How is it that 88 million euros were stolen in a matter of seven minutes, irreplaceable artefacts
taken, perhaps never to be seen again, and one of the most famous museums in the world be
compromised and the worldâs response is that of âpretty coolâ. The Louvre has withstood wars,
survived revolutions, been a home to royalty and yet its downfall looks to be that of the power of
social media; where a sophisticated Parisian edifice becomes the laughing stock of popular
culture.
Four thieves entering Musée de Lourve via a ladder truck, using angle grinders to cut through a
window to enter the second-floor Apollo Gallery, dressed as construction workers whilst in the
height of modern surveillance is, in theory, a flawless, daring design. In practicality, it wasnât as
spectacular as it first appeared to be considering the crown they dropped on escape and the
fact that four suspects are now in custody.
But why, I wonder, is it that this crime has been given such a sensationalised edge? True crime
has always been of public interest, whether that was going to watch a public execution
hundreds of years ago or tuning in to your true crime podcast; crime has always fascinated the
masses. But has it always been romanticised, sensationalised and viewed admirably so widely?
Or is this just the growth of social mediaâs way of keeping you in the loop of everyoneâs thoughts
ever whatever they may be, aestheticised or not?
I think its safe to say that the immediate response to the Lourve hiest become nothing short of a
cultural phenomenon, where social media showcased not only the most unserious response to
organised crime Iâve seen, but that of envy, jealousy and the highly regarded âfomoâ. Art and
crime historian Laura Evans called this robbery that of âcultural terrorisismâ and yet those on
social media stated that the heist gave them âhopeâ, another stating âthere is still whimsy in the
worldâ adding, âthat is so cuteâ. The dialogue here so obsqurely lighthearted with an informality
so incredibly unlike the conventional descriptions of crime we are used to.
This is only amplified in retrospect, when the Mona Lisa was stolen from the Louvre in 1911 the
public received this offence with grief and anger. Over six-thousand photographs of this famous
lady were distributed around the streets of Paris in case anyone managed to come across the
stolen original. And so with a country distraught and a mission to find the thief, this reception
seems incredibly justifiable for one of the most famous pieces of art, even then. So why is it that this heist is being viewed with admiration and giddiness instead of the same horror it is rightfully
due?
No, instead all I saw were people dressing up as the robbers for Halloween (both on TikTok and
in the streets of Nottingham), people posting photoshopped pictures of the stolen items on
Vinted, or embarrassing photos of their friends given there is now space in the Lourve. Iâve seen
videos presenting âoutfits Iâd wear to rob the Lourveâ and, of course, the very popular three-song
playlist consisting of Lordeâs âThe Lourveâ, The 1975âs âRobbersâ, and Taylor Swiftâs âGetaway
Carâ.
And whilst I wonât deny my first thought when I saw the news of the scandal was how much I
need to re-read Donna Tarttâs The Goldfinch, and I wonât claim that some of these were not
comical, but does it not answer to something larger? Do these examples present something
more about how we view crime than the crime itself? Now Iâm not one to deny someone of their
fashion ideas when inspiration strikes, but does this not adhere to the desensitation and need
for aestheticism of crime rather than perceiving it as the offence it is?
I hate to break it to someoneâs bubble, but the museum probably wasnât blasting The 1975 as
they roamed the galleries and they most likely didnât sync Taylor Swiftâs âGetaway Carâ as they
scootered off into an Ocean Eleven sunset.
So why do we make these scapegoats, why do we congratulate the thieves and commence
over their crime rather than address the cultural loss to France now these treasured artifacts are
missing, perhaps melted or destroyed given how easily identifiable they are. the Lourve has
almost 9 million visitors per year, these artefacts were a portal to French history and culture, and
this crime will inevitably change its reputation indelibly.
But perhaps it was never unserious? Perhaps these flippant and insouciant remarks do answer
to a critical standpoint? Many are seeing this heist as a rebel against the elite, those that owned
these jewels in the first place and who relished in riches whilst ignoring those in poverty. Some
see it as a rejection of hierarchy and capitalism, and a way to disconnect from these aristocratic
institutions. But it isnât conformed this was actually a crime against the bourgeoise class, it
equally may have just been a crime coming from a place of greed.
Others have been equally persuaded given the organised crime was non-violent. However
miraculous it is no one was harmed in this act, we cannot exactly claim the robbers did in fact
have anti-violent morals like some on social media try to claim. What is to say that if someone
had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, violence would have been resorted to. We
cannot glamourise criminals for what didnât occur, when it could have been equally as plausible.
In the end, the Louvre heist is a less a story about stolen jewels and more a reflection of the
culture that received it. Somewhere along the line, the theft of art became itself an art form. And
the act itself overshadowed by the global response it provoked: of fascination, irony and
aestheticisation. What was once considered an affront to art, history and national pride has now become superficial entertainment for the next trend in popular culture, where reposts and
playlists consume us instead of reflection and outrage.
This hiest and its response has revealed how social media single-handedly transforms crime
into spectacle, eroding the boundary between admiration and accountability. Whether you see it
as rebellion, greed, fantasy or a felon, the real loss is not only the priceless jewels, but our
capacity to differentiate tragedy from trend.