During one of my many trips back to my hometown, which has meanwhile become the most expensive city in the world, I wanted to enter one of the more "in" nightclubs - Diaghilev. While I was freezing from the cold in the Moscow winter women passed me and went in, dressed from head to toe in Dolce & Gabbana, Versace and Gucci, and all wearing 15-centimeter-high spiked heels. On second thought, I understood that I had almost no chance of getting in. My new Zara coat did not pass the selection. And the selectors in Moscow can calculate very quickly just how much money you are wearing.

The residents of Moscow are today among the world's greatest consumers of fashion. For example, the organizers of the recent D&G fashion show in Moscow were surprised when dresses costing $10,000 on average were sold straight from the catwalk and didn't even make it to the sales floor. The shops of top designers - the leading names from France, Italy, the United States and Japan - can be found everywhere. The brand name you wear will affect the way people speak to you, treat you, accept you. According to an ancient Russian proverb, people say hello to you because of your clothing and continue to speak to you because of your wisdom. Today they will speak to you because of your Louis Vuitton and your Mercedes. Times have definitely changed.

Society women in Moscow are constantly running around these days in an attempt to attend all the events where it is important to be seen. And there are many of them. In one day a really diligent socialite may go from the opening of a prestigious boutique to an exclusive dinner, and then end up at a fundraising evening for hungry Chechen children. If you are considering being envious even for a moment, however, here is an example of the complexity of leading such a life.

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My good friend, the wife of the Russian finance minister, told me sorrowfully what happened to her before the Stella McCartney show. The invitation sent to the city's who's who specified that the esteemed designer, who is active in environmental organizations, requested that people not come to the show in fur coats or leather clothing. The invitation created a major uproar. Everyone was preoccupied with the same question - if not a fur coat, then what? In Russia a fur coat is a major status symbol. Any self-respecting woman must have at least one such coat in her wardrobe. The explanation that many husbands have already become accustomed to hearing is that this is indeed a vital necessity in winter: After all, it's very cold outside! A modest fur coat will cost about $1,000, but one designed by Yudashkin - a top Russian designer and a star in his own right - will go for between $30,000 and $50,000. It will be a work of art that will win its owner much respect and many envious looks.

The McCartney problem was solved in the end: Many of the invitees simply decided not to come. The rest risked pneumonia and left their coats in the car - all in order not to embarrass themselves in synthetic fur coats. It is hard to understand the Russian logic. It is even harder to understand it when you see women, in a temperature of minus 30 degrees Centigrade, lightly tripping along in frozen streets in miniskirts, thin stockings and high heels. Apparently only education starting in childhood and based on the premise that "you have to suffer to be beautiful" can cause you to endure this nightmare every day on the way to work.

Chanel on the Metro

Over the past 10 years following the dress code in Moscow has become the key to a successful career. Entire courses teach you how to dress properly for every situation and to adapt yourself to your designated place of work - sartorially speaking, of course. It really makes no difference how much money you have in your wallet; the important thing is that you know how to draw attention to the fact that you're wearing "in" clothes.

In Russia, God is definitely in the details. It is entirely logical that not everyone can afford an outfit costing thousands of dollars, but people are expected at least to invest in the obvious symbols of class, such as handbags, shoes and watches. Only in Moscow can one see someone with an original Chanel bag traveling on the Metro. In any other place in the world, someone who can afford Chanel can also afford a taxi.

The apparent origin of this extreme behavior is the shortages that prevailed during the communist period, when there was no fashion, only clothes. At the time everyone's magic word was "imported"; everything that was imported was prestigious. There was no real difference whether the item of clothing came from Warsaw or from Paris, the main thing was the aura of foreign lands. These clothes were sold in private apartments at exorbitant prices to a limited circle of clients. This situation led women to search for creative solutions in order to look feminine. Home sewing was at its height. The German pattern magazine Burda became the Bible of the Soviet woman, who used it as a source of ideas and patterns. Sewing lessons in school took on far-reaching significance: Any girl who did not learn the secrets of the trade, was forced when she got older to spend a great deal of money on professional seamstresses. The attempt to imitate Western fashion was a type of rebellion against the regime. Jeans, for example, became a symbol of a more liberated lifestyle and undoubtedly guaranteed a man that wore them success with the ladies. The price of genuine American jeans was equivalent to an average monthly salary, but even those who were willing to pay it were not always able to find the real thing.

During the Communist era, which did not exactly nurture independent thought, a number of local designers who were as good as the best couturiers in the world, managed to stand out. In the mid-1950s, for example, Vyacheslav Zaitsev was a young designer who had just completed his studies with honors. In the context of certain leniencies granted during the Khrushchev period, the promising designer got the chance of a lifetime: to design a line of work clothes for the female workers in the kolkhozes. In spite of a less-than-encouraging beginning, Zaitsev managed to impress everyone with his daring and creativity.

For instance, he used watercolors to embellish valenki (traditional felt boots) at his show. The attempt to introduce some color into the gray, daily grind was too much for the government, however, and his collection was not approved for production. The pictures from the show reached the West, amazed the arbiters of public opinion in the fashion world and aroused enthusiastic responses. Designer Pierre Cardin called Zaitsev an "equal among equals"; the French press called him "the Red Dior." In spite of, and because of, his success abroad, Zaitsev's path to the West was closed and he arrived there only 30 years later. Inside Russia he continued to be the trailblazer, and for years was the only one to become a brand name in fashion. Finally in 1982 Zaitsev managed to convince the authorities to allow him to open his own fashion house.

Local empire

Valentin Yudashkin's world is today a fashion and design empire. He designs lines of haute couture, casual fashion, jewelry, perfume and fine crystal. His breakthrough was meteoric. His first collection was inspired by Faberge eggs, which are known the world over as one of the pinnacles of design. This collection was displayed at fashion week in Paris in 1991 and was hugely successful; indeed, one of his dresses was even purchased by the Louvre. Yudashkin made his way up the ladder, straight into the Paris and Milan fashion weeks, and captured his place of honor with the help of surprising and exciting collections that he still displays each year.

With the fall of Communism, Russia quickly began to adopt Western habits, including in the area of fashion. The field virtually began to develop out of nowhere: New names began to appear, such as Igor Chapurin, Alena Akhmadulina, Sultana Frantsuzova and others, who were born into the "new order" in Russia. For them communism was a source of inspiration rather than a reality, but they still "suffered" from the national memory of horrible local products. Even today Russian fashion designers have a long way to go for their clothing to enter the mindset of the local consumer. Only in the past two years have their designs begun to take their place in the wardrobes of high-society women in Moscow.

Today the local market is definitely well established, but at the same time it is still hard to define fashion in Russia as a developed industry. From the beginning, the leaders in the field understood that one of the ways to promote and develop it is by holding fashion weeks, as is common in the West. If one fashion week per season sufficed for fashion capitals like Paris and Milan, for Moscow that was definitely not enough. In the mid-1990s there were three to five competing fashion weeks during each season. On the one hand, this led to the awakening of the local fashion market, whose wares were displayed alongside those of top designers from all over the world; on the other hand, the large number of shows created confusion and friction. These events sometimes took place simultaneously, and private clients and buyers alike pleaded for some order. Over the years the organizers got together and today there are only two parallel fashion weeks in Moscow, twice as many as in cities in the rest of the world.

The "deficit" of the Communist era left a deep impression on Russian society. The Russians are still incapable of taking abundance for granted. It will take many years until there is a new generation that does not suffer from the trauma of the past. But meanwhile the mysterious Dostoevsky-like Russian soul is wrapped in the finest garb.