For me, growing up in Europe, she was always a beautiful postcard. But my relationship with her changed drastically when I joined the board of the Statue of Liberty-Ellis Island Foundation. I was initially very reluctant to join, but President Stephen Briganti seduced me to change my mind by highlighting a very personal passage from my memoir, “The Woman I Wanted to Be.”
My mother Lily had survived a war concentration camp, and I was born 18 months after she came home. In my book, I wrote about how she used to say, “God saved me so I can give you life. By giving you life, you gave me mine back. You are my torch of freedom.”
Steve reminded me of those poignant words from my mother — and made it seem like destiny. I had to accept. Saying yes meant that I would have to help raise $100 million for the island’s new 26,000-square-foot museum, a showcase for the original torch.
We actually accomplished that goal and the museum opened in 2019. In getting there, I embarked on a meaningful journey and learned the fascinating history behind America’s great symbol of freedom.
I went France to meet the family of Gustave Eiffel, who built the skeletal framework inside the iconic statue. I also visited sculptor Frédéric Auguste Bartholdi’s museum in Colmar to understand more about how Lady Liberty arrived into this world.
While the statue has evolved into an international welcome mat for immigrants, she was originally conceived by French historian Édouard Laboulaye to commemorate our nation’s centennial and abolition of slavery. He wanted to give the United States a gift from France, as a symbol of the countries’ long-standing friendship.
Laboulaye tapped Bartholdi both for his talents and their shared belief in Enlightenment values.
Interestingly enough, Bartholdi first imagined her as an Arabic woman holding a lighthouse to watch over the Suez Canal, but his proposal was rejected. However, his original design was not wasted. He adapted her into what we now know as the Statue of Liberty.
In preparation for creating her, Bartholdi arrived in New York City on June 21, 1871, and laid eyes on her future home: Bedloe Island.
“This small island appears to be the ideal spot,” he wrote in his diary of Bedloe, which was being used by the military. On that trip, Bartholdi traveled across the Northeast meeting luminaries to gather support. He also went across the American heartland all the way to California before returning to New York and reaffirming his belief that the tiny piece of land was the right one.
His instincts were impeccable. In February of 1877, Congress finally approved the use of the island.
Its location was so perfect, that at the 1886 dedication, a member of the French delegation remarked, “The island was created for Bartholdi’s statue rather than the statue for the island.”
But before the Statue of Liberty was erected, there was the wrinkle of paying for this beautiful gift.
In 1875, Laboulaye formed the Franco-American Union to promote and fund this enormous effort. Both sides, in the spirit of cooperation and friendship, agreed that France would pay for the copper statue’s construction and transportation to America by selling subscriptions. The United States would foot the bill for the pedestal from which Lady Liberty would look out over New York Harbor.
As it took form, pieces of the statue toured the world to raise excitement — and money. Her head was shown at the 1878 World’s Fair in Paris, while her arm holding the torch stood alone in Manhattan’s Madison Square Park from 1876 to 1882.
Publisher Joseph Pulitzer enlisted the help of the public, promising that all donors, large and small, would have their names printed in his paper, the New York World.
It was a spectacular crowdfunding endeavor from both the French and the Americans. The statue is from the people. And I truly love that about her. The effort to create her came from the heart, and it got the public involved.
Once Bartholdi was finished, Lady Liberty was broken down into 200 pieces, shipped across the ocean and assembled on Bedloe Island, which would become Liberty Island. As Bartholdi wished, she was ready to “light up the world.”
In 1903, Emma Lazarus’ poem “The New Colossus” — with its now-famous line “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free — was added to a bronze plate inside the base.
A century and a half on, she continues to transcend today.
The statue’s likeness is ubiquitous across pop culture and advertising. In one Levi’s ad, she’s wearing red, white and blue jeans. In a New York Cares PSA from the late ’90s, she’s depicted shivering to encourage the public to donate coats for the needy.
She’s graced postage stamps, comic books and children’s book covers like “Babar Comes to America.” In Hollywood, she is used frequently on movie posters — for dystopian films like ‘Planet of the Apes” and in hopeful ones like the animated “An American Tail.”
In other words, Lady Liberty is visual shorthand for our dynamic country and its promise of freedom. She isn’t merely a stodgy statue mired in another era. She is timeless. And yes, also chic enough for fashion’s biggest night. Two days before we opened the museum, I attended the Met Gala dressed as her — wearing a crown and a draped gown and holding a torch.
In 1969 before I introduced the DVF wrap dress, I had sailed to this country by boat so that I could have time to truly think about my future and strategize my business. I remember first setting eyes on the Statue of Liberty: I had arrived.
In the years since, I have lived my American dream. I’m happy that I have been able to get to truly know Lady Liberty, inside and out. If you made a visual recollection of my life, she would certainly be in it. I imagine countless others share this sentiment.
She’s more than an image on a postcard to me now. I consider Lady Liberty a friend. See photos here.
What do you think?