I loved this book, not just for Cunningham’s eye for detail and his ability to recreate the fashion world of the 1950s and 1960s, but also for his indomitable spirit; when called up for the Korean War-era draft, Cunningham was thrilled at the possibility he might be sent to Europe and, sure enough, he was. Taking time away from his barely launched millinery career, the designer ended up stationed in Paris, his real introduction to a fashion world still reeling from the Second World War. He astutely identifies this period as the time of the passing of “the Old Guard,” when fashion was solely the field for wealthy women (whom he calls “fashion climbers,” those who use clothing solely as markers of status, rather than sources of personal pleasure). Although he laments the disappearance of hats for women and the rise of ready-to-wear, he’s also describing the democratization of fashion. He observes the designers’ struggles to be creative *and* competitive, their battles with “the press,” and his own attempts to be a part of a passing world. His reminiscences of Paris fashion shows—Dior, Balenciaga, Givenchy—and the upstart Americans challenging them were fascinating. Finally, his passion for the art of clothing was moving: after years of looking for an audience for his own unique vision, he writes after seeing a pivotal Balenciaga show in 1958, “no one will ever again be able to influence my fashion thinking, for I have seen the proof of creative design, and it’s worth every drop of hardship to climb to the top” (220).