When cameras flash in Cannes, limousines crawl along the Croisette, and actors wearing sunglasses bigger than their film roles emerge from luxury hotels, the Côte d’Azur feels like a parallel world for a few days. Everything shines. Everything sparkles. And nowadays, it’s not just photographers who are drawn to this.
Around this year’s film festival, reports of spectacular thefts of luxury watches have been increasing. Millionaires, producers, influencers, and entrepreneurs — people who visibly wear their wealth on their wrists — have been affected. Rolex, Patek Philippe, and Richard Mille are no longer just watch brands. They function like small portable fortunes. Easily transportable, extremely valuable, and coveted on the black market like gold bars.
French authorities now openly speak of professionally organized criminal groups. These are not opportunistic thieves or spontaneous robberies. Rather, they are teams with a clear division of labor who travel specifically to Cannes during the festival. Restaurants, beach clubs, and hotel lobbies are under surveillance. Often, just a quick glance at the wrist is enough.
Then everything happens incredibly fast.
A bump at the hotel entrance. A brief distraction. Sometimes even a direct grab while passing by. Within seconds, a watch worth as much as an apartment disappears. To outsiders, it almost seems surreal — like a scene from a French gangster film from the seventies. Only without film music.
Especially noticeable is that the perpetrators are acting increasingly boldly. Previously, such thefts happened rather discreetly; today, they sometimes occur right in the middle of the Croisette, directly in front of luxury hotels and under the eyes of numerous passers-by. Cannes thus once again presents itself as a place of extremes. Here, luxury yachts, champagne receptions, and diamond jewelry. There, organized crime that is specially adapted to this world.
The political debate was not long in coming.
Conservative commentators see the incidents as a symbol of the state’s diminishing control. Left-wing voices argue that Cannes stages an almost provocative display of wealth every year — inevitably attracting criminals. Indeed, the festival sometimes seems like a showcase for global luxury capitalism. Those who want to stand out there often wear on their arm what others earn in an entire year.
And this is precisely the psychological peculiarity of these cases.
Luxury watches no longer serve merely to tell time. They mark status, influence, and belonging to an exclusive world. Influencers show off their models like trophies on social networks. Entrepreneurs talk about limited editions with the same passion that others have for classic cars or art collections. The problem is that visible wealth also creates visible targets.
Many prominent guests now consciously avoid conspicuous models or travel with additional security personnel. Some hotels have tightened their security measures; others offer discreet transports or private entrances. Nevertheless, a feeling of constant nervousness remains. Behind the sunglasses and flashes, the atmosphere increasingly resembles a high-security zone rather than a film festival.
This makes Cannes a fascinating contradiction. A stage for cinema, glamour, and power staging — but also a place where the dark sides of extreme visibility become particularly evident. The brighter the luxury shines, the more clearly those who want to profit from it come into view.
It’s a bit crazy, really.
Perhaps this tells us more about modern France than any political debate. Because between the red carpet and police sirens, there are often only a few meters in Cannes.
Andreas M. Brucker