For many Russians, lavish spending is the antidote for financial worry

A huge billboard covered Hotel Moskva, which is under construction outside the Kremlin in Moscow. Consumers and salespeople in the city are shrugging off the grim economic news. (Misha Japaridze/Associated Press)

MOSCOW - Money or no money, Eduard Strizhev wanted his Porsche.

Stocks were collapsing; the airwaves groaned with grim economic news; construction projects were halting; and Russian finances teetered on the back of slumping oil prices and the global credit crunch.

But why dwell on dreariness? Strizhev and his wife strolled serenely over the polished floors of the Porsche showroom, signed a few papers, and drove off in their brand new Cayenne.

Sure, Strizhev's accounting company drew fewer clients this month. He was starting to think he should not have bought his home with a mortgage - that wasn't much of a deal he got from the bank. And, true, he already owned a 1 1/2-year-old Cayenne.

But Strizhev would rather discuss the custom paint job on his new Cayenne. See how it looks black in the shade? And how, when the sun strikes the hood, you can see the olive green undertones? Strizhev grinned and dismissed the economy with a shrug.

"On the whole, we don't feel the strength of this crisis," he said and climbed into the posh cavern of the car. "We're just not feeling the strain so far."

Call it denial. Call it bravado. Ignoring a drumbeat of dismal financial tidings, Muscovites continue to blow their petrodollars with aplomb, spending with the trademark abandon that has turned this oil and gas boomtown into a notorious hub of opulence and hedonism.

From the Ritz-Carlton hotel to the luxury boutiques of Red Square, consumers and salespeople shrugged off fears of a crisis. Tomorrow will take care of itself. As long as there's cash in hand, Russians will go ahead and buy.

"Not every crisis will bring us down," said Oleg Uvarin, an interior designer who charges wealthy clientele upward of $800 a square foot. "Through history, rich Russians have always lived lavishly. Russia will always be in the money."

It was a cold, bleak day in the Russian capital, and Uvarin strolled the iconic GUM shopping arcades. Icy autumn rain drilled through the towering glass ceiling and dripped into puddles on the floor below. Charwomen shoved mops fruitlessly; women stepped around the water, indifferent in heels.

A hulk of commerce perched across the way from Lenin's tomb, GUM was the storied, grim epicenter of Soviet shopping. Today, its halls brim with luxury goods from around the world, clothes, jewelry, and cosmetics - prices inflated to reflect Russia's astronomical import duties.

Tatyana Zelenskaya, 25, a model, stalked the shops in leggings and cashmere, blond hair swirling around her shoulders. "Of course I'm worried - my husband's company has lost 60 percent of its value," she said. In that case, doesn't her husband, a coal executive, ask her to curb her spending? She threw back her head roared a belly-laugh.

In Louis Vuitton, salesclerk Bota Skakova shrugged and smiled impishly when asked about the global worries. Nothing has changed, she said. A customer recently bought a single piece of custom-made luggage for $69,000.

All of this plays out against a backdrop of growing fears about Russian economic strength. The stock markets have lost more than 70 percent of their value since May. Oil prices have tumbled back down into the double digits, and buyers for Russia's other bountiful natural resources are drying up.

No matter what happens, few people here believe it can be any worse than what the average adult already has endured. People here have weathered the collapse of communism and the crushing ruble crisis of 1998. They earned it back big.