fairchild had just come back from Paris to run Women's Wear Daily in New York, and he knew the ladies of Chez Ninon. John said to me, ''Why don't you come and write a column for us.'' Of course, the ladies at Chez Ninon were thrilled: ''Oh, good, get him away from fashion. Make him a writer.'' They didn't realize what John was really up to. He thought, now, I've got the inside track on the clients at Chez Ninon, which was every Vanderbilt and Astor that there was. Plus Jackie Kennedy.What John didn't realize was that the people at Chez Ninon never discussed the clients. Private was private.I had never written anything, but John was like that. He wanted to turn everything upside down. He just said, ''Write whatever you see.'' He was open to all kinds of ideas -- until I wrote a column about Courrèges. When I saw his first show, I thought, Well, this is it. But John killed my story. He said, ''No, no, Saint Laurent is the one.'' And that was it for me. When they wouldn't publish the Courrèges article the way I saw it, I left. They wanted all the attention on Saint Laurent, who made good clothes. But I thought the revolution was Courrèges. Of course, in the end, Saint Laurent was the longer running show. So Fairchild was right in that sense.After that, I went to work for The Chicago Tribune, for Eleanor Nangle. She had been there since the 1920's. A wonderful woman. The best of the best. The Tribune had an office in New York, in the Times building. One night, in about 1966, the illustrator Antonio Lopez took me to dinner in London with a photographer named David Montgomery. I told him I wanted to take some pictures. When David came to New York a few months later, he brought a little camera, an Olympus Pen-D half-frame. It cost about $35. He said, ''Here, use it like a notebook.'' And that was the real beginning. I had just the most marvelous time with that camera. Everybody I saw I was able to record, and that's what it's all about. I realized that you didn't know anything unless you photographed the shows and the street, to see how people interpreted what designers hoped they would buy. I realized that the street was the missing ingredient.There's nothing new about this idea. People had been photographing the street since the camera was invented. At the turn of the 20th century, the horse races were the big thing. Lartigue was just a boy then. But the Seeberger brothers in France were taking pictures.
BILL CUNNINGHAM
They, and others, were commissioned by lace and fabric houses to go to the grand prix days at the Longchamp, Chantilly, Auteuil and Deauville racetracks and photograph fashionable women. The resulting albums were used as sample books by dressmakers. Vogue and Harper's Bazaar were doing a similar thing, but they photographed only name people at society events. And Women's Wear has been photographing socialites and celebrities for years. But the difference for me is I don't see the people I photograph. All I see are clothes. I'm only interested in people who look good. I'm looking for the stunners. I started taking pictures for The Times in the early 70's, though my first street fashion appeared in The Daily News. Bernadine Morris, whom I had known since the 50's, said to Abe Rosenthal: ''Take a look at his work. You have all these sections to fill.'' Then I got to know Arthur Gelb, and one day I told him about this woman I had been photographing on the street. She wore a nutria coat, and I thought: ''Look at the cut of that shoulder. It's so beautiful.'' And it was a plain coat, too. You'd look at it and think: ''Oh, are you crazy? It's nothing.'' Anyway, I was taking her picture, and I saw people turn around, looking at her. She crossed the street, and I thought, Is that? Sure enough, it was Greta Garbo. All I had noticed was the coat, and the shoulder.Arthur was marvelous. I came in that morning in late December 1978, and no one was in the department except Mimi Sheraton, the restaurant critic. I showed her the Garbo picture. She stopped typing, got up, and away she went with the picture. Minutes later, the phone rang, and Mimi said: ''Come down here, Bill. Arthur's desk.''Arthur looked at the picture and said, ''What else do you have like this?'' I had been hanging out at the corner of 57th and Fifth, and I said, ''A picture of Cornelius Vanderbilt Whitney, the king and queen of Spain, a Kennedy in a fox coat.'' I also had a picture of a woman who turned out to be Farrah Fawcett. I didn't know. See, I never go to the movies, and I don't own a television set.Arthur said, ''Let's run these.'' The next day, Dec.30, there was a half page of pictures in the Metropolitan Report.I never bothered with celebrities unless they were wearing something interesting. That's why my files wouldn't be of value to anyone. I remember one April in Paris Ball when Joe DiMaggio came with Marilyn Monroe. But I was mesmerized by Mrs. T. Charlton Henry of Philadelphia. So chic. She'd take the train up in the morning to Penn Station and walk to Bergdorf, to be there when it opened. And when she came in, she'd say, ''Good morning, Miss Ida,'' ''Good morning, Miss Elizabeth.'' She knew everyone's name.Back in the 60's, I remember that Eleanor Nangle and I were sitting at one of Oscar de la Renta's first shows in New York when she heard antiwar protesters down in the street. She said: ''Come on, Bill, we're leaving. The action isn't here.'' We got up and skipped out of the show. I knew from photographing people on the streets that the news was not in the showrooms.
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B ill on Bill At The Times, when Charlotte Curtis was covering society, she called me one Easter Sunday and said, ''Bill, take your little camera and go quickly to Central Park, to the Sheep Meadow.'' That morning I had been on Fifth Avenue photographing the Easter parade. So I got on my bike and went up to the Sheep Meadow, and there before me were all the kids. All these kids dressed in everything from their mother's and grandmother's trunks, lying on the grass. It was unbelievable. It was all about the fashion revolution. And it was because Charlotte Curtis had called me on the phone. Most of my pictures are never published. I just document things I think are important. For instance, I've documented the gay pride parade from its first days. It was something we had never seen before. I documented every exhibition that Diana Vreeland did at the Met, but every picture is of her hand on something. I do everything, really, for myself. I suppose, in a funny way, I'm a record keeper. More than a collector. I'm very aware of things not of value but of historical knowledge. I remember when Chez Ninon was closing in the mid70's. I went in one day, and the files were outside in the trash. I said to the secretary, ''Well, I hope you gave all the letters from Jackie Kennedy and Mrs. Rose Kennedy to the Kennedy Library.'' And she said, ''No, they kept a few, but they felt that the rest were too personal, so they threw them out.'' I rescued everything I could and still have it. I go to different places all the time. And I try to be as discreet as I can. My whole thing is to be invisible. You get more natural pictures that way, too. The only place where I really hung out was the old Le Cirque on 65th Street. My friend Suzette, who did the flowers there, has been with Sirio Maccioni since he got off the boat from Europe, when he was a captain at the old Colony restaurant. Everyone said Suzette tipped me off, but she couldn't have cared less about who was there.Most people wouldn't believe that anyone would be so dumb to come every day and stand for two hours without knowing whether somebody was coming out. But I like the surprise of finding someone. Most photographers couldn't do what I do because of deadlines. You spend days, weeks, years waiting for what I call a stunner.I think fashion is as vital and as interesting today as ever. I know what people with a more formal attitude mean when they say they're horrified by what they see on the street. But fashion is doing its job. It's mirroring exactly our times. The main thing I love about street photography is that you find the answers you don't see at the fashion shows. You find information for readers so they can visualize themselves. This was something I realized early on: If you just cover the designers in the shows, that's only one facet. You also need the street and the evening hours. If you cover the three things, you have the full picture of what people are wearing.
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BILL CUNNINGHAM
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BILL CUNNINGHAM
FASHION ICONS
WITH BILL 010 2 e h t s e t a h He bout a y r a t n e m u c do ow n e s u a c e b im h ched a o r p p a s t e g he he t n o le p o e p y b ying r t e il h w t e e r st to do his job.
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Bill thinks the fashion industry is change . BILL CUNNINGHAM
The legendary street style photographer opened up about the status of the industry. While Bill Cunningham may be notoriously private, he hates the 2010 documentary about him because now he gets approached by people on the street while trying to do his job , he was anything but shy about expressing his opinions on the state of the fashion industry when he sat down with Fern Mallis for her "Fashion Icons" series at 92Y. "I think the fashion world needs to come to grips with reality," the photographer said, tearing up a little bit. "The reality is you have the whole country electronically connected. They’re educating the insides of their heads, as they should, and not dressing the outside with a fancy hat or a dress. Simple clothes, that's key, and I think that's what the fashion world should really think about." Despite not having a phone himself, Cunningham is surprisingly attuned to the tech world, from which he says the fashion industry could take a lesson or two. "Look at the lines waiting to get into that Apple store on 5th Avenue!" he explained. "Do you see a line waiting to get into Bergdorfs or Saks? The future belongs to this generation and the hightech world is it!" Cunningham did not hold back his opinions on celebrity dressing, which he said more than once doesn't interest him. "Stupid red carpet," he said. "The fashion world killed itself by lending the clothes, and giving them, and then paying the celebrities to wear them!" In his opinion, their presence in the fashion world is distracting from the work of the designers.
"People should take very seriously the fact that you're being invited to view the work of artists," he said of attending fashion shows. "Think about what they're showing, look at the clothes, look at what they do for the body, that's the thing to go and study. You think I'm going there to discuss someone's sex life?" A former fashion editor of the New York Times, Virginia Pope, made it a rule to attend the first fashion show of any new designer, and attended Cunningham's first fashion show when he had his hat business. It's a rule Cunningham tries to follow himself today, but he believes that the fashion calendar has become too crowded. "Now, there's so many new designers, take a look at this coming week," he said. "There's three different shows every hour on the hour, all in different locations. In one day, I counted seven shows in the same hour!" Before Mallis could ask questions submitted by the audience, Cunningham mentioned he wanted to talk about the greatest fashion show he had ever seen: the 1973 Battle of Versailles. He discussed the show in moving detail for over ten minutes, becoming so emotional that he choked up describing the final look worn by Bethann Hardison. "That's what American fashion does best!" he finished. "Not imitate, but the simplicity, the honesty of clothes — that's what we've got to get back! That's what made America great, and what made the fashion world great."
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On the Street, it is as much a portrait
MAN ON
THE STREET
of New York at a given moment in time as any sociological tract or census a snapshot of the city.
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Bill Cunningham said, I’m looking for something that has beauty. A few summers ago, on upper Fifth Avenue, Bill Cunningham spied a remarkable creature: a woman, in her seventies, with a corona of blue hair—not the muzzy pastel hue associated with bad dye jobs but the irradiant one of Slurpees and laundry detergent. The woman gave Cunningham an idea. Every day for a month, whenever he saw something cerulean (a batik shawl) or aqua (a Hawaiian-print sarong) or azure (a Japanese parasol) coming down the sidewalk, he snapped a picture of it. One morning, he spotted a worker balancing, on his shoulder, a stuffed blue marlin. “I thought, That’s it, kid!” he recently recalled. The following Sunday, “On the Street,” the street-fashion column that Cunningham has maintained in the Times for more than a decade, was populated entirely with New Yorkers dressed in various shades of the color—a parade of human paint chips. “Mediterranean shades of blue are not yet the new pink, but they are a favorite this summer,” he wrote. “The cooling watery tones, worn as an accent with white and browns, appear in turquoise-color jewelry and blue hair, but it is rare to see a man crossing the Avenue of the Americas with a trophy sailfish.” Cunningham’s job is not so different from a fisherman’s: it requires a keen knowledge, honed over years, of the local ecosystem and infinite patience in all manner of weather conditions. His first big catch was an accident. It was 1978, and a woman wearing a nutria coat had caught his eye. I thought: Look at the cut of that shoulder. It’s so beautiful, he later wrote. And it was a plain coat, too. You’d look at it and think: Oh, are you crazy? It’s nothing.Cunningham shot frame after frame of the coat, eventually noticing that other people on the sidewalk were paying attention to its wearer.
BILL CUNNINGHAM
It was Greta Garbo. Cunningham showed the pictures, along with some shots of Cornelius Vanderbilt Whitney (whom he recognized), Farrah Fawcett (whom he didn’t, not owning a television), and the King and Queen of Spain, carrying plastic bags from Gristedes, to an editor at the Times. “The editor said, Why don’t you wait and see who you get next week?”Cunningham recalled. And I said, “My God, I’m not expecting Jesus Christ.” Soon after, his column became a recurring feature.“On the Street”—along with Cunningham’s society column, “Evening Hours”—is New York’s high-school yearbook, an exuberant, sometimes retroactively embarrassing chronicle of the way we looked. Class of 1992: velvet neck ribbons, leopard prints, black jeans, catsuits, knotted shirts, tote bags, berets (will they ever come back, after Monica?).Class of 2000: clamdiggers, beaded fringe, postcard prints, jean jackets, fish-net stockings, flower brooches (this was the height of “Sex and the City”). The column, in its way, is as much a portrait of New York at a given moment in time as any sociological tract or census—a snapshot of the city. On September 16, 2001, Cunningham ran a collage of signs (“OUR FINEST HOUR,” “WE ARE STRONGER NOW”) and flags (on bandannas, on buildings, on bikes) that makes one as sad and proud, looking at it now, as it did when it was published. So far this year, he has identified vogues for picture- frame collars, microminis, peg-legged pants, and the color gray (“often with a dash of sapphire or violet,” in the manner of the Edwardians). His columns are frequently playful —he once featured a woman, near the Plaza, walking three standard poodles, “an unmatched set in pink, turquoise, and white”—but they also convey an elegiac respect for the anonymous promenade of life in a big city, and a deadserious desire to get it all down.
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“ Look at the style you have here!” Stay here on Fifth Avenue and you see the whole world. ”
BILL CUNNINGHAM
For two groups of New Yorkers—the fashionable people, whose style changes more rapidly than that of the masses, and the truly creative ones, whose style, while outré, in its theatricality never really changes at all. “On the Street” is also a family album. The magazine editors Anna Wintour, Cecilia Dean, and Carine Roitfeld and the society dermatologist Lisa Airan are regulars on the page, as are Tziporah Salamon (her Web site showcases her eight appearances in Cunningham’s column, including one a Capri pants montage, in which only her legs are visible), and Louise Doktor, a midtown executive secretary, whose experimental outfits Cunningham has been documenting from afar for twenty-five years. “She once bought a coat with four sleeves!” he told me. At a party thrown last season at Bergdorf Goodman to celebrate the decoration of the store’s windows in Cunningham’s honor, guests included not only the police commissioner, Ray Kelly, and Arthur Sulzberger, Jr., the publisher of the Times (“You’re great! This is a really big thing,” he said, grabbing Cunningham, who had shown up at his behest, by the shoulders), but a woman wearing, on her head, what looked like one of those blue pompoms from a car wash, and a man with a Swiss-dot veil drawn in ink on his forehead.
His vocabulary (“Cheers, child!”) and his diction (“Mrs. Oh-nah-sis”) are those of a more genteel era—the weekly audio slideshow he does for the Times offers many of the pleasures of a Lomax recording, but he rarely goes for the easy grip and grin shot.
Cunningham, who turns eighty this month, is an annual presence at certain society events: the Fifth Avenue Easter Parade, the Central Park Conservancy luncheon, the Hampton Classic Horse Show. This winter, at the iceskating rink in Central Park, he took pictures of the children of the children whose parents he once shot outside Maxim’stook pictures of the children of the children whose parents he once shot outside Maxim’s and at the Hotel Pierre (where, at a dinner dance in 1984, he captured thirty-three women in similar Fabrice beaded gowns).
“Stay here on Fifth Avenue and you see the whole world. Summertime the vacationers and the Europeans. The holidays everyone from the Midwest, the West, Japan. They’re all here, the whole world!”
He takes wonder, or whimsy, where he finds it, chronicling the Obama Inauguration, the Puerto Rican Day Parade, Wigstock, and the snowman sweatshirts and reindeer turtlenecks of tourists; the do-rag and the way that, at one point in 2000, many young hip-hop fans spontaneously took to wearing their sweatshirts abstractly, with the neck hole on the shoulder, or with the sleeves dangling down the back.(He related the phenomenon to both the Japanese deconstructionists and the sideways baseball cap.) The four corners of Fifth Avenue and Fiftyseventh Street are some of Cunningham’s favorite shoals. One bright afternoon, he was there, as he has been for countless hours, casting about for inspiration. “I have an idea what I’m going to do this week,” he said. “I’ve got to face the bullet very quickly. If it doesn’t have enough depth, I should wait.” It was a crackerjack day. “Look at the style you have here!” Cunningham said.
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water to go Ralph lauren preppy BILL CUNNINGHAM
1980's NYC shirt Tails
leggings
the Denim dress
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1992
NYC
leopard prints, black jeans,
BILL CUNNINGHAM
catsuits, knotted o shirts, tote erets b bags, be
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PinK! s p r in g The color is a fashion statement during these first weeks of spring, most noticeably on coats. Although the formal Easter parade (and its requisite flowerladen hats and orchid corsages) has long disappeared, fashion has rejuvenated the color for today. An interesting note is the orchid blossom: Originally the orchid was plucked from a plant and worn on Easter on its own, but in the 1920s, florists started adding ribbons, and by the late ‘30s and ‘40s, the single blossom got mucked up with pink tulle and glitter. Today, the beautiful orchid has returned to its natural state.
BILL CUNNINGHAM
B a r e Shoulder The first summery trend: off-the-shoulder tops and dresses. The most popular variation is a Proenza Schouler black-ribbon halter, which first appeared earlier this year. There are evening versions, and most of the daytime styles have elastic to keep them in place.
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Man
First
The male fashion peacock is out of the cage. In New York and Paris this fall, men seemed to have outstripped women in their imaginative thrust. Two weeks ago on this page we saw men of punctilious neatness, a turnaround from the recent past's disheveled look. This week, it's young.men eager to create a new language. Interestingly, the knee-length shorts that started with bike messengers resemble, if you squint, the mid-17th century open-kneed pants of European court dress, The leaders of this avant garde are Nicolas Ghesquière, Riccardo Tisci and Rick Owens. Not to be outshone is our own hip-hop.
BILL CUNNINGHAM
Coat
of Arms The fashion spotlight has shifted from women to men. The difference is, there is no shouting. Themen seen here prefer taste, quality and a low-key approach to their style that is divorced from the rough and tumble shredded look of the past. While designers continue to exhibit flamboyant high jinks, men observed on the street tell an authentic story of taste and sartorial style.
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E
xhibition Grand Divertissement à Versailles
SCAD FASH is pleased to present Grand Divertissement à Versailles, Vintage Photographs by Bill Cunningham, an exhibition featuring exclusive, vintage images of the legendary 1973 fashion show, The Battle of Versailles, taken by acclaimed fashion photographer, Bill Cunningham. This exhibition showcases Cunningham’s unique perspective as a staff photographer for The New York Times and as an icon of New York and international fashion, having contributed significantly to fashion journalism with his writing and photography for over half a century.
NOW ON VIEW – AUG. 21, 2016
BILL CUNNINGHAM
VISIT SCAD FASH MUSEUM OF FASHION + FILM 1600 Peachtree St. NW Atlanta, GA 30309
HOURS Sunday: Noon to 5 p.m. Monday: Closed Tuesday: 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Wednesday: 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Thursday: 10 a.m. to 8 p.m. Friday: 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Saturday: 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.
TICKET General admission: $10 Discounted (senior/military): $8 Family (three or more): $20 College students with ID: $5 SCAD alumni: $5 Children under 14: FREE SCAD student/faculty/staff: FREE
PARKING SCAD FASH visitor parking is available in designated spaces in the fourth floor parking garage located behind the main SCAD Atlanta building. Take the elevator to level "M." Accommodations for oversized vehicles and large groups can be made in advance.
GROUP VISITS Group visits are available at reduced rates for a minimum of 10 people. Reservations should be secured by phone or email at least two weeks in advance. For more information or to make a reservation, email at scadfash@scad.edu or call 404.253.3132.
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k n a h T you BILL CUNNINGHAM
SCAD FASH BILL CUNNINGHAM Published in New York 10 East 53rd street,New York,NY 10022. Art Direction Elizabeth Mandel Editorial Elizabeth Mandel Aivei Chiang Photographer Bill Cunningham Typefaces Futura Garamond Daniel First Published in 2016 by SCAD Atlanta. ISBN 0-06097625-3-1 ŠSCAD Atlanta.All right reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,stored in a retrieval system or transmitted,including, photocopying, recording or any information storage,without the written permissiono of the publisher.
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S C A D F A S H I-JOU CHIANG BILL CUNNINGHAM