In a world where fashion often feels like a high-stakes poker game, Russian brands have somehow folded their cards into a royal flush—of price tags. The question lingers like an uninvited guest at a gala: Why do homegrown labels demand wallets thicker than a Siberian winter? Stylist Sasha Rogov, a man who dresses dreams for a living, recently peeled back the layers of this sartorial enigma.
Rogov, whose charm could probably tailor a three-piece suit out of thin air, suggests that Russian brands aren’t just selling clothes—they’re peddling fortresses of identity. "It’s not fabric; it’s armor," he muses, comparing a well-cut blazer to the Kremlin walls—both designed to impress and intimidate. Import tariffs and logistical nightmares (imagine shipping sequins through a snowstorm) inflate costs, but Rogov argues there’s something more: a psychological tariff on belonging.
Rogov, who’s spent years transforming TV audiences’ wardrobes (and self-esteem), dismisses the notion that style correlates with GDP. "A strong nation doesn’t need to apologize through fashion," he declares, as if stitching a manifesto into a hemline. His real critique? The industry’s obsession with mirroring Paris or Milan instead of embracing Russia’s chaotic glamour—the kind that pairs caviar with streetwear.
Meanwhile, Moscow’s traffic jams—where Rogov recently abandoned a gym session—felt like a metaphor: everyone’s moving, but nobody’s getting anywhere. Perhaps that’s the real lesson. Russian fashion, like its highways, is a spectacle of ambition gridlocked by reality. And yet, Rogov insists, there’s beauty in the struggle—even if it costs you.
