Politics and Pasts: The Unique World of Russian Fashion

Article Written By Isabella Cuervo- Lorens

Russian fashion is not typically considered part of the industry mainstream. Here in the West, our image of it is often skewed by stereotypes and caricatures from decades of propaganda. When one thinks of Russian fashion, images come to mind that seem almost out of the movies: floor-length fur coats; Cossack hats; Adidas tracksuits; stiletto heels in the dead of winter. Western elites simultaneously holds a self-congratulatory view on ‘Eastern’ fashion, with stories told about sophisticated smuggling rings in Soviet Russia dedicated to the distribution of Western commodities and deprived teens drooling over blue jeans or American sneakers. ‘They wanted to be us and still do’ is a repeated, underlying refrain. Whilst every stereotype can be said to hold a grain of truth, these caricatures are far from indisputable fact. Russian fashion is both closely tied to its traditional and Soviet pasts and in possession of unparalleled creativity. Most significantly, Russian fashion is political. Conflict and tension with North America and Europe have had trickle-down effects on not only its artistic visions but also its actual survival.

Last semester, I studied abroad in Kazan, Russia; a large city a 12-hour night train away from Moscow. While there, I was struck by the juxtaposition of tradition with overt consumerism; Russians’ welcoming of Western brands and trends yet insistence on putting their own spin on them. It sparked an exploration into exactly what drives Russia’s fashion industry from Haute Couture to youth and streetwear.

Russia has long since grappled with identity. From 1237-1480, the Mongol descendants of Genghis Khan occupied the remote territory. This introduced a strongly non-European element to its culture, and the centuries spent removed from the rest of Europe profoundly impacted its relationship with its Western neighbours. From then on, Russia synthesized European traits and a vast array of different cultures, languages and religions.  While Russia’s aristocracy was widely considered part of the web of interlinked European royal families, its peasant classes were a world away. As Western European nation-states took form in the 19th century, Russia struggled to define itself within European parameters. Was it part of the Continent, or set forever apart?

Vital to understanding Russia’s cultural context is the USSR, or Soviet Union, whose relationship to fashion is especially complicated. In its early years, fashion was considered in direct conflict with Soviet values of practicability, equality, and anti-consumerism. In 1959, however, the House of Dior was permitted a five-night show in Moscow as part of new efforts to open the country to the rest of the world. It was the first French fashion show given in Russia in decades. The looks of rapture on the faces of Moscow’s citizens are unforgettable; their expressions immortalised in famous photos. It was an extraordinary milestone that solidified fashion’s immense cultural power, but also also served as a catalyst for the Soviet Union to create their own aesthetic. Soviet designers were tasked with creating fashion that facilitated artistic expression while not appearing capitalist or bourgeois. They faced pressure to create styles suiting the USSR’s specific needs: demonstrating the superiority of Communism (not merely copying Western designs) and accommodating its larger-than-average population of women participating in manual labour. These developments, uniquely Soviet, informed the industry in ways that stuck long after the USSR collapsed. 

Perhaps the most successful Russian fashion designer today is Gosha Rubchinskiy, a young Muscovite whose designs are best described as having a ‘gritty 90s post-Soviet’ aesthetic. In interviews, Rubchinskiy speaks of how his childhood in that era and the images that defined it shaped his creative vision. To him, the post-Soviet imagery that defines modern Russian streetwear conveys ‘poverty and disorder’ juxtaposed against ‘the feeling of something big and positive coming.’ His work often features Western brands like Adidas or Tommy Hilfiger ‘hacked’ with Soviet and Cyrillic symbols representing the rush of Western logos that became available in the years following the USSR’s collapse. Like everywhere else, high fashion trends have translated through to youth culture as well. Rubchinskiy’s Haute Couture is mirrored by the vibrantly up-and-coming Russian streetwear movement; echoed by brands like Volchok, Sputnik 1985, and R-SSA.

Russia’s relationship with the West is heavily politicized. From ominous remarks by President Vladimir Putin to notorious homophobic legislation to allegations of interference in Western elections, relations are perpetually tense. Demonization of its government, justified but often regrettably applied to the country as a whole, is rampant. This trickles down to all industries no matter how creative. For Russian designers, politics and culture are closely interlinked. Gosha Rubchinskiy’s pieces have been described as “filled with international tensions,” showing his awareness of the place Russia occupies. In addition to aforementioned ‘hacked’ Western logos, some designs are military in appearance, and others straight up emblazoned with the hammer-and-sickle. He does not explicitly confront the political and economic tensions his country faces, but they are deeply present in his art. Despite worldwide acclaim, many of his shows have been held in his native Russia instead of abroad. This is most likely not a casual choice.

On the other side of the aesthetic spectrum is designer Ulyana Sergeenko, a socialite-turned-Haute Couture icon. Her work, worn by the likes of Lady Gaga, Kim Kardashian, Nicole Kidman and Dita von Teese, is characterised by traditional feminine Russian silhouettes like tiered skirts, floral embroidery, and even variations of the kokoshnik, an elaborate pearled headdress worn as part of historic folk costume. Sergeenko herself is often pictured in that style; rounded feminine silhouettes and hair tied in babushka scarves or headpieces. She in every way embodies the link that Russian fashion holds with its vibrant cultural legacies; traditional fashion updated to the present day.

Rubchinskiy and Sergeenko aside, the fashion industry is far from easy for up-and-coming Russian artists. Poor political relations have meant that Russia lacks a comprehensive trade agreement with the European Union, which means that Russian designers must pay customs duties for imported fabrics and steep tariffs when exporting their product to Europe. Although the USSR is no more, Russia’s tensions with the West still have ‘boxing-in’ effects on its creative industries. Whether this is advantageous or disadvantageous is yet to be decided. On one hand, it keeps smaller brands from international acclaim. On the other hand, it may contribute to making Russia’s fashion so idiosyncratic. Some local designers even claim that international sanctions are good for the industry as it forces designers to prioritise local audiences and producers. Regardless, Russian fashion is shaped by the contentious place its country occupies in today’s world.

Russia is a vibrant and historic country I had the immense privilege to experience first-hand, and at the forefront of its cultural history is its fashion. Be it love for traditional silhouettes or homage to its gritty post-Soviet years, its fashion industry reflects its vivid cultural past. Also present in it, however, are signs of its complicated relationship with Western counterparts and struggle to define itself and its place on the world stage. Ultimately, Russia’s tumultuous history and current conflict serve to make its fashion more distinct. Regardless of the West’s relationship to the country politically, Russian fashion deserves to be appreciated in its own right.