Russian officials of the highest rank do not shy away from this trend, sometimes stumbling into major scandals. For instance, in January 2017, acting governor of Russia’s Kaliningrad region Andrei Alikhanov appeared in a jacket adorned with an ultranationalist patch on the sleeve. The scandal was serious: Alikhanov had to admit both the jacket and the patch were his, but he failed to explain their origin or meaning, let alone come up with a convincing story.
That same year, Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov made headlines when, en route to Japan, he was caught on camera wearing a T-shirt with his own portrait and the slogan: “Those who don’t want to talk to Lavrov will have to talk to Shoigu.”
Now another episode of “dress diplomacy” is unfolding. Lavrov has arrived in Anchorage wearing a sweatshirt with the word USSR.
This inevitably recalls U.S. Secretary of State Madeleine Albright, who famously used brooches with deliberate political symbolism during negotiations. Journalists studied her jewelry, speculated about its meaning, and were often correct. Lavrov, it seems, is trying to imitate this with T-shirts and sweatshirts. But where Albright’s accessory diplomacy was subtle and sophisticated, Lavrov’s version comes across as nothing more than crude aggression.
Let’s set aside Lavrov’s infamous 2017 T-shirt with the Shoigu slogan. Back then it may have sounded menacing; after Russia’s humiliations in Ukraine since 2022, it rings hollow.
It would be curious to ask Lavrov why he didn’t wear something featuring a map of the Russian Empire, back when Alaska was part of it—or perhaps a portrait of Catherine II, under whom Russia’s presence in Alaska peaked. But the answer is obvious: openly taunting America right now could be unsafe even for the “Russian bear.” By contrast, showing aggression toward Russia’s former SCO partners seems, in Lavrov’s eyes, both safe and—more importantly—without consequences.
So is the Kremlin, alongside Smolenskaya Square, really preparing to declare war on all its neighbors and restore Soviet borders? At a time when Russia’s military resources are being ground down in Ukraine, a second front is the last thing Moscow needs. One might argue Lavrov’s sweatshirt is not a literal declaration of war. But gestures like this do affect bilateral relations. Especially now. Former Soviet republics are openly bracing for “surprises” from Russia. And this includes not only NATO’s Baltic states, but also, for example, Kazakhstan, which is reinforcing its military and building territorial defense forces. Relations with Azerbaijan remain tense, Russia is in a state of “frozen conflict” with Georgia… Is Moscow truly prepared for the consequences of Lavrov’s “dress diplomacy”? Or did it simply forget to think about them?
Back in Soviet times, journalists at Komsomolskaya Pravda filled pages ridiculing people who, in their craze for Western T-shirts, often wore English slogans they didn’t understand—like “I’m crazy” or even “Kill a Russian.” Sergey Lavrov, however, reportedly speaks English well. And he certainly knows Russian. So when he dons provocative clothing—especially with Russian slogans—he knows exactly what he’s putting on and how it will be perceived.
Yet a diplomat’s profession is precisely about reducing tensions and smoothing edges. For the foreign minister to flaunt such provocative attire is, to put it mildly, not comme il faut. Then again, as the saying goes: the foreign policy of a country determines its diplomatic dress code. Which makes one recall Lavrov’s own infamous phrase: “Morons, f**.”*
Nurani
Translated from minval.az
