One morning, he flagged me down, leaned in, and said, "They just don't get it yet, but they will. You're part of a huge moment." He knew the name change (Yves Saint Laurent to Saint Laurent) was an homage to the original ready-to-wear. He was aware that Hedi had been the protege to Yves himself — he pointed all of these facts out to me. He giggled, smiled, and added a supportive, "Hang in there. I can't wait to see more."

He wasn't wrong. Much of the media who initially chronicled their distaste ultimately turned into hardcore Saint Laurent fans, many even documenting their favorite pieces with selfies on Instagram. No judgment — newness can be tricky to digest.

But that little chat meant more to me than most I've had in my professional life. I'm sure he didn't know that it would be a seminal lesson in my career. Unlike many other nice conversations I’d had with industry people at the time, Bill wasn't trying to get a seat at the show (though he did get one in the front row). The man was professional, and his heart was pure. I'll never know why he decided to go out of his way to speak with me that day, but I really appreciate him doing so.

A few years ago, I moved to Los Angeles and changed careers. Now, I write about fashion and work as a digital strategist. My wardrobe has certainly evolved to match the climate — not so much head-to-toe black, and the opportunities to see myself in print are a lot fewer. I’ve thought of Bill a lot over the past two days, and each time it makes me smile. His anthropological interest in what we all wore at the very least made getting ready for work more enjoyable. But much more importantly, Bill helped me find myself with the clothes I wore. I'm not sure I intentionally dressed for Bill, but I certainly felt more brave about pieces that felt out of step with my coworkers or peers because Bill liked them. His presence created a space for me where I felt I could be creative and authentic. In the stories that have come out since his death, it's become obvious that he was fashion's biggest cheerleader. He and his lens were equal opportunists when it came to personal style, and I'll be forever grateful that my style and I — during my lowest days and also my highest — had a place in his pages.