“The Password Was ‘Louvre’?” — How Bad Security, Brilliant Thieves, and One Savage Ad Taught Us All a Lesson
- Rich Washburn
- 2 days ago
- 4 min read
Updated: 2 hours ago
If you want a single, unfiltered example of how the world manages to be simultaneously brilliant and boneheaded, look no further than the Louvre heist. I’ve seen breaches where the defenders did everything right and still lost — that’s life on the wire. This? This wasn’t that. This was a comedy of errors so spectacular it belongs in a heist movie with popcorn and a two-cocktail intermission.
Here’s what went down, in plain terms your CISO will be too embarrassed to admit out loud: thieves dressed like movers, used a Böcker Agilo lift, were in and out in under five minutes, and the museum’s surveillance system password was — and I cannot overstate this — “Louvre.”
Yes. The password to the museum was the museum’s name. Lowercase. No special characters. Somebody hit the “this will do” button in the onboarding checklist and walked away.
The Three Hats I Wear (and What Each One Just Did to the Louvre)
1) My Cybersecurity Hat — You Did This to Yourself
If you work in security and your reaction is anything less than a facepalm so violent it rattles your monitor, you’re lying. I’ve walked into breach scenes where teams got crushed by things they couldn’t have predicted. This was not that. This was contempt for basic hygiene.
Let me be blunt: every “low-priority” device on your network is an open door. The HVAC, the DVR, the janitor’s IP cam — anything connected is an attack surface. You ignore it because “it’s just a thermostat”? Cool. Tell that to the folks who had the largest DDoS in history courtesy of an IoT lawn of unsecured devices. The lesson is the same: if it’s on the network, it’s a portal. Treat it like it matters.
And if your museum’s surveillance password is the museum’s name? That’s not a credential. That’s a neon sign that says “please help yourself.”
2) My CEH Hat — Top Marks for Execution
I don’t applaud criminals; I do, however, tip my hat to operational craft. As a CEH, you study attackers to outthink them. The team that hit the Louvre did the basics scarily well: reconnaissance, timing, simplicity, and discipline. No complex zero-day needed. No Oscar-level sleight of hand. Just planning, logistics, and exploiting predictable human and technical weaknesses.
In red-team exercises, if my crew pulled off a clean four-minute op like that, they’d get steak and beer. Because in the mind of an attacker, the simplest route often wins. And those guys? They found the runway and took it.
3) My Marketing Hat — Böcker: Legends
Now for my favorite part. The manufacturer of the lift — Böcker — could have done the corporate crouch: legal review, tepid statement, three morning meetings, spin doctors. Instead they posted the photo. Put the specs on a bright orange background. Dropped the line:
That. Is. Perfect.
It’s audacious without being tacky. It’s funny without celebrating the crime. It’s product-first, honest, and utterly human. This is marketing that actually understands how to ride a moment: fast, tasteful, and with a wink. Bud Light, Cracker Barrel — take notes. This is how you own a mess and not look like a blinking PR corpse.
A Quick Story From Real Life: Waynesboro, GA — And Why “Low Priority” Is a Death Sentence
I once walked into a facility out in the middle of nowhere — Waynesboro, GA — and saw a keypad on a back door so worn that the numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, and # were literally rubbed smooth. That’s not an assumption. That’s an audit by sight. Somebody hadn’t changed that code in decades. If a maintenance worker with a shadowy past wanted in, they could knock once and be let in with a smile.
If you’re chuckling about how quaint that is, don’t. That worn keypad is a metaphor for organizations that assume nothing will happen to their “boring” stuff. That’s the exact same logic that made a world-famous museum a punchline. And if your org lives in that comfortable haze, you’re not behind — you’re begging for a lesson.
This Could Be a Movie — But It’s Our Reality
Imagine Brad Pitt in an effortless caper role: handsome, composed, a little smug. He strolls up, flashes a fake badge, and strolls in like he’s visiting the gift shop. That’s the cinematic fantasy. The reality is worse — and funnier — because the defenders never read the script. The defenders were halfway through admiring their own compliance report while the crown jewels were being removed.
Takeaways (Practical, Not Preachy)
Everything connected is a risk. Stop calling stuff “non-critical.” If it’s networked, it’s critical.
Change the defaults. If “Louvre” can be a password at the Louvre, what are you doing?
Test with real scenarios. Run red team exercises that don’t just check a checkbox — make them messy, noisy, and uncomfortable.
When something happens, own the narrative. Böcker didn’t look weak. They looked confident. That kind of comms posture matters.
Respect the attacker’s craft — then fix the damn holes. Credit for skill doesn’t absolve the crime, but it should red-flag how brittle your defenses are.
Final Thought: The Mice Won Because the Cats Were on Catnip
You want to know why this landed so hard? Because the defenders were asleep in a room full of alarm clocks. This wasn’t a dazzling exploit by a black-ops syndicate; it was a slow, avoidable collapse of basic controls. The mice weren’t geniuses; they were opportunistic and honest about it. The cats? They were cute, complacent, and utterly unprepared.
If you’re in security, stop patting yourselves on the back for having policies that live in a PDF and start asking the hard question: how much of my perimeter is theater? If your answer isn’t honest, it’s already too late.
And marketing people? If you ever find yourself handed a wild moment like this, remember Böcker. Be bold. Be tasteful. Be truthful. The internet will either roast you or crown you — and sometimes it does both. Böcker took the throne.
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