“It’s the Mona Lisa moan out here,” said Kevin Ward, 62, from Milwaukee. “Thousands of people waiting, no communication, no explanation. I guess even she needs a day off.”
The Louvre has become a symbol of tourism pushed to its limits. As hotspots from Venice to the Acropolis race to curb crowds, the world’s most iconic museum, visited by millions, is hitting a breaking point of its own.
Just a day earlier, coordinated anti-tourism protests swept across southern Europe. Thousands rallied in Mallorca, Venice, Lisbon and beyond, denouncing an economic model they say displaces locals and erodes city life. In Barcelona, activists sprayed tourists with water pistols — a theatrical bid to “cool down” runaway tourism.
The Louvre's spontaneous strike erupted during a routine internal meeting, as gallery attendants, ticket agents and security personnel refused to take up their posts in protest over unmanageable crowds, chronic understaffing and what one union called “untenable” working conditions.
It’s rare for the Louvre to close its doors. It has happened during war, during the pandemic, and in a handful of strikes — including spontaneous walkouts over overcrowding in 2019 and safety fears in 2013. But seldom has it happened so suddenly, without warning, and in full view of the crowds.
What's more, the disruption comes just months after President Emmanuel Macron unveiled a sweeping decade-long plan to rescue the Louvre from precisely the problems now boiling over — water leaks, dangerous temperature swings, outdated infrastructure, and foot traffic far beyond what the museum can handle.
But for workers on the ground, that promised future feels distant.
“We can’t wait six years for help,” said Sarah Sefian of the CGT-Culture union. “Our teams are under pressure now. It’s not just about the art — it’s about the people protecting it.”
At the center of it all is the Mona Lisa — a 16th-century portrait that draws modern-day crowds more akin to a celebrity meet-and-greet than an art experience.
Roughly 20,000 people a day squeeze into the Salle des États, the museum’s largest room, just to snap a selfie with Leonardo da Vinci’s enigmatic woman behind protective glass. The scene is often noisy, jostling, and so dense that many barely glance at the masterpieces flanking her — works by Titian and Veronese that go largely ignored.
“You don’t see a painting,” said Ji-Hyun Park, 28, who flew from Seoul to Paris. “You see phones. You see elbows. You feel heat. And then, you’re pushed out.”
Macron’s renovation blueprint, dubbed the “Louvre New Renaissance,” promises a remedy. The Mona Lisa will finally get her own dedicated room, accessible through a timed-entry ticket. A new entrance near the Seine River is also planned by 2031 to relieve pressure from the overwhelmed pyramid hub.
“Conditions of display, explanation and presentation will be up to what the Mona Lisa deserves,” Macron said in January.
But Louvre workers call Macron hypocritical and say the €700–800 million million renovation plan masks a deeper crisis. While Macron is investing in new entrances and exhibition space, the Louvre’s annual operating subsidies from the French state have shrunk by more than 20% over the past decade — even as visitor numbers soared.
“We take it very badly that Monsieur Le President makes his speeches here in our museum,” Sefian said, “but when you scratch the surface, the financial investment of the state is getting worse with each passing year.”
