Real USSR » fashion

The Fashions of the War Times

eugenia — Thu, 24 Feb 2011 22:45:33 +0000

I have come across a very neat collection of the old Soviet fashion magazines from the forties, and I thought I’d share them with you. Very elegant, stylish images — and a little surprise from the insides of one of these magazines. Please read on.

Summer 1936

Spring/Summer 1937

Season of 1938–1939

1939–1940

1940–1941 (Competition inside!)

1940

Also 1940

1941

Spring/Summer 1941

After I got mesmerised by looking at these neat ladies, I decided to do a little bit of googling to find out what actually was inside those mags. Unfortunately for me, the pictures I found were far from neat, fashionable or pretty: just typical faceless images, where each is an exact replica of the other. These were like comic books for the Soviet girls, I imagine.

One of the magazines above

Various ideas

And not to forget about stylish kiddos!

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Glass Negatives circa 1928

eugenia — Sat, 17 Jul 2010 00:59:24 +0000

Chemical photography as we know it today was not invented in a day — one of the stages in developing was the glass negatives photography, when the glass plates were covered with a protein emulsion — invented in 1841, the process was clunky and difficult to reproduce. Those images can now be identified by the uneven coat of emulsion, rough edges, thick glass and maybe even photographer’s thumbprint on it.

All in all, below are the 20+ images from the glass negatives — the shots of Soviet countryside life, shot around 1928. People, harvests, views, tools — whatever the photography aficionado encountered. Considering that this is pre-film, the spirit of these photos is mind blowing. We hope you’ll share our excitement.

A fashionista.

The glass slides. Dated 1928.

If anybody could help identify what these women are doing?

Late autumn

Sisters? Note the background

Another stylish couple. He reminds me of Clark Gable

River outing

Studying

A stylish threesome: mind the leather jacket

Harvesting

My favourie shot of the lot

If anyone could help us identify the little box? Milk? Tea? Coffee?

Everyone posing for the camera man

Still life

Woodworkers’ shop

City vistas

Family gathering

Winemaking?

Summertime. Apart from the watermelon, note the camera case in front. Now it would be called lomo

Lunch break

Harvesting. Plenty of apples this year!

TBC.

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British Fashion in Moscow, June 1956.

eugenia — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 23:17:07 +0000

All images are by Lisa Larsen, for LIFE magazine.

In 1956 an array of British designers were trying to expand their market share into the Soviet Union. So a fashion week of some sort took place — in Moscow, Gorky Park, twice daily the shows took place. What a huge success it was! Every day it was a full house, and the public were in love with the British models and the fashion. Jeans, for instance, were very trendy and could cost as much as a month’s salary — yet one still had to queue up to get a pair.

However, after so much ado, not a single British clothing company ever received any Soviet offers of cooperation. Sad, really — just like Christian Dior in Moscow, it could have been a beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Catwalk

Jeans made a sensation. Nothing was more wanted — and unavailable.

A model Joy Slape, in Gorky Park

Do want! A girl eyeing up a bracelet in a shop

Model Ann Smith talking to a soldier

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The 50th Anniversary of the Soviet Union in Old American Mags

eugenia — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 02:04:06 +0000

Life and Look on the 50th Anniversary of the USSR, 1967.

In 1967, when the USSR turned 5o, it was a big day for both the country and the world. The Soviet Union had made it through, despite everything — and the world now had to take it seriously. The Cold War, which was at its highest at the time, kept the USSR in the spotlight, too, so the media were more than interested in the young Russian country. It really is a shame that the writing cannot be deciphered due to the low resolution of these scans. However, these images convey the atmosphere of the times quite well — a wild yet sophisticated country in the eyes of the civilised world.

Swinging, critical, cocky Russians

On a picnic and out dancing, most likely.

Three weeks in a Russian town

Young Russians may speak a little English, should you need to talk to them

Rent an automobile in Russia? Why does it not sound believable?

A land of confounding diversity

An independent style of learning.

Forces of the future

Various scenes from ordinary lives

A heart surgeon and philosopher Dr Amosov– who was also an inventor, best-selling author, and exercise enthusiast, known for his inventions of several surgical procedures for treating heart defects.

Art was often synonymous with nihilism, political repressions and defection.

The dissident poets, who both defected later to the USA

Una Dolce Vita

Fashioned in the USSR, photographed in Leningrad

Russian beauties

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Christian Dior in Moscow: a Fleeting Sense of Happiness

eugenia — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 08:52:24 +0000

1959. The official photo shoot, images courtesy of LIFE archives (Howard Sochurek)

The Khrushchev’s Thaw was to bring change to many aspects of the Soviet life, and fashion was one of them. The decision to allow the Soviet fashion designers to learn off their French counterparts was made as high as at the government level, which implicitly put fashion above politics or international ideological regimes. The colour of the Soviet Union, a generic grey, was about to be mixed up with the motley and lithe palette of the French fashion.

The fashion house of Christian Dior was chosen for many reasons. Firstly it was the epitome of elegance and style, defining the haute couture all over the globe. Secondly and most importantly, the Dior fashion was considered to be classic, regardless of the season or collection — and this suited the Soviet clothesmakers immensely. A “classic” cut of a suit would be considered “ideologically neutral” by the Soviets, as well as stable and practical. It would also mean lower production costs, as after having produced a set of patterns, the clothesmakers could go on releasing the same clothes for years.

Girls just want to have fun!

Full of life.

The statue of Liberty, French style.

Out in the streets, mesmerising the simple folk.

GUM — the biggest and the most upmarket Moscow department store.

Buying flowers from street vendors.

After 1957, the teams of Russian fashion designers regularly visited the fashion houses of Christian Dior, Givenchy, Yves Saint Laurent, Lanvin. Special attention was also paid to the art of shop window displays: in Paris, no two were the same; in Moscow, it was a sad, standartised, withered look. In short, a lot was to be taken home.

This reminds me of the Sex and the City episode, season five — girls partying with sailors.

I wish those girls had twitter — I wonder what they were thinking!

Looking swell, Dolly!

An alien on the street

Three graces

The wow factor

However, things were so much behind in the USSR. The implementation of new styles and techniques was inhibited by the overall conservatism of the state. The decorative elements of dresses were often omitted (Russian women were considered to be above cheap frills), and the cuts were simplified not to let the seduction slip in. The magazines were scarce and of Polish or Czech origin, if one was lucky. The clothes on sale were identical and sad-looking– it was labelled practical. Overall, despite the efforts, the French fashion had very little influence over the Russian fashion until the very late 1980s.

Also at GUM

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Sexy Soviet Underwear. Not!

eugenia — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 11:03:00 +0000

Late 1960s. Actress Svetlana Svetlichnaja is doing a wee strip dance for a movie. This was probably the most R-rated scene of the Soviet cinematography.

Due to a series of not so fortuitous events ( the Great October Socialist Revolution of 1917, the First World War, the overall rundown of the young Soviet country) women never had their needs attended to properly. Underwear was made, first and foremost, for the working class with no preferential treatment for the females so women had no choice other than to wear those sexless garments. This is probably the saddest part of the Soviet history.

Mini dress slips

These mini slip dresses were often the only specifically designed female undergarment (even the bras were made in one size up to mid-1930s). They were meant to ensure a better fit for the dresses, to provide an extra layer in winter and, for many women, it was a hygienic necessity: as the bath or shower did not feature in every household, sometimes washing up would happen only once in a few days.

Photos of the slips in an old fashion book. Circa 1950s.

The rumours have it that after the war some lucky women were brought the trophy slips from Germany — and wore them out as evening dresses. It might as well be an urban legend, but for some reason I would personally tend to believe it.

Night gowns, warm and celibate. Would have been made of thick flowery flannel.

According to some document circa 1940s, the sanitary norms were that each woman should own at least two sets of underwear which she would not wear for longer than 5–7 days.

Gym gear. God forbid.

The magazinesof those times did not offer fashionable solutions: quite the contrary, they tried to lift the spirit of women by including some not so subtle propaganda articles. “A harmoniously developed person as a builder of the communistic future has a rich inner world, as well physical health, high morality and culture”

Gymnast girls. Sport gear. Despite all medals awarded, the USSR Olympic gear was still far from flash.

There were never any fitting rooms, as bras were considered to be a hygiene item and fitting was not allowed, nor exchange was possible. Considering that the size range was really limited (say, small, medium and large), being a woman wasn’t easy. However, the diy fans were really doing it themselves – any fashion book would have a detailed tutorial on how to sew a bra. Those who succeeded at this filigree activity were doing it for friends and friends of friends, as a nice secondary income. The fabrics would be plain (not stretchy!) cotton with buttons.

Numbers 6, 7, 8 and 10 were meant to be dressy.

I guess it would be number four of five from the previous image.

Usually the new models and designs were approved once every five years as high as the ministerial level. That was the main decision-making time: even the number of buttons had to gain consent.

Something for the male: swim gear, every day wear, the Soviet boxers.

When the problem with bras what somewhat solved (or at least minimised), tights and stockings were still in huge demand. It is truly unbelievable who the country, whose engineers could envisage sending people into the outer space, could not come up with something resembling lycra to provide women with elastic tights! The Soviet stockings were made of plain cotton and were of black and nude colour. Often the supply in shops was so minimal that women had to sew stockings to a pair of underpants

DIY

In a modern movie East-West the main female character fails her mission as she gets recognized as a Russian – the guard notices her truly horrible stockings! Moreover, knowing how fragile a pair of stockings is and how difficult it is to find it in shops, Russian beauties would share tips with each other on how to prolong the life of this delicate garment: the suggestions to freeze it before wear or mend the holes with nail warnish. Nothing works, of course, but it was well worth trying.

It was hard to be a woman in the USSR

Another shop scene. Still no fitting room in sight.

By 1970, the textile industry had allowed a range of nine sizes for bras, which was more than welcome. However, the styles were still, well, behind, even by the most modest of standards. Another legend goes that when the French actor and singer Yves Montand came to Moscow and saw the Russian underwear, he laughed so hard he couldn’t stop for a while — and then bought the whole lot to display in Paris later. The exhibition, understandibly, was popular with the French and not so popular with the Russian authorities, so the relationships became tense.

Do you think it’s handmade? Beach wear, 1951

The unisex of the communism epoch would not allow any beach wear up to 1970s: before that the swimsuits were either handmade (even knitted) or women had to wear the undergarments to the beach.

A flower child of Soviet origin

The most important message here is probably that “Soviet” is not an ideology, it is about the planned economy (badly planned, unfortunately) and hence the affected every day lives of regular people who had no access to the foreign, imported, pretty things. Any item, be it a TV set or a bra, should just solely serve its purpose, and the frills are not necessary at all.

An old poster “Be prepared for work and defense”.

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Catwalk Models With No Underwear On. Haute Couture Soviet Style.

eugenia — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 21:26:51 +0000

A catwalk model, circa 1947–1957.

Haute Couture, just like in any other other country in the world, did have a place in the USSR. However, it was a different, isolated, strange and suffering element, full of its own peculiarities and catfights. Two catwalk models, Leka Mironova and Tatiana Mikhalkova, reminiscent about their jobs at the only Fashion House back in the USSR. Those were the days, my friend..!

In the shop.

Leka Mironova

I became a model by pure chance. Once a friend took me along to a Fashion House on Kuznetsky Most in Moscow, where some guy approached me and offered me a job as a catwalk model. The guy turned out to be a young Slava Zaytsev (who was to become a huge Russian couturier, in due course). I accepted – I didn’t make it to university that year – and never regretted it.

The pay was about 76 roubles – hell, the cleaners were getting 60! The hours were regular, 9 till 6, five days a week. A photo shoot would bring you about 90 roubles, and if you wanted extra work, each new set of clothes to wear was priced at a rouble. We were allowed to earn extra cash at other Fashion Houses, but it was tough, as the hours were getting really long.

Tatiana Chapygina.

The rewards were more intrinsic, as you say – we, models, tried to think of ourselves as of the ultimate conveyors of physical beauty and style appreciation to the Soviet women. It was quite radical – the propaganda went that none of it was necessary for happiness or contentment. Our job, apart from being a “human hanger”, was to educate women on style, posture and poise.

Bringing the knowledge to people.

Not only the pay was minimal, we had to pay for everything ourselves – like, make up or perfumes. It was expensive and also almost impossible to buy. The lucky ones, who got sent overseas for fashion shows, had to bring it back for colleagues in bulk quantities.

High heeled shoes were a huge deficit. I remember, there were about ten pairs which belonged to the Fashion House, so sometimes we had to wear those. If they were a size or two smaller – tough luck!

Rumia (no last name) — one of the most beautiful women ever.

Another huge problem was the underwear. Oh boy, those Soviet panties –Yves Montand, who saw it once, was puzzled and then shocked. We were ordered to take it off and stay commando – which was unheard of, back in the 60s. I still laugh when I think of it.

The body standards for the models were state regulated, no less. There were three standard sizes (say, small, medium and large), and you had to fit in. However, the good thing was that modelling was, indeed, a job for life. If you get pregnant or put on a few sizes, you just start working for a different department, like mature clothing.

Russian Models in New York, 1959.

Tatiana Mikhalkova

It took me ages to adjust to modelling. First, back then clothes were far from plentiful: to wear one dress for a few days was normal. So when we had to change dresses during the catwalk shows, I just couldn’t get over the shock: it was unbelievable, having access to clothes, let alone pretty clothes!

Tatiana Mikhalkova (to the left), 1970s.

We would learn off each other how to do make up and hair – we were never provided with make up or hair artists, these jobs didn’t exist back then. We never had movement coaches, either – to walk on the catwalk is a skill, yet there is nobody to show you how to do it, how to create an image or how to deliver a message with your image.

Flaunting it!

The job itself was quite tedious – we had to walk really slowly in order to allow the groups of invited fashion designers (and students, and clothesmakers and so on) to draw sketches of our dresses so they could replicate it later.

Elena Metelkina

The police morale did exist back then, and it was after us, day and night. We were meant to be the face of the Russian women (especially when overseas), so they really watched us behave. Like, the curfew to be back to the hotel was 9pm, and it was strict. Even the job itself was called “clothes demonstrator”, no less, and what reputation it had! It was a serious effort to persuade my parents to allow me to do it – they thought it was really dodgy.

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Soviet Brands: The Scent Of Communism. Part 2 of 2

eugenia — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 07:47:55 +0000

Best Toliet Soap “Record”, a poster circa 1970

As you know from the first article, the choice for perfumes and other toiletries really wasn’t there. However, the situation began to change from the mid1970s. The imports from the countries of the so-called socialist camp were entering the Soviet market. Every woman still remembers an excellent Polish perfume “May Be” – they were extremely popular! There were also imports of some middle-of-the-road make up from Poland, but they were still very sought after and outrageously expensive!

Perfume “Lilac Tree” poster.

Of course, Moscow had the best choice of all other cities. This is why those who got to visit the capital on business were considered to be very lucky: unlike many other cities, Moscow actually offered some shopping opportunities. Moreover, there were shops with an assortment of goods from the abovementioned socialist camp: Wanda, Vlasta, Leipzig, Yadran etc. Like, the “May Be” perfume and colourful eye shadows (oh, those horrors of our past!) were sold at the Polish Wanda. At the German Leipzig one could buy a face moisturiser by “Ponds” and the hair dye “Londacolour” of many hues. In comparison, the Soviet shops could only offer henna which gave a seriously bad ginger tone; or basma, which gave a radical black. These two being the only options, Soviet women had no choice but to search for a perfect proportion mix in order to get something in between. Blondes, on the other hand, could only buy hydrogen peroxide from the chemist shops – the colour it produced was also nothing to be proud of, a bright yellowish white, but oh well, some like it hot.

Another poster circa 1960s: Careful when using a hairdryer.

The last bit of toiletries worth mentioning was soap. The choice for soap, as you can well imagine, was more than limited. Before the War the soap factories produces two types of soap bars: general purpose (aka marble for marketing purposes, it was sold in huge chunks of over 800g) and another one, more delicate, which had no name but it didn’t really matter as it was impossible to buy anyway. However, a tiny bar of it was included in the admission price to the communal bathhouses – apparently, there were some special channels of distribution for that one.

15 mln people choose this soap — “The bouquet from my grandmum”.

You must be thinking – ah, who cares about the soaps! Let us explain – the only reason we are so hung up on it is because soap was the only toiletry available for bathing or showering. That’s right, they did not make shower gels, bubble baths, luscious body scrubs, wash-away body wraps, bath oils or anything of that kind. If you were a regular Soviet with no access to the imported goodies (and we would not be frightened to assume that it would comprise to about of 95% of population) – then you’d grab a bar of soap and hope it’d last you a month or so, and this was the reality till maybe mid1980s.

Don’t you just love these posters! We do. This one is for Three In One cologne, Sanit toothpaste and Record soap.

After the war (much closer to the 1960s), the range of soap was slightly widened. A new brand (a real brand, with its promo shots in magazines) was introduced: Strawberry (acidly pink in colour, with a strong reek of aromatiser); Pine (marketed as hand soap); Bathing (everyday soap, a cheaper one); the everpresent general purpose which was also grated and then used instead of washing powder; Kiddies – for, obviously, kids; and Tar — allegedly for treating dandruff. Simple names of simple goods, really.

Tar soap.

However, those 5% we mentioned earlier had access to the German soap – oh, that soap was divine! Not only it was pleasantly oval, it had a soft scent, it did not dry out the skin and it produced unbelievable amounts of foam! The Soviet soap, compared to it, was only good as a moth proofer, due to its strong stench.

The notorious general purpose soap. 65% is the strength (active ingredient, caustic soda).

Later on, closer to the end of 1980s, kids were also targeted: a gift set “Squeaky Clean” (Moidodyr) inclided a kids toothbrush, sweetly flavoured tooth powder, a bar of soap and a tiny bottle of perfume in an attractive cardboard box.

Tooth cleaning powder, For Kids.

By the way, right through till 1970s, the only dental hygiene product available was the tooth powder. Then, of course, the toothpastes “Mint” and “Pearl” became widespread. The imported pastes – like Pomorin from Bulgaria – would have always won, hands down.

Overall, the term “spoilt for choice” did not exist for a very long time in the USSR. When you have to choose between three very similar and equally low quality items – life mustn’t be wouldn’t be too complicated then, would it?

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Soviet Brands: The Scent Of Communism. Part 1 of 2

Dmitry Yakimenko — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 13:21:33 +0000

The great shortage of almost everything required for normal well being was one of the most distinguished features of the Soviet economy. Surely, there was food, clothes and some cosmetic goods in the Soviet shops in 1950s-1970s but the variety was incredibly poor.

However, the philosophy was that the Soviet people were used to comparing their life standards with the ones of the Second World War – so any small-time luxury was very warmly welcomed. Being a nation of plain tastes, the Soviet people were happy to be buying things made in the USSR – they understood that even not so long before, it was impossible.

Many people still associate the fragrance “Red Moscow” with their childhood. All women, especially those who wanted to be elegant, were in love with this perfume. “Red Moscow”, created exclusively for the Russian Empress Maria Feodorovna, in 1913, had quickly become a tremendous success both in Russia and abroad. Henri Brocard, the owner of the largest Russian factory of pomades, perfumes and soaps before the Revolution; had created the perfume “The Empress’s Favourite Bouquet”. When in 1917 his factory was nationalised and renamed into the “Zamoskvoretskiy Soap Factory No 5”, the perfume was also renamed as “Red Moscow”.

Perfume street vendor, circa 1920s

“Red Moscow” was just what you could expect from a Russian perfume: complex, full-bodied, rich smelling; yet much warmer that one would want in a cold climate. Technologically, it was a completely synthetic perfume: the gist was that there was no need for costly French perfumes with their natural essential oils when synthetics smelled equally Along with this one, the range had such fragrances as “White Acacia”, “Red Poppy”, “Lilac” and others. In 1970s, a new scent was introduced – Silver Lily of the Valley – which, unsurprisingly, had become a huge success just as rapidly.

As for the famous “Chanel No 5”, the Soviet women did not get to know it for a long time – apart from brief pieces in Polish fashion magazines, there was very little knowledge of the foreign perfumes. In 1980s, however, the situation began to change to the better. “Climat” and “Magie Noir” by Lancome and “Opium” by Yves Saint Laurent had become extremely sought after in early 1980s.

Really rare and expensive perfume ‘Climat’

White Acacia

Red Poppy perfume

Famous Red Moscow

The male market segment had divided the men into two large groups: those who preferred the perfume “Shipr” (slightly more up-market) and those who liked “Three In One” (a cheaper brand). Funnily enough, the latter one had become a popular one for consumption with the alcohol addicts. “Shipr”, however, was meant to be an exotic, warm smell of flowers and sandalwood (hence the name, which is French for the island of Cyprus. Just like the “Three In One” perfume, “Shipr” contained no less than 70% of ethyl alcohol.

Three In One Perfume

To a modern man, spoilt with choice for perfumes and fragrances, these two would have a fairly strong smell of fir tree and excessive musk and might even remind of a insect repellent. But back in the days, however, a rare man would not get this year after year for his birthday!

“Shipr” (Cyprus)

The legend goes that the “Three In One” perfume was created in France in the early 18^th century specifically by the order of Napoleon Bonaparte as a disinfectant – it was meant to have a refreshing, hygienic and therapeutic effect – and in 1913 it won the Gran Prix at the World Cosmetics Exhibition in Paris. A few decades later, it arrived in Russia under the brand name of “Three In One”. Originally, though, the bottle was sold with the annotation enclosed: “Young people should consume 20–30 drops, elder people – 50–60 drops daily diluted with water or wine. It helps to protect against rapid heart and head aches”. So the habit to use the cheap toilet water as a substitute for vodka has a historic background!

Three In One Perfume, 1917

It does not seem like much but these brands listed above would compose the whole range of perfumes available in the Soviet Russia until, maybe, very late 1980s. The only other alternative was to be lucky enough to have a perfume imported, as a gift. The reasons behind such limits were purely ideological as spending time and money on beauty products was labelled as absolutely unnecessary.

To be continued…

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Fashion in the USSR. DIY.

eugenia — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 08:09:43 +0000

During the Soviet times fashion was first and foremost, an instrument of propaganda of hard work attitudes and education of good taste. Therefore the way people were dressed was very strictly regulated – just like anything else, fashion had to be “planned” and “approved”.

Officially the most popular designs were the classic ones. Not only were they set out to promote the good taste of the clean cut and reserved elegance, it was also a very convenient way of production: once designed and approved, the classic dresses and suits were not as responsive to changes in the trends and hence inexpensive to maintain. The often boring-looking pieces of clothing were labelled as never going out of fashion and promoted as “eternally youthful”.

Eternally youthful, isn’t it?

The Soviet era catwalk model — not too skinny, is she? C1960.

Such clothes were meant to also have a disciplinary influence over the regular folk, as they would set the “right” attitudes and lines of behaviour. That, in 1960s, had developed into the state regulations over the school uniform, which was standartised across the country.

School boys

But back to the adults now. Generally, due to the lack of new designs and the limited stocks of the department stores, most Soviet people had more than a humble wardrobe, compared to their Western counterparts. Usually it consisted of two parts: the winter one (had to be solid, warm and inextricably expensive):

Pupils and mother with child

Another queue. Even winters never stopped the Russians from queuing up.

… and the summer wardrobe. Presumably these ones are dressed up for the occasion.

A group of graduating highschool students celebrate graduation by singing and dancing in the Red Square.

A good half of summer clothes anyone owned could have been handmade.

Oh, DIY was very popular in the USSR. Literally everybody would dream of owning a sewing machine and then the patterns of standardised garments would be shared among many and treasured for generations. The apt ones would make everything, from aprons (pictured) to bras and swimsuits. Note: this is not a modern-day pattern collection, those Soviet ones were scaled down so you’d have to reconstruct it to the real size.

Oh well, no wonder every second Soviet was an engineer.

The most suffered were, understandably, the younger ones, as their fashion ambitions and desires often went unnoticed. Since in the late 1960s it was decided that jeans are unwelcome in the USSR, the practicality and comfort of the denim garments were outlawed. However, the denim failed to become ostracised – quite to the contrary, it was well sought after: often a pair of jeans could cost as much a month’s salary.

This is obviously a later photograph, when the regulations were loosened and the “fashion neighbourhood watch” became less vigilant. Scary, really.

The younger ones

As the Iron Curtain was lifting, the Western ways of dressing were getting more exposure through the movies and tourists. As you can see the envious faces on the background, foreigners did stand out.

Foreigners in Moscow

The funniest thing is that the Soviet fashion is very hard to break into time periods. Apart from separating the pre-war era fashion from the post war (the later one being non-existent), the bulk of it stretches for over 40 years right up to the 90s. Since then fashion has taken the form of a sexual competition — just like anywhere else in the developed world.

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