Mittens Are for Estonians

Rasha is effin’ cold. Plus, there are plenty of other things to worry about (maintaining nation’s birthrate, getting a table at Rai, not being eaten by bears.) For these reasons, little sway is given to the concerns of Western animal rights activists.


The annual “Fire & Ice” fashion event shows “what’s up” in the world of fur and leather. I’m posting photos from last year’s event because they’re much more fantastische. Also because I remembered seeing them back then and feeling a peculiar swell of emotion then ultimately resulted in the creation of this blog.

Nothing comes between me and my mink flapper dress.

Screw You, PETA.

Of course, you have to come to “Ice & Fire” swinging your biggest fur accessories.


But if you really want to know what captured my heart, and sent me down the path to Moscow nightlife anthropology blogging, it was the fellow above. He had me at jewel-encrusted eye-patch.

Photos: elite.ru

Burnt by the Sun and City

I’m scabbing my own strike. If there’s one person out there who wants to know about Moscow’s fabulously retarded nightlife, then I guess that’s enough. Especially since I found a crop of party photos that need to be released into the wild: “Sun and City” at club Opera.


Just when you start posting things like “Moscow is becoming cool” and new oligarch club The MOST uses its “no skanks” policy as a selling point, something happens to make you realize it was all smoke and mirrors. Moscow is still Mars, Moscow is still Hell, Moscow still wears sunglasses at night.

Opera, fashioned as elitny hip hop megaclub, is in itself inherently ridiculous, but coupled with “Sun and City,” it provided a lens of uniquely fabulous retardedness through which to view the city. Sun and City is a poplar solarium. Hell, I’ve been there. Tanning is something dangerous for your health you have to do in Moscow to fit in, like driving without a seatbelt and having unprotected sex.


But indoor sunglasses? Let me just jump in my spaceship.


Note use of blackface and black people as promo for a solarium.

That’s really tan!

The remainder of the photo series is just called, "When You Were Leaving The House Tonight, Girl, Someone Lied to You.”

Girl.

Someone.

Lied.

To YOU!

Opera, 6 Trekhgorny Val., Metro: Barrikadnaya, Tel. 205-9822

Photos: mainpeople.ru

A-Rai-yan Nation

Something in the water at Rai? It's starting to resemble "Village of the Damned," or perhaps Hitler's grooviest vision of the future. These photos are from last weekend's Bob Sinclair concert, where your corny endormorphic girlfriend and her friend were playing Olsen Twins.


In other news, I'm going on strike until people start posting more comments. I have a Statcounter; I know I'm not just writing this for myself. Russia, United Arab Emirates, Korea, Davis — you take and you take and you take of the MDBIT and you gives nothing back. But, no one rides for free. Look, I don't make any money off this thing. All I want is attention. And expensive panties.

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