When I started covering the fashions of the Oscar red carpet in 1992 for Women’s Wear Daily, it was all predictable ballgowns or beaded sheaths. I didn’t realize then that I was witnessing the dawn of the golden Hollywood age of Giorgio Armani.

I’d been watching the Oscar fashion since my teens: evening wear hadn’t really changed much since the ‘60s. It had some boho hippie infiltration, which didn’t last long. Young Jodie Foster won her first Oscar in 1989 (for The Accused) wearing a strange, prom-gown-pale-blue strapless mini with a big, ruffled train — looking uncomfortable — even awkward. It was so obviously not her. But this was before red carpets were taken over by stylists and luxury brands. Foster later explained she’d been rushing around in New York with nothing to wear for the Oscars — she ran in somewhere, bought it off the rack.

Two years later, in 1992, Foster took home her second Oscar, for Silence of the Lambs — this time in a stunning, sleekly cut white tuxedo jacket and sparkly pants by one Giorgio Armani, still known better in Europe than the U.S. Because WWD’s editor, John Fairchild, had exposed Armani to the U.S. market, I knew his name, associated with drapey suits on Hollywood agents, male, and female, a trend that took off with American Gigolo (1980). For Foster’s second win, she was remade as a bona fide A-lister: a sleek Hollywood sophisticate with nothing to prove. It was the talk of the fashion business: the moment another star was born.

Before Armani, you rarely heard a European designer’s name on the red carpet. Kim Basinger once designed her own gown (a bad idea even in 1990); Demi Moore donned bike shorts in 1989. After 1992, shoddy looks and bad taste at the Oscars were (almost) a thing of the past. Where Women’s Wear was once the rare publication that touched on Oscar fashion, now everyone from tabloids to influencers to the paper of record does. Making best dressed — or worst dressed lists — is something both actresses and stylists can translate into cash. That’s how actresses secure fashion and makeup campaigns — sometimes more lucrative than movie roles. Just ask Sydney Sweeney.

From that point, it was red carpet game on. The biggest stars of the ’90s: Annette Bening, Michelle Pfeiffer and Julia Roberts wore Armani’s beautifully cut but understated designs, always in solids, never prints; always drapey and soft, with no shoulder padding, no stiff linings, even for men. Women who’d worn men’s style suits for so-called 80s “power dressing” quickly adopted his almost unisex looks, which moved with the body — from the boardroom to cocktails and even to black tie, even without requisite diamonds.

One of Armani’s earliest smart moves — and there were many, as testified by his personal net worth of over $12 billion — was hiring an L.A. writer named Wanda McDaniel to represent him in his Hollywood endeavors. She was supremely well connected, married to Godfather producer Albert Ruddy, comfortable at power tables at the Grill on the Alley. Wanda knew how to entice power gents from Barry Diller to creatives like Martin Scorsese and Leo DiCaprio, with perfectly cut Armani suits always at their behest. Wanda went on to broker fashion deals for stars like Cate Blanchett, Renee Zellwegger, Sharon Stone, Gwyneth Paltrow, Juliette Binoche and Angelina Jolie, to slide down red carpets in couture-built fitted dresses they wore, rather than the gowns wearing them.

Not long after 1992, names like Versace, Valentino, Dior and Chanel turned up on red carpets on a regular basis — a true big-money brand competition that Armani opened the door to. Now red-carpet marketing for luxury brands gets them far more notice than ad campaigns or runway shows.

Call it the American Gigolo effect: Somehow, Armani understood that conquering Hollywood would lead him to eventually conquer fashion.

A major Armani retrospective at the Guggenheim in 2000 was as packed with Armani-clad stars (including Richard Gere) as an Oscar red carpet. Editors and stylists from every major magazine were all donned in subtle, stone-colored, well-constructed looks. It would be my first of major several American soirées hosted by the designer, who notably, and charmingly, spoke very little English, letting his wry smile, twinkly eyes and relaxed demeanor endear him to guests. He shook hands with almost everyone at these fêtes, with shy reserve and propriety. Another famed Armani trait: integrity. He approved every single design with his name on it, imbued pieces with the best fabrics, all with the sharp business acumen of what he became: a billionaire titan of the industry.

Even as he docked at the Hotel du Cap during Cannes and entered a star-studded Vanity Fair party after an equally star-studded dinner he’d hosted, Armani slipped well under the radar, hiding from the spotlight. Everyone knew he was there — everyone but the photographers he wanted to avoid.

I remember another major Armani show, held in L.A. in the early 2000s the weekend of the Oscars. No designer, European or American, ever did a formal fashion show on Oscar weekend. In the front row sat George Clooney, Gore Vidal — Gore Vidal?? — Jennifer Lopez and far more I can’t recall, in quiet clothes so fine you couldn’t recognize the stars. As always, Armani’s runway bow — he never missed one till this past spring — was done in a tight-fitting black t-shirt and black pants.

None of this empire building was an accident. Nor was it the inevitable result of sheer talent. No designer has ever had a more disciplined work — or workout — ethic. He rose at 7 a.m. every day, whether in Milan, New York or Paris, telling CNN: “I exercise for 90 minutes with a personal trainer — 45 minutes of aerobics, 45 of weights. It’s become a daily ritual and there’s no doubt it helps my mind as well as my body.” He walked to work every day, no matter the weather.

The Armani Hotel in Milan, which I was lucky enough to stay in 10 years ago, was an extension of his world: no prints, no loud colors — no color at all, really. No guest or diner would dare destroy its perfect calm; even the waiters spoke in “sotto voce.” It was a fabric-draped sea of tranquility.

One of the wealthiest designers who ever lived, the master created many spin-off brands: Emporio Armani (high quality, slightly lower prices), Armani Exchange (normal daywear), Armani furniture, home wear stores, bars, clubs, restaurants, a basketball team and the cosmetics line Armani Beaute, introduced in 2000 — one of the first lines of cosmetics created by a luxury fashion brand, after Chanel and Dior. Still wildly successful, it’s now considered a classic. Armani foundation, meanwhile, is still used by makeup artists all over the world. And by this reporter.

All the while, Giorgio Armani never sought a luxury brand partner. He was the sole owner of Giorgio Armani till the end. There aren’t that many billionaire designers: Ralph Lauren, Michael Kors, Miuccia Prada, Tory Burch, Dolce & Gabbana — now Rihanna, Kanye West and Kim Kardashian.

Who could possibly succeed such a fashion giant, forgoing flash in favor of tailoring, subtlety, quality? Years ago, the rumor was Tom Ford — one of the rare designers with Armani-style warmth, intelligence, vision and charisma. More recently, staff members of Celine have whispered that their outgoing designer, the enigmatic Hedi Slimane (who’s also had stints at Dior Homme and YSL) — will be the man. Have succession plans been made? Knowing Armani, the man who planned every career move with precision for 50 years, it’s hard to believe otherwise.