If I hadn’t hesitated at a crucial moment, this column might be illustrated, today, by a photograph of me with the Fearless Girl statue.
Quite by accident, I found myself in the company of the statue for about thirty seconds last week. Someone suggested I might like to have my photograph taken with her. “Why?” I asked, playing for time. Because I was a fearless woman, came the flattering answer. And for the symbolism, came the enigmatic postscript. “Nah,” I said. “Thanks, but no thanks. You’re grand.” Not only am I not fearless, I am fearful most of the time.
So Fearless Girl will move on — she seems to be on a world photo-op tour — and I missed my chance to clutch her around the waist and beam at the camera. In a symbolic way, you understand. I would have had to get down on my knees to do it, because she’s surprisingly short. If you haven’t encountered Fearless Girl yet, here’s her history.
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