I think every year Halloween transforms the streets into a stage for cultural commentary. Costumes are more than just dress-up — they act as mirrors that reflect what society values, fears and mocks.

This year, the Louvre robber costume has taken centre stage, and #Louvre and #heist are all over my social media pages. People are dressing up in ski masks and reflector jackets with fake diamonds, seemingly mocking this “victimless crime.” While on the surface this seems like nothing, I believe it reveals a deeper shift in societal attitudes toward wealth, justice and cultural ownership. 

The robber costumes being so popular captures the idea that the robbery is not being interpreted as a “real” robbery. Instead, it has been sensationalized by the media and portrayed as an act of defiance by the underdog. Or even, a daring move that some might consider to be poetic justice.

People are not seeing these robbers as greedy or evil, and I think that’s why the costume is so popular. Not only is the robbery forgivable in the eyes of the general public, it’s being seen as admirable. 

At the risk of sounding insensitive, I think the “victimless” nature of this crime makes it kind of camp. Don’t get me wrong, I know someone is affected by the missing jewelry, but in today’s social climate, there are far more consequential crimes. No one was killed or even harmed during this robbery, and it took a total of seven minutes to complete in broad daylight. I would be lying if I did not admit the audacity of the crime and its somewhat harmless nature make it cool. 

Our fascination with heists is not new. It is the same impulse that makes the several Ocean’s movies, Lupin and even Carmen Sandiego so captivating. I think that as a society, we want to see the underdog win. We admire the creativity, wit and guts it takes to pull off something so risky, and dressing as those robbers taps into that. 

I think this Louvre case is especially interesting because it carries behind it more than one layer of ambiguity. In addition to the success of the underdog, there is also the colonial shadow that haunts many European museums. Some were built through a history of acquisition from colonized regions, and it is a long-standing debate if these items will ever be returned to the regions they were taken from — including countries in Africa, the Middle East and Asia. This context makes it even harder to empathize with the museum in the wake of the robbery. 

It feels less like a crime and more like an act of justice — like these robbers were just stealing from the original thieves. And so, when people shrug off this robbery as “victimless,” I think they could also be highlighting the fact that the Louvre itself is not an innocent institution. The theft was a poetic reversal. Obviously, this does not justify the crime, but it certainly explains why it resonates with so many. 

This is where the Halloween cultural mirror becomes clear. I think the popularity of the robber costume shows how much we identify with rebellion. We admire the embodiment of a form of justice that the legal system rarely delivers. And when it comes in the form of a sensational, clever and historical robbery, we feel compelled to celebrate it. 

So, when I see Dollarama diamonds and ski masks on my social media pages, I am reminded that as much as these costumes highlight the thrill of a heist, they also reflect how we interpret fairness and ownership.