On March 18, 1990, 13 works of art were stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. The case is unsolved; no arrests have been made, and no works have been recovered. The museum still offers $10 million for information leading to the art’s recovery, the largest bounty ever offered by a private institution.
On Oct. 19, 2025, thieves disguised as construction workers stole eight pieces of the French Crown Jewels from the Louvre in Paris, France. Charges have been filed against five suspects; however, the location of the jewels remains unknown. The theft and subsequent investigation became an overnight sensation, with people dressing up for Halloween in costumes inspired by the construction-worker disguises that the thieves wore.
Then, on March 30 of this year, Cézanne, Matisse and Renoir paintings were stolen in a three-minute heist from the Magnani- Rocca Foundation outside Parma, Italy.
I learned about this heist when my dad sent, along with the New York Times article above, the following text: “I really should look into this art heist business. This seems like a great career.”
All of these art heists are bizarrely famous. From online viral videos to Netflix documentaries, there is a clear obsession in our society with stealing paintings, sculptures and artifacts from prestigious museums. People (like my father) often joke about participating in this dangerous but incredibly lucrative form of theft.
No other type of crime is this widely obsessed over in such a positive light. Hundreds of podcasts recount true crime stories: murder, assaults and bank robberies. Yet art heists get a different type of publicity, one that consistently sides with the perpetrators, cheering on their thievery.
Maybe this obsession stems from the grandeur of art theft. It seems to be such an impossible act to succeed at, and can result in unimaginable wealth with no casualties. It makes sense why this would fascinate the masses.
I believe, though, that it is actually because of the role art has in our society, and the value placed on it under capitalism.
The concept of owning the kind of art displayed in museums and galleries has become a showcase of immense wealth and status. Televised bidding wars for these works of art easily go into the millions of dollars, drawing a thick line between those who do and don’t have the wealth to be a part of this world of expensive taste. Even visiting museums has become something reserved for those with money to spare, with ticket prices ranging from $20-$40 per person. Museum art has become for the rich, and so people who are able to steal it from the pretentious museum walls have come to be portrayed as a Robin Hood figure.
In reality, stolen paintings are often resold to unbelievably wealthy individuals who keep these stolen works of art in closed-off houses, where few eyes have access. Art museums, and the access they provide to the public, are a way to keep art alive and talked about. I believe that they are important and tell and preserve stories of our history.
Yet, I also believe that art museums have a history of preventing certain voices (people of color, women, queer people) from speaking through their art. NBC News reports that under the Trump presidency, curators have reported exhibitions with LGBTQ art and themes being altered, postponed or outright canceled.
Many museums have started to acknowledge this, such as the Portland Art Museum which released a statement addressing their role in this oppression, citing “a lack of diversity in large sections of the permanent collection; a majority white staff, board, and volunteers; an overall lack of representation; and a history of inaccessibility.”
There are still massive amounts of stolen art out there, taken from indigenous people, colonized land and oppressed communities, and museums are making money off of the possession of these artifacts without giving any back to those to whom the art truly belongs.
Stealing from these art museums is less about “stealing from the rich and giving to the poor” — instead, it’s almost a form of taking back control. Taking back control from the wealthy and the powerful, the people who buy and sell paintings to and from museums like trading cards.
That’s why I understand the fascination with art heists and the inclination to root for the “bad guys.” I will almost always find myself cheering them on in films, documentaries and news stories. We all need a Robin Hood to root for right now.
