Vinson Cunningham is a Staff Writer at The New Yorker. He focuses on themes related to arts and entertainment, particularly theatre, while also covering sports, including major league and team sports. Vinson's work has been featured in The New Yorker, The New York Times, Realclearpolitics, LLC, NewsBreak, and Magzter.
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New York, United States (Local)
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Vinson Cunningham’s coverage suggests he responds well to timely, high-stakes sports pitches, especially those tied to major games, team storylines, and aftermath analysis. He also writes with a cultural and interpretive angle, so outreach that connects a sporting moment to broader city identity, fan reaction, or significance beyond the box score may stand out.
He may be especially receptive to strong post-game commentary, smart takes on turning points, or interviews that illuminate what a big team victory means in the wider moment. Pitching around New York will likely be most effective.
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By: Louisa Thomas, David Remnick, Vinson Cunningham
A recording from David Remnick's live video
By: David Remnick, Louisa Thomas, Vinson Cunningham
On the Spurs suddenly going cold in the second half, the Knicks erasing a twenty-nine-point deficit, and the miracle of OG Anunoby.
A joyous parade up the Canyon of Heroes proved a fitting celebration.
The director Christopher Nolan has been accused of “woke-ifying” Homer’s epic. But finding new resonance in ancient texts is part of the art of translation itself.
A new game show features celebrities competing for the title of “Nation’s Dumbest.” How did stupidity become a badge of honor?
By: Naomi Fry, Vinson Cunningham, Alexandra Schwartz
The 1997 album marked a crossroads for hip-hop, as the genre was being torn between elaborate mythmaking and a kind of true crime.
With his new album “Iceman,” the master of the summer banger is not done airing his grievances.
With “It Ends,” Alex Ullom takes his place in a cohort of young horror directors who are translating the anxieties of their generation to the big screen—and upending the film landscape while they’re at it.
The New Yorker's critics take stock of the star's life and legacy.
Check out a dance floor the next time you get a chance. Take note at the point in a song when the real dancers stop messing around. (“That was my
