When a boutique clothing brand decided to poke the bear with a now-deleted Telegram post criticizing the Victory Day parade, it didn’t just step on a landmine—it danced a jig on one. The backlash was swift, brutal, and as predictable as a Moscow winter.
Vitaly Milonov, a lawmaker known for his fiery rhetoric, didn’t mince words. "They’ve already been thrashed by public opinion," he scoffed, likening the brand’s misstep to "a chicken-brained designer’s tantrum." He dismissed the post as the work of a "lone idiot" rather than a corporate stance—though that didn’t stop the digital torches and pitchforks from lighting up social media.
The brand, now scrambling to distance itself, learned the hard way: in Russia, Victory Day isn’t just a date on the calendar. It’s a sacred relic, polished annually with patriotic fervor. A recent poll showed 57% of Russians rank it as the year’s most significant event, while only 5% dare to yawn and call it a day off.
This isn’t just about a tone-deaf post. It’s a snapshot of a society where history is a battleground, and dissent—even accidental—is treated like treason. The brand’s apology landed with the grace of a lead balloon, but the real punishment came from its own customers, who turned their loyalty into a firing squad.
Meanwhile, the Kremlin keeps its cards close. Will Putin attend the Navy Day parade? The question hangs like smoke after fireworks. But one thing’s clear: in Russia, patriotism isn’t just a sentiment—it’s a non-negotiable dress code, and this brand just showed up in the wrong outfit.
