Tina Barney was born into privilege and into fashion: a Lehman on her father’s side, she caught her first Paris couture show at 16 because her mother, the former model Lillian Fox, apparently deemed it time. She found her calling with large-format, hyper-saturated color photographs of tradition—and its tensions—in the kind of rarefied settings where she’d come of age. Yet style, worn lightly but to great effect, was always present. In the exhibition “Tina Barney: Fashion” and in the Aperture book that goes with it, editorial assignments and ad campaigns are largely indistinguishable from captures of family and friends, blurring the difference between pictures styled to sell clothing and images of lives well-lived. The intimate memories they hand us, like 1999’s “Quintana, Joan and John,” don’t hold back—here Joan Didion with the daughter and husband she would lose too soon. —Celia McGee