The Louvre was robbed and we loved it

It was on Sunday, October 19, in broad daylight, that a group of scoundrels managed to rob the world-famous Louvre. Passing through a first-floor window under heavy surveillance, they secured over £78 million worth of historic jewels in just seven minutes.

A sapphire tiara, a necklace, and a single earring from the Marie-Amélie/Hortense set; an emerald necklace and pair of earrings from the Marie-Louise set; a diamond bodice bow and a reliquary brooch from the Empress Eugénie set, everything stolen away. The collection originated from the 16th century, and a few of the items had even survived the 1789 French Revolution.

The heist certainly seems to have been October’s hot topic. For Gen Z, the surreal nature of the crime is ‘sexy’ and ‘fun’, and its subsequent influence is clear, sparking everything from ‘Heist-FOMO’ TikTok trends to celebrated Halloween costumes. Suddenly, everyone is looking for cheap tiaras and neon green sleeveless jackets.

Does it not feel at all peculiar? To be consciously encouraging and romanticizing a crime that, at its core, is very severe? The theft of jewels worth millions has compromised the integrity of one of the world’s most prestigious museums, a symbol of the French nation and world history. Moreover, it was evident that public sentiment favoured the perpetrators of the heist, as widespread disappointment followed the publication of their potential identities and the possibility of punishment.

In an age that values creativity and boldness … The reaction to the heist could be seen as a public outcry

So, what has made the Louvre Heist so popular, and what does this mean? Perhaps the heist captivates Gen Z because it embodies rebellion against the status quo, reflects social and economic dissatisfaction, or even expresses admiration for a cunning scheme in an age that values creativity and boldness. Today’s traditional structures of wealth and power distribution are often criticised, hence, the heist could be seen as a symbolic victory over an unjust system. The reaction to the heist could be seen as a public outcry.

One of the reasons the incident gained such popularity among the public is, of course, because of its striking resemblance to storylines of heist movies and action series, like La Casa de Papel and Now You See Me. In said movies, the audience roots for the criminals because of a sympathetic response developed over the course of the storyline, that justifies the criminal robbing something that either belongs to no one or an unlikable character. Often, the criminal is also an outsider to society. This explains how the heist genre plays into the average person’s desire for escape and rebellion, and that exploring plot points with meticulous planning and risky execution gets the audience’s attention locked in. Even George Clooney noted the resemblance of the Louvre heist to the Oceans 11 trope, unconsciously strengthening the view that the execution of the Louvre robbers is as fascinating as an actual cinematic plot.

Similarly, in the Louvre case, stealing the royal jewels has little impact on the everyday person, adding to the brazenness and intrigue. The lack of an obvious large-scale impact, however, does not automatically render the crime morally sound, exemplified by the director of the Louvre admitting to a “terrible failure” and submitting her resignation.

The theft of the Mona Lisa earned it global recognition … yet what follows the theft of the jewels is a celebration

When comparing the theft of the Mona Lisa back in 1911 to this one, differences in public response become apparent. The theft of the Mona Lisa earned it global recognition and the status of a masterpiece. It also represented deep shame for the French nation and sparked political controversies, with some civilians blaming the Kaiser. Yet what follows the theft of the jewels is a celebration.

Could these differences be attributed to what the jewels really represent: a system that upholds obscene wealth and privilege? Indeed, it has been exhilarating to watch people challenge the fabric of the law by compromising a prime symbol of the rich and famous, similar to the revolutionaries who overthrew French royalty for their exploitative habits and ruthless reign. Watching a seemingly ordinary person breach the physical protection of the artifacts, a barrier that enhances their value and reinforces their status as symbols of greatness, adds an interesting layer to the narrative. I am not suggesting that we should dismantle every part of history that denotes something unpleasant, rather, I am highlighting what this lack of interest in the state of the jewels post-heist could signify. The public’s indifference towards the jewels after the heist may reflect a broader societal discontent. This apparent lack of concern suggests a deeper, perhaps subconscious, disillusionment with the wealth and power they symbolise. None of the public seemed to care what became of them.

If we still hold the spirit of the French Revolution today, who do we resent?

Then, if we still hold the spirit of the French Revolution today, who do we resent? Who, today, holds royal status? We all seem so fascinated by celebrity culture, the Hollywood circle, the remaining monarchs, the billionaires and trillionaires of today’s world. The people who get to wear the couture, the jewelry, who get to live in luxury, or simply rent out half of Venice to host a wedding. Is it them that we secretly resent?

Taking this perspective is especially perplexing because celebrity culture is one of the most established topics amongst Gen Z. We idolize them, we obsessively talk and debate over their lives, relationships, public appearances, and rush to defend them online when they are involved in any sort of online ‘beef’ or mere fanbase controversy. Do we fan after them and still resent what they represent, extreme wealth? Or is Gen Z simply that unhinged?

Well, if the latter is the case, museums around the world had better step up their game, because Gen Z might soon come after some more historic artifacts. After all, when Perugia stole the Mona Lisa, he was sentenced to just 8 months in prison. But of course, that’s when the First World War broke out, and no one was all that concerned with an art heist anymore.