Thank you, Chloe Kelly. This is what change looks like.

This Halloween my daughter, passionate about football, went out for Halloween dressed as the English footballer Chloe Kelly. England shirt, ponytail, headband, the works. The choice was entirely hers. Not Elsa, not a witch, but Chloe Kelly.

Halloween isn’t exactly big in Basel yet, though it’s growing. The streets were buzzing with small groups of kids (many of whom were Swiss), ghosts and vampires clutching torches and paper bags, but only one England forward in sight, proudly walking the same streets where, just a few months earlier, her hero had made history.

She had followed the Women’s Euros this summer like it was a personal mission. We were at St. Jakob-Park for the final, when England beat Spain to win the title. The noise when Chloe Kelly scored the winner was extraordinary with flags flying, people crying, that collective surge you only get when something bigger than sport happens.

To her, Chloe Kelly isn’t just a footballer. She’s the player who brought it home on Swiss soil, right here in Basel. That’s what makes it feel so real. This isn’t a story from somewhere else. It happened a few tram stops away.

What struck me was how normal it all seemed to her. She didn’t think twice about dressing as a footballer or a female footballer. For her, it’s obvious that girls play and women win. Medals are for whoever earns them. That’s how you know change has truly taken hold, when it doesn’t need to be called progress anymore.

When I was her age, we didn’t have women’s matches on television. There were no female players on posters, no sense that sport could belong to everyone. We had to imagine ourselves into those spaces. She doesn’t. She’s already in them.

And it isn’t just Chloe. Somewhere along the way, Leah Williamson has become part of the story too. Captain, centre-back, quietly formidable. The kind of player who makes leadership look calm rather than loud. My daughter now talks about Arsenal, my team, in the same breath as England, as if one naturally leads to the other. It’s how football allegiances begin, not with a spreadsheet of honours but with people you admire and want to be like.

So yes, she was probably the only Chloe Kelly in Basel last night, surrounded by ghouls and skeletons. But she didn’t care. She wanted to be someone who made her feel proud. And that, I think, is the power of role models. They don’t tell people what to dream. They simply make it seem possible.