A conversation with a friend at a restaurant unfolded around a moment when the local draft beer ran out, and an alternative was offered—a familiar local brew known for its appearance at doorways more than in elegant settings.
They sat in a building on Tverskaya Street, joined by a friend who had built a career as an editor-in-chief at a major publication. One remark rose to the surface: memories from youth, when days were spent near the building’s entrance, listening to music and feeling the city shift around them. The friend adjusted the collar of a designer jacket and quipped, confirming a sense of bourgeois taste. The moment was framed by a shared recollection of drinking on tap, the taste of royal-strength spirits paired with songs that marked a generation.
From different cities and regions, their ages were nearly the same, and it became clear that childhood and adolescence had grown up within the same social fabric. The country, too, moved through similar experiences, weaving a common thread through many lives.
Royal drinks on tap, cigarettes passed along on trays, grandmothers selling seeds on every corner—these images evoked a time when it felt both rebellious and ordinary to watch certain topics appear on national television and radio. Yet there were productions crafted to expose the public to trends that later faced legal restrictions at the federal level.
In his spare time, the young man sang the period’s hymns and enjoyed the same drinks at the entrance. There were discos too, attended by those dressed in the latest fashions, sometimes in leggings that were all the rage. Cars that seemed like a luxury in those years, even modest models, were a symbol of status, and salaries often lagged behind in the same way. Across the country, people felt the weight of economic shifts as new opportunities and new expectations pushed forward.
Markets for imported goods in the 1990s saw researchers travel to distant vendors, while research institutes closed swiftly and defense and industrial enterprises moved into private hands. Wage payments stretched, sometimes for months, until the pattern of money cycles settled into new routines.
The nation watched MMM commercials on TV with a mix of skepticism and curiosity, and talk shows of varying genres filled daytime and prime time. People photographed street scenes, while headlines spoke of dramatic turns in business and politics. The sense of freedom arrived with force, sometimes overwhelming, sometimes promising, leaving an imprint that lingered as the country redefined its path.
This isn’t a work of fiction or a warning about the future; it is a real memory, a period when a generation learned to endure and to grow. The concept can be easy to overlook, yet it remains a significant episode in collective history. It was in this climate that many individuals learned to persevere, and some managed to achieve meaningful things despite uncertainty.
A recent conversation with a friend brought this into sharper focus: the moment, some might find unsettling, others beautiful, remained a restless memory. It acts like a marker—a reference point in the mind that helps explain how fast the present moves and how difficult it can be to keep pace with constant change.
Yet those memories stay with them, like a guitar left on a stoop, a hint of nostalgia wrapped in smoky evenings, songs echoing in the hallways, and a sense of romance mingled with unease. The fear of returning to that time, or to a country shaped by those years, lingers. Today’s world looks very different, and many who grew up with nothing heavier than a phone in hand have found their own paths.
As adults, they now compare eras with a clearer eye. In their view, the present holds a different kind of value, and many feel grateful for the world they experience today, regardless of its flaws.
The narrative above reflects a personal perspective, not an official stance of any editorial board.