$TIGGER

1928. A striped figure bounces out of a storybook and immediately understands the assignment: be everywhere, explain nothing. For almost a hundred years the archives insisted he was fiction. The archives were coping.

Grainy film. Blurry party flicks. Black-and-white press photos with one impossibly fluffy shoulder in frame. Every era, every scene, every green room — same grin, same chain, same tail. Historians called it lens damage. We call it a track record.

Then the copyright ran out. The lawyers lost their grip on the tail. And a creature whose entire personality is compressing a spring and letting it rip looked at the charts and recognized his own reflection.

He didn't launch a token. He became one. Dips aren't drawdowns — they're the crouch before the bounce. That's not hopium. That's physics. That's fur-mounted, spring-loaded, century-tested physics.

The most wonderful thing about $TIGGER? You're still early. He's been early since 1928.