Putin Needs to Put His Slippers On

The case of the 'house slipper' and its Dr. Jekyl-and-Mr. Hyde effect on Russians

Courtesy of Amazon 

When I opened my version of Best Buy’s Geek Squad in St. Petersburg — it was called “Armia Botanikov” — the first thing I did in our “apartment office” was outlaw house slippers. The 20 “botaniki” or computer technicians, and a friend I appointed to be the general manager, rebelled.

As I explained to them, “Guys, this is work. You aren’t home.” All of them, including my friend, who was an experienced marketer and salesman, complained that because the office was an apartment and not a proper office, they should be able to wear their slippers. I was adamant and told them they could open their own company if they wanted to wear slippers.

What’s wrong with slippers?

Like in many cultures, when Russians enter their home, one of the first things they do is take off their street shoes and put on a pair of comfy slippers. From that moment forward, and I have observed this for decades, everything about their personality changes. They downshift to a lower gear, shaking off the stress of having had to fight to make it home through the busy streets on packed mass transport. 

It is as if the moment the slippers grasp onto their feet or the feet the slippers, a psychological sigh is let out. Shoulders droop, tension escapes, and the next thing they do after washing hands is eat something or make a cup of relaxing tea. It is truly a remarkable spectacle that, if more Americans engaged in, might make them less stressed and even healthier. 

Russians love their slippers. I have seen killers — mobsters who, if their stories are to be believed, killed many in the turf battles of the 1990s — enter my apartment — they wanted me to help them import silicone for breast implants! — slide their feet into the slippers I had on offer and shuffle like frail old men into the kitchen. 

“Do you have any cookies or dried fruit for the tea?” The refrigerator-sized boxer asked me timidly. I did and placed them on a plate for the three of them, hovering near my computer as we waited for the dial-up to link us to the internet — remember those days? 

The slipper affects everyone in Russia, and in many ways, it softens Russians to the point where the Darwinian need to fight and cheat for survival endlessly gets so muted that they actually become friendly, thoughtful, and, in some ways, even caring. The transformation that takes place in many Russians (not all, of course) back to the conniving, selfish, greed-driven sociopath takes place once the slippers have been removed and the shoes are put back on.

On one occasion, after some police roughed me up and arrested me near a metro one night — granted, I had been drinking and was a bit mouthy — they suddenly were afraid because I was an American, they might get in trouble. They decided to drive me home. I invited them in for tea and beers — as you do. 

The big-talking tough guys were kittens inside of my place, and for the next 20 years, each time I saw any of them in the city, we would hug it out and sometimes even grab a beer together. 

Russians get worn down because of the harshness of the public space and the lifelong need to always be vigilant of their surroundings and strangers. They become gruff and wary of everyone and are never willing to help people in the public space. Kindness to strangers is a fool’s game. Because of always having to be “on” in a sense, the moment they slide into a pair of slippers, they are freed from that cold harshness, from the unforgiving reality of Russian life — one that happily sends men and boys off to the front without preparation and even weapons.

Putin and slippers

I wonder what might happen if somehow, we could get Putin to wear a pair of slippers. Might he pull Russia out of Ukraine? Could he realize the error of this war of genocide he launched?

My botaniki were forbidden from wearing slippers in the office because the moment they did, not only was the edge to move fast and service our customers lost, but they became sloth-like. After cups and cups of tea, they slipped into Russia’s other national habit: Endless rumination, complaining, and a collective desire to do as little as possible.

Slippers, folks. Welcome to Russia.