For My Sisterz

On November 23, the hallowed Altai marble halls of Ritz Carlton were tarnished by the ass-ugly spring/summer 2008 collection by Via delle Perle, an Italian fashion house. Allegedly an Italian fashion house, as I have a very, very hard time swallowing that this clothing did not originate from somewhere in the post-Soviet bloc. Cut-off tops circa 1991, leopard print bodysuits and neon baseball caps — at very least VDP vacationed in Sochi for inspiration.

(MDBIT Fun Fact: The singer's name is Anesthezia.)

Even the MC looks like he stepped out of Color Me Bad video. However, this is all at odds with dominant critical theory on Russian fashion. Fellow social anthropologist and RUSSIA! magazine contributor Julia Ioffe recently told Gawker:

“They've only had about 16 years to catch up to us, so they went through all these phases really fast. Like, two years of disco, two years of cokehead 80's ... they're just starting to get the appeal of subtlety.”

According to her estimations, Moscow’s now at 1999. Wrong! Girlfriend, we are still in the roaring “I’m NOT a Common Girl” attitude baby tee early '90s.


Russian girls. Ah, Russian girls. They are the stare that hangs on too long, the cup of tea with too much sugar. But to be fair, its hard to stand out, so you kinda have to dress like a peacock. By some cruel hiccup of fate, there are 8 of these:























For every one of these:

In the kingdom of the blind, the lumpy, pasty dude is king.

Ritz-Carlton Moscow, 3 Tverskaya Ul., Metro: Okhotny Ryad, Tel. 225 8888

Photos: Elite.ru, adensya.ru

The World is Not Faire

Oh, man. Moscow Doesn’t Believe in Tears lives for one week a year, and that’s this one, which lassoes the Supreme Luxury conference and the Millionaire Faire into one diamond-farting extravaganza. Here are scenes from last weekend’s Millionaire Faire, in case you were starting to believe “Market Maturing Toward Tasteful Luxury.”

Vladimir Vladimirovich! So great to hear your voice.

Kids! Get in the helicopter. We’re going to McDonalds.

Keeping up with the Ivanovs.

When in doubt, castle your crazy marble, diamond encrusted Aztec totem.

Fantasy adventure Olga, you look divine.

But is there room left for the microwave?

Come to think of it, I wouldn’t kick the Ivanovs out of bed for eating crackers.

At last! A car to match my 17-year-old girlfriend’s Sony Ericsson.

Where am I?! Ah, yes.

You fool! I found the same 4 icelink rims with Bentley Coupe and 24-hour bodyguard down the street for $2 million!

Children, release those fistfuls of worthless dollars! Now it is the ruble that is doing the fucking.

Stay tuned for the Chocolate Salon at Gostiny Dvor next week, which is all of this, except CHOCOLATE.

Photos: Elite.ru, adensya.ru