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Putin Needs to Put His Slippers On
The case of the ‘house slipper’ and its Dr. Jekyl-and-Mr. Hyde effect on Russians
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?
