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This article was first published in 2002.

He calls grown-up women child, and his coterie of young friends muffin. Bill Cunningham has been a habitual presence on the streets of New York for nearly 50 years, and Paris and London know him, too. But as a subject, he has been elusive, a shadow on the run with his camera, who still worries, at 73, about falling into “the traps of the rich.” Here, people who have known or observed him since his hat-making days in the 1950s turn their gaze on him.

CHAPPY MORRIS, Investor

My mother, Edna Morris, was one of the last of the grandes dames. She was very tall, very thin, with every hair always in perfect place. She knew Bill from around town and from Saratoga, too. You know, Bill loves the old-time people. It was a time of great style and gentility, and wonderful clothes. One day, many, many years ago, I had gone clothes shopping with my mother. I think I was just out of college. We were walking down 57th Street, and Bill was there, at the corner of Fifth. He snapped our picture and then sent a copy to my mother. It was one of her favorite pictures until the day she died. All big smiles.

ANNA WINTOUR, Editor in Chief of Vogue

I don’t know how many times he has taken my photograph, but we all dress for Bill. You feel he’s the only one who notices or cares how you dress. I wonder if Bill will like this. And it’s always a flattering picture he chooses. He picks everything carefully, so you will look your best. He’s a very seductive guy.

LESLEY VINSON, Former art director of Details

I was this punk rocker with pink hair. I couldn’t believe he was interested in me, because no one else was. But Bill was interested. Why are you wearing that plastic bag, Muffin? I was totally fascinated by this man. I had come from Detroit, and he was exactly what I thought New York would be. Then I realized Bill was one in a million.

POLLY MELLEN, Fashion stylist and editor

He photographed me a lot. And sometimes I didn’t even know he was photographing me, which was the whole point. I remember he photographed me in a pair of trendy Comme des Garçons shoes with fox pompoms. He’s very hung up on shoes. He’s very hung up on originality.

ISABELLA BLOW, Fashion director of Tatler magazine in London

He does make you run, Bill. He once said to me, “Baby, can you stand on top of that grille?” We were outside the Louvre, and I had on a white chiffon dress. He could see right up to my pants. I was walking on the street recently in Paris when he just grabbed me and said, “Come, kid, get out there!” You don’t mind because you know the voice.

OSCAR DE LA RENTA

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.

And he’s such an unbelievably discreet man. I don’t know anything about his life, except his bicycle.

The Elusive William J.

JOHN FAIRCHILD, Former publisher of Women’s Wear Daily

One day I was having lunch at the old Le Cirque, and I mentioned how beautiful the flowers were. And someone said, “Oh, they’re done by Bill’s lady friend, Suzette.” When I saw him, I said, “Bill, you sneaky guy.” He just smiled.

TONI CIMINO, Friend and floral decorator known as Suzette

I met him when he was 26 or 27, and he was a milliner. Can you imagine? I moved into an apartment on the third floor of his building, on West 54th Street.

When I first met him, all these fashionable people, Mrs. Astor, were standing on the sidewalk to get into one of his fashion shows. Errol Flynn was across the street, waiting for his girlfriend, who was a model. I couldn’t get out of the building that day.

JOE EULA, Illustrator

In the 1950s, I lived across the street from him when he was William J. His studio was in a brownstone on 54th Street, and I remember he had this hat in the window with fringe hanging from the brim to the ground. It was a bathing suit hat, and you were supposed to change your clothes behind the fringe. I called up Sally Kirkland, who was the fashion editor at Life, and I said, “You’ve got to see this!” She put it in Life. Bill was an absolute innovator right from the get-go. His hats were the grand opera of all time.

ELIZABETH CORBETT, Former model and owner of Chez Ninon

I met Bill in 1960, when I was a model at Chez Ninon. The shop was then at 487 Park, and it was owned by Sophie Shonnard and Nona Parks. They were two crafty old women — you couldn’t put anything over on them. Once, when someone in Paris gave them a price for a dress, they said, “Now you go back and sharpen your pencil, and give us another price.” Balenciaga would run when he saw them.

The shop was a wonderful place. We’d have openings from Tuesday to Friday at 3 p.m. Everybody was there, from Diana Vreeland to Babe Paley to her sister Betsy Cushing. When Jackie Kennedy went to the White House, she’d come in for fittings. All the Kennedy sisters came. Rose, too. And Bill was always there.

Ms. Shonnard and Ms. Parks brought him a long way from his beginning. I think they taught him a lot. They introduced him to a lot of people.

Bill used to have an old Rolls-Royce, and he’d drive his women friends out to Southampton. He was quite a character around town. When the husbands of these women died, they said to him, “Do you want to come and look at the clothes?” So he always had a tuxedo.

Becoming a Journalist

MORT SHEINMAN, Retired managing editor at Women’s Wear Daily

When Bill came to Women’s Wear in the 60s, I was covering Seventh Avenue. We knew that John Fairchild was capable of anything, and in comes Cunningham. He looked wide-eyed and dazzled. I don’t think he was prepared for the environment of a newsroom — this grubby newsroom right out of “The Front Page” — the unbelievable noise, the pounding of the manual typewriters, the clattering of the Teletype machines, people shouting across the room. This raffish newsroom, which was just wonderful. In comes this hat designer, and Fairchild is giving him a column. I mean, a column! Immediately everybody resented him. Just resented him. But once you met Bill, you stopped resenting him. He sure knew the fashion business, and he was a terrific reporter. He got the stuff.

JOHN FAIRCHILD

I hired Bill to work at Women’s Wear because he had pep and energy and lots of grace. And he knew everybody. He didn’t sit in an office and talk. He went out and came back with the best stories. Everybody in the office was jealous of him.

ANNIE FLANDERS, Founder of Details magazine

I met Bill in 1967, when I opened my store, Abracadabra, and he was working for The Chicago Tribune. My idea was to introduce designers who were sewing at home and put them in a retail space. Quite a few went on to very good careers, including Willi Smith. Bill just loved the store. Then I left the country for three years, and when I returned, I ran into Bill, and he encouraged me to go back into fashion. In 1976, I started working for The SoHo Weekly News, and I asked Bill to do the fashion reports. We founded Details almost literally on the night that The SoHo News closed, in April 1982 — myself, Ronnie Cooke, Stephen Saban, Lesley Vinson, Megan Haungs and Bill Cunningham.

LESLEY VINSON

I was 24 when I met Bill, and he was to become the formative influence of my life. He taught me how to tell a story with pictures and that it didn’t always involve the best image. I’d say to him, “But isn’t this a better photo?” And he’d say, “Yes, child, but this photo tells the story better.” For him, it wasn’t about the aesthetics of photography. It was about storytelling.

ANNIE FLANDERS

Bill was always the first to know who was great, whether it was a new designer or a new collection. He was the first journalist in America to write about Azzedine Alaïa and I think the first to write about Gaultier. If he picked up on something in the fall collections, then by the spring collections everybody else would be raving about it. He was absolutely the leader

I remember he once put an Armani dress next to one designed for Diaghilev, to show that Armani’s wasn’t original. The people at Armani went nuts and pulled all their advertising. Forever. When Bill ran a photo of something that Isaac Mizrahi had copied, Isaac couldn’t have been lovelier. He made sure we had front row seats after that.

RUBEN TOLEDO, Illustrator

Bill’s fashion reports in Details were so cinematic. It was like watching “Yellow Submarine.” He took you up, down, sideways. He just sucked you in with his knowledge.

Turning Points

ARTHUR GELB, Former managing editor of The Times

I loved the way Bill worked. One of his favorite corners to capture the most perplexed, surprising looks on people was 57th and Fifth, near Tiffany. He would stand there for hours, you know, spotting people only Bill would recognize. And Garbo would traipse past with her coat collar up and her hat pulled low over her brow.

The next day we ran Bill’s picture of her, along with other photos from that corner. That was one of the most talked about second fronts of that time. And it was a turning point for Bill. It gave him recognition beyond fashion. And his street photography was a breakthrough for The Times, because it was the first time the paper had run pictures of well-known people without getting their permission. The Times had always been prissy about that.

PAUL CARANICAS, Painter and president of the Antonio Lopez Foundation

I met Bill around 1971, through the illustrator Antonio Lopez and his partner, Juan Ramos, who art-directed Antonio’s projects. I think Antonio and Juan had just moved from 13th Street to the Carnegie Studios, where Bill was. Antonio was the first fashion illustrator to bring a sampling of the art world into his work, and to bring people of color into fashion.

POLLY MELLEN

Nobody has really done what Antonio did. I can’t think of another illustrator who has picked up on his style. It was extremely glamorous, and it was exaggeration. Exaggeration for creative people moves them forward. Bill is also drawn to the extreme.

PAUL CARANICAS

I think what Bill loved about Juan and Antonio was their energy and youthfulness — and humor. All these qualities combined to help make Bill see things a certain way. But I think his aesthetic was a long time in developing. In the beginning, it was more reportage.

Bill would often come to Paris, when Antonio, Juan and I had an apartment there. Jerry Hall also lived with us. And Bill would come by. He streaked us a few times. I think it was just his pixie humor.

MARYLOU LUTHER, Former fashion editor of The Los Angeles Times

I met Bill in the mid-1960s through Eleanor Nangle, the fashion editor at The Chicago Tribune. She was brave and smart. She had a feeling for pop culture, even though by then she was no spring chicken. And I think Bill’s journalistic sense of telling the truth came from her.

When we first went to Europe to cover the collections, Bill hung out with a photographer named Harold Chapman, and they stayed in a hotel that cost something like $2 a night. They had no plumbing in their room. Bill would have to wait for me to finish my story before we could look at the film. And I’d say, “Bill, feel free to take a shower.” Well, at some urging, he did. He would come out of the bathroom, and it was cleaner than when he went in.

BERNADINE MORRIS, Former fashion writer for The Times

Bill’s apartment at Carnegie Hall was one big filing cabinet and a bed. He slept on a bed on top of the filing cabinet. That was probably the only furniture in the place.

ANDRÉ LEON TALLEY, Vogue editor at large

Bill was a great friend of Antonio Lopez, and when I first came to New York, around 1975, Antonio would take me up to Bill’s studio. It was such a Zen atmosphere. We should all get to the Zen atmosphere of Bill sleeping on a mattress, just like Mr. Yunioshi, the photographer in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

TONI CIMINO

He used to have a much larger studio in Carnegie Hall, but he gave it up to Antonio when he moved in. That’s why I call him the monk. He’s impossible, isn’t he? Unless he’s really down and out — and then I know he’s not feeling well — he’s always working.

We have a dinner every Saturday and Sunday night, and then he dashes off to some party. And we’ll read the paper together on Sundays. And he calls me every night, just to check in. If he doesn’t, I panic. We take care of each other. I really, really worry about him.

Being Watched

GLORIA VANDERBILT

When he’s photographing, he transmits his energy toward you. You can feel it, and you respond. I treasure his photos of me, and my son Anderson’s favorite picture is one Bill took of me in a glorious Adolfo gown with a feathered fan.

ANNE SLATER, Socialite

Bill always knows what you’re wearing. He once said to me, ‘That’s an early Michael Vollbracht.” He’s aware of every seam.

CECILIA DEAN, An editor of Visionaire

I met Bill about 15 years ago. I was always going to nightclubs, all of Suzanne Bartsch’s parties, Sauvage and Copacabana. And Bill was always out there photographing. I’d spend hours on my outfits for those parties. And sometimes Bill wouldn’t recognize your face, because he was looking at your clothes.

ARTHUR GELB

I don’t believe it when Bill says he doesn’t recognize the people he photographs. My God, he saw the elusive Garbo.

STEPHEN GAN, Founder of Visionaire and art director of Harper’s Bazaar

I was an art student at Parsons when I first met Bill, in 1986. I was 18 and walking around SoHo one day when this funny man came up to me, taking pictures. I had on some skirt-and-pants outfit, I’m embarrassed to say. Jean Paul Gaultier had just done his collection for men, showing banker-striped suits with skirts. I loved it, though I did my own cheaper version. And Bill came up to me and took some pictures. And then he said, “You look hungry, kiddo, let me buy you a cookie.”

We went into Aggie’s, a place in SoHo, and he did buy me a coffee and a cookie. I told him I was having trouble with my mom because she didn’t want me in art school. And Bill said: “Well, you go out and get yourself a job, child. Here’s a quarter. Call Annie Flanders. She’s doing this magazine called Details.”

At some point Bill said to me, “You’ve got to go to Paris. Every kid your age who wants to do something in fashion has to go to Paris.” So I went to live in Paris for nine months, and I would run into Bill at the shows. He would help me sneak into shows by giving me his invitations. Once, as I was leaving a show, I felt something in my pocket. It was a $50 bill. He had slipped it into my pocket.

Traps of the Rich

ANNIE FLANDERS

Bill always kept telling me not to fall into the traps of the rich. Between the eight years at Details and the four years at SoHo News, it was quite a lesson. I learned such standards and morals about the business from him. And I had to keep my value system up, because I didn’t want to do anything to offend Bill.

He would never take any money from us, ever. After the first issue, we gave him a check and he brought it back, ripped up. He told me he wouldn’t do it if he had to take money. All the founders worked for a percentage of the magazine. So I kept a record of every single thing he did. And every time we got a new publisher or owner, I said, “This amount will always be honored.”

When Advance bought the magazine, I explained Bill’s situation to S. I. Newhouse, how the amount had to be honored. It was quite a lot by then. And S. I. would always call me, begging me to get Bill to take the money. But every time I spoke to him, he wouldn’t. It’s still on the books as far as I know.

RONNIE COOKE NEWHOUSE, Stylist and a former editor of Details

I met him when we started Details, and I became one of the muffins. When I started going to Europe for the shows, we’d go around together. Everyone else was getting into sedans, and we were walking, in the pouring rain. Bill would say, “Oh, no, child, you can’t fall into the traps of the rich.” And I would watch my shoes dissolve into the sidewalk. Or, we’d be at a show, and I’d say, “Bill, it’s really hard to see from the last row.” He’d say, “All the people who tell the truth are in the last rows.” It was like the movie “Life Is Beautiful.” Here we were, working in these terrible conditions, and Bill would make you feel: How lucky am I!

PAUL CARANICAS

He’s been asked by many museums to have exhibitions of his work. His photo archive is priceless. It’s a real period, like a Ken Burns thing. He always says, “After I’m gone.” Or: “I don’t care. I’m not an artist. I’m a reporter.” And sometimes I get mad at him. It’s a false modesty. I say, “Bill, if you don’t take control of this, someone else will just do their view of you.”

BERNADINE MORRIS

One time he did a favor for me, and to thank him, I made a reservation for lunch at the Russian Tea Room. When we got there, he said, “You know, there’s a place I like better across the street.” It was a Chock Full o’ Nuts. However, he knew the waitress who worked there, and she wouldn’t take my money for the lunch. So, you see, he wouldn’t let me return the favor.

Many Lives

AILEEN MEHLE, Society columnist

He once did something for me I’ll never forget. Some of the ladies got together, about 15 years ago, and gave a masked ball for me at the Plaza. Bill said, “I’ll make your mask.” It was beautiful, in gold and silver, dangling with ribbons and sequins. He sent it to me: “This is my present for you.”

ANDRÉ LEON TALLEY

I was in Mike Gallagher’s magazine shop recently, and there was this extraordinary mask on the counter. Black and white, dripping with pearls. And I said, “What is this mask doing here?” Mike said: “Bill Cunningham designed it for Truman Capote’s Black and White Ball — I think for Candice Bergen.” It was the most beautiful thing.

JOHN FAIRCHILD

You know, he’s like a pixie on a bicycle. You’re at some dreary event. Suddenly, there’s a flash, a wonderful word, and he just lifts you up.

CHAPPY MORRIS

I think society people trust him because he’s such a nice guy. When he sees you, it’s always, “Hi, fella!” He’s so down to earth. It’s as if he genuinely enjoys taking the pictures, rather than participating in the event. For him, it’s not about who’s who. I think he’s one of the great guys of New York.

DAVID ROCKEFELLER

Brooke Astor wanted Bill at her 100th birthday party. When she didn’t see him on the list, she said, “I would like him included.” We didn’t invite other members of the media, but she wanted him there as a friend.

STEPHEN GAN

There’s a sense of correctness about Bill, a right and a wrong. He’s very proper, as well as sweet and loving. It’s as if he’s saying, “This is what happened in fashion, and you can’t say you did it first because you think you did it first.” When I first showed him Visionaire, it was just a loose folder with pictures, because all the first issues were portfolios. And he said, “Ah, let me pull out something for you.” And he brought out Gazette du Bon Ton, the first magazines from 1910. He said, “Look, all the first fashion magazines were done as portfolios.” He wants to show you that someone may have done something similar before.

That’s what I mean by correctness. With Bill, I think of credibility, not credits.