There’s one problem with being a fat cat in Russia. Even the most expensive suits don’t hang right from bloated, square Russian frames. Here’s a recent picture of Georgy Boos – apparently having just popped a button.

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Georgy Boos is the new Governor of Kaliningrad. What happened to the old one? Well, he’s serving seven years. Something to do with extortion and money laundering – ‘business-related crimes’ as they are called in Russia. But that’s another story I’ll get back to.

Fat cat suits are quite a study. Recently the Carpetblogger – fast becoming the Wikipedia of Slutty Dressing – promised to enlighten us about male fashions. I’m hoping there will be a section on Elitny Dress Code. (I’d also like to know whether ‘Fat Catsuit’ should be written as two or three words. Short of a Style Guide here.)

By chance I clicked on this Kommersant picture of Georgy Boos and got some pictures of other dignitaries visiting Putin in Sochi. Wow. How about the Pres’ of the Russian Railways!


Notice the lens flare from the watch in this picture. I can get some lens flare from the shamelessly shiny ‘Rolex’ I bought from Baltiskaya Station kiosk (200 roubles), but only if I use Adobe Photoshop. My educated guess is that the Pres’ watch is encrusted with diamonds, like the world’s most expensive mobile. Made in Russia, kanyeshna.

It seems as if there’s some curious cross-dressing going on out East. Once diamonds were a girl’s best friend, now men can’t have fashion accessory gismos without rocks. Meanwhile, beautiful Russian women have the kind of tattoos on their breasts that you only saw – well, in my youth – on the hairy old arms of sailors. It’s probably my age, but increasingly I find I expend a lot of chat, charm and wine stripping off an Olga only to find I have to kiss a heavily inked, mammary butterfly or some nipple-infested snake motif.

I suppose for me, the turn-off about tattoos is knowing the process. When I was in Holland, I lived briefly in Rotterdam, with lots of sailor’s tattoo parlours just down the straat. I’ll admit to a fetish about women’s breasts – surely one of God’s Greatest Hits – but I’ve never wanted to stick needles in them. Don’t they have transfers in Russia? Or is it just the natural thrift of low-income-group Russian women – ‘Da, ochen lublu snake motif on my knopki but, znayesh, transfers only last a few sucks’.

I really meant to write about why Georgy Boos was meeting Putin in Sochi, but I got distracted by the creased fat catsuits, the fact that the Pres of the Poezd has turn-ups and properly tailored, leg-length trousers when Putin clearly doesn’t, then somehow got on to tattoos, and now I realise I am completely out of my depth.

So, this whole post is really one for ‘Ask Carpetblogger‘.