Welcome to modern-day trophy hunting with young visitors at the Louvre Museum

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At the Louvre Museum in Paris, I handed my cellphone to my 10-year-old nephew, told him to excuse himself as he wiggled through the crowd and stood back to wait. About five minutes later, he re-emerged triumphant: He had got several clear shots of the Mona Lisa.

It was the only artwork he knew and the main reason he wanted to accompany me to the world’s largest and busiest museum. I had suggested there were already good photos available online and we could always buy a nice postcard in the gift shop. No – he wanted his own picture – plus the requisite selfie. A few hundred other people in the room that day were on an identical mission.

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My nephew was happy to look at more art, especially if it was a recognized work with a crowd gathered around it. We stopped in front of the Venus de Milo. I explained she was a particularly well-preserved example of ancient Greek statuary and a wonderfully naturalistic portrait of female beauty. In the next room, my nephew asked the question of the hour. Pointing to an equally well-preserved statue of another woman, he asked: “Why is that one famous, and not this one?”

I tried to think of an answer. I observed that fame often comes by chance, and notoriety can help. The Mona Lisa’s extreme fame, for example, can be traced back to the theft of the painting in 1911: On its return, everyone wanted to see it.

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Before last October’s brazen theft, who knew the Louvre collection included the jewels of Empress Eugénie, wife of Napoleon III? If and when the museum gets them back, visitors will surely queue to see the treasures; for now, the gallery targeted by the thieves is closed to visitors.

In truth, the real explanation for the fame of the Venus de Milo or the Mona Lisa begs the question: They are famous because they are the works everyone has heard of and wants to see. The circularity of celebrity – famous for being famous – represents a vicious cycle for the Louvre, an institution caught in a crisis of overcrowding and physical deterioration.

First, there was the jewel theft. Then came rotating strikes, by overworked employees who are among the many critics of a billion-dollar renovation plan that includes a new entrance, and a separate gallery for the Mona Lisa. Finally, there was yet another burst pipe and the exposure of a decade-long ticket fraud that is estimated to have cost the museum €10-million ($15.7-million).

Laurence des Cars, the director who had convinced French President Emmanuel Macron that the renovation would be his legacy, had held on through the first two crises but finally resigned in February, replaced by Versailles Palace director Christophe Leribault.

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In the 1980s, president François Mitterrand’s Grand Projet was the renovation by U.S. architect I.M. Pei that built a big underground lobby for the crowded museum and illuminated it by means of a glass pyramid in the courtyard above. It was controversial in its day – a modern addition to a historic building – but soon proved both functional and iconic, yet another reason to visit the Louvre.

That Louvre was designed to accommodate between four and five million annual visitors. Forty years later, the Louvre will soon re-establish its pre-COVID figure of 10 million; it welcomed nine million in 2025.

In tourist season, the wait to get through security checks and enter the museum on a timed ticket can take more than 30 minutes, while those who haven’t booked in advance may wait more than an hour. Inside, washrooms and cafés are overburdened. On a day in early March, the entrance lineups were all reasonable, yet there was not a single room that wasn’t full of people, and it was impossible to get a clear view of the best-known works.

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Watching my nephew and the many young visitors snapping selfies, I realized this wasn’t really about art appreciation. It was a form of trophy hunting (or social-media content hunting), making contact with the aura associated with famed art.

So, attempts to spread visitors more evenly through a collection that ranges from ancient stele to monumental Napoleonic paintings – encouraging them to spend more time on a cuneiform tablet and less on the Mona Lisa – is unlikely to succeed.

Just across the Seine, the example of the Musée d’Orsay, is instructive. Its main floor features a large array of 19th-century French academic art, Art Nouveau furniture and Romantic sculpture. There are quiet corners: I recently found myself alone with James McNeill Whistler’s Arrangement in Grey and Black No. 1, better known as Whistler’s Mother. Up on the fifth floor, however, you shuffle through crowds to see Édouard Manet’s Luncheon on the Grass, Claude Monet’s Blue Water Lilies and a room full of works by Vincent Van Gogh.

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There is a certain irony to this. When it opened in 1986, the Musée d’Orsay was hugely influential because it didn’t banish unfashionable academic paintings to storage but offered a full picture of the art that preceded Impressionism and Post-Impressionism. Today, it’s clear the social-media generation isn’t buying it: They want those Van Goghs on level 5, and the d’Orsay obliges with huge signs and direct escalators.

The visitors to these museums are young. The embattled Louvre just hiked its adult ticket price to €32 for non-Europeans, but visitors aged 18 and under are free, as are Europeans from 18 to 25. In 2025, 30 per cent of visitors didn’t pay admission and 44 per cent were under age 26.

As the Louvre struggles to accommodate visitors, it is perhaps encouraging to see young people so interested in historic art. Yet the crowds surrounding the best-known works suggest the deeper fascination is with fame.