Long a quiet outlier, Alexandra Gapanovich has finally entered the world of Russian fashion at large — and not just as a designer. She became a keeper of memory, texture, and time. Her collections, known for their layered sculptural shapes, carry the spirit of the Far North: its stillness, its vastness, its cold and restrained beauty.

She was stunned to learn her work is being studied in design schools as a contemporary expression of Russian cultural identity.

— I still see myself as that same small person from Murmansk—just walking my path, still needing support, still hoping for a kind word.

It was a moment that reached deep. The girl from a port city above the Arctic Circle who once sat quietly at her mother’s sewing machine was now shaping the language of a new generation.

If, 50 years from now, your work were looked at as a cultural phenomenon, what meaning would you want people to find in it?

— Connection between generations. If my vision could serve as a bridge inspiring younger people to have a closer look at Elets lace, to wander museums, to rediscover what came before, then I can really say I’ve accomplished something lasting.

Fashion design is what Alexandra has always been doing — was born to do — but recognition, the sweeping kind with spotlights and applause, came into her life only a few years back.

How did your parents react to your dream of becoming a fashion designer?

— They only talked to me about it once. They suggested I try to apply to the geology faculty. They thought that, with so many lakes and rivers around Murmansk, I’d definitely find a job with the degree. (Oh, someone’s knocking... it’s my cat!)

Alexandra took their advice seriously: she took the entrance exams, but her scores weren’t quite enough for the program she wanted. So, calmly, she applied to a vocational school instead. The admissions staff were surprised: why choose a trade school when you could go to university? But for Alexandra, it was a completely conscious decision.

— My mother is a garment technician, and as a child I would always pester her, please teach me how to sew. She used to brush me off, saying she wasn’t good at teaching, that I should learn properly, in a specialized school, if I wanted to. So I made it my plan. In the end, my parents only tried to talk me out of it that one time.

Big dreams grow slow, that’s a fact. They also take no small amount of elbow grease, that’s another fact. Alexandra dreamt of studying at London’s Saint Martins since she was 16. She got there — at 31.

Her firstborn had just turned one when Alexandra left for London. She intended to stay the full three years — but the separation proved to be a tall task. She’d see a baby on the street and break into tears. So instead, she took a few intensive courses, and between classes immersed herself in all those museums. It all felt very rich, very alive.

Have you ever had to fight with yourself for your dream?

— In a way, I was lucky. I knew from a very young age that I was a creative person. And it wasn’t just about sewing clothes. Before that, there was macramé, floristry, drawing. Even if I only skimmed the surface, it all felt completely natural. I went through the motions of preparing for those entrance exams, but deep down, what I really wanted was to learn how to sew. Which is why I wouldn’t call it an inner struggle — more like moments of doubt.

And whenever those moments came — when she felt stuck or unsure — studying was the answer.

The experience in London was one such push forward.

It was 2012.

— The teachers — all established designers, either running their own brands or working for major fashion houses — gave me so much encouragement and invaluable feedback. I remember one of them waving my thick folder of sketches in front of the class and exclaiming: “This is how much you need to draw just to find 10 that really work.” I was blushing like crazy.

Hard to believe that was exactly when Alexandra found herself full of doubt, thinking she wasn’t smart enough, not educated enough, just spinning in circles, making nonsense.

— And there I was, in another country, with my broken English — what an adventure! — and getting praise like that. I’m very proud that my English didn’t stop me back then, even though it easily could have. With a dictionary in hand — this was before iPhones, or just as they were starting — and one Russian classmate to help me, I figured things out.

Her signature touches — the ruffles and the volumes — started to emerge around that time too.

— In London I went through a pure creative process, a rebirth. I arrived there completely emptied out, ready to start fresh. The way they taught us seemed difficult at first. In Russian education, there’s a system: you’re given rules, you follow them, you gain a solid skill set — a proper foundation.

— But there it was the opposite. You’d ask a question, and the teacher would never answer in any way that could impose their own opinion, they pushed you to find the answer within yourself.

Instead, they’d say, go to the library and look for something that had nothing to do with fashion. Anything could serve as inspiration, as long as it wasn’t clothing. And so she went and searched: for form, for texture, for colour, for the woman of her dreams.

— And through that process it became clear to me: I love large sculptural shapes, motion, asymmetry.

— And the ruffles, their eternal femininity. In Murmansk, it was impossible to walk around in dresses. The down jacket and warm pants were basically the only uniform. So my ruffles and volumes, I think, are my fantasies about summer; about spring; about a beautiful golden autumn.

A native of Murmansk, she is forever enchanted with her city. It’s grey, cold, even a little brutal. But its people are kind and warm.

And the nature there — that’s a whole other thing. It’s harsh, almost masculine, yet there is something magical and mysterious about it. Autumn lasts barely a week. A gust of wind, and it’s over. And the snow in Murmansk! It’s like something out of a fairy tale — The Little Silver Hoof, perhaps — thick flakes falling in the frost, everything creaking underfoot.

— If you record a voice message while walking, you can actually hear that crunch in the background.

It’s always cold there. It feels even colder because of the humidity. And the wind, it carries tiny shards of ice!

— It might sound gloomy, but as a child it never felt that way to me; everything seemed vast and full of magic. We northerners might seem stern or unsmiling at first, but our actions tell a different story.

She needed to move, though: her husband worked and lived in Moscow, and things were starting to pick up for her there too.

— I had such an intense longing for Murmansk, I didn’t understand how to be in Moscow, what to do here. It was hard. But those 3 years of going back and forth helped me prepare emotionally. When it finally struck me that I couldn’t just leave Moscow — the projects, the momentum — I brought my children here. And that was it.

While working to define her brand’s DNA, the move made it very clear what she wanted to express, what really mattered. These days, Alexandra’s creativity is often sparked by that — or perhaps by what she hasn’t quite dared to say out loud. It all comes through in her collections; they’ve become her own language for communicating with the world.

— Everything between me and Murmansk has always been about love. I am what I am because of it. And through my collections, I now celebrate its nature, its climate, and the people I’ve met there. Including myself.

How do you enter that state where something new and truly your own can be created?

— Imagine this: I’m a mother of four (plus the cat) with endless household tasks and work processes happening all at once. It’s constant noise. One foot is answering emails, the other is stirring borscht. There’s often chaos.

— But all it takes is a short walk to shift my perspective. For me, the impulse to create grows right out of that — out of the messiness, the motion, the rhythm of everyday life.

— The strength and the weakness of creativity? The first is about the absence of boundaries, the only limits are the ones you set for yourself; in essence, there are none. And its weakness is reflection. Too much overthinking, doubting, worrying can — and will — stop you.

What sparks your curiosity in life?

— A quote, an opinion, a book, anything really, even something I don’t fully understand yet. I’m the kind of person who gets easily intrigued, who loves learning and still has that childlike sense of wonder when something new truly grabs you. There’s that adventurer in me; I like diving into new experiences.

The last time you felt that kind of pure, unfiltered excitement — what was it about?

— Oh, life in Moscow keeps surprising me with moments of recognition and rewards. For example, earlier this year someone from the RBC TV [Russian Business Channel] called: “Alexandra, congratulations, you’ve been named an RBC Visionary.” I happened to be at the airport at that moment, with a friend. I was over the moon, laughing, smiling, so thrilled.

Did GAPANOVICH the brand already exist before London?

— Not really, back then those kinds of ideas weren’t in my mind. I simply saw myself as a designer. In Russia at the time, there was no real concept of a “brand” or “DNA.” Remember what fashion was like in the 2000s? Every self-respecting wife of a wealthy man suddenly became a “fashion designer”, that was the trend. Actual designers could be counted on one hand — Zaitsev, Yudashkin… And if you weren’t in Moscow, breaking through was almost impossible.

In those times, earning a living as a designer often meant sewing for private clients. Alexandra had her own little atelier in Murmansk, where she worked with custom orders. It was the only way to earn money for her collections.

— Luckily I didn’t have too many difficult clients. In general, such people rarely cross my path, but when they do, they make up for all the quiet years at once.

— One experience still stands out — I was pregnant with twins at the time. A woman came in, and I think from the very get-go she had some kind of plan to take advantage of me.

The woman claimed she’d never had anything custom-made before, but left with a full styling consultation — where to buy shoes, what bag, which earrings, even how to present the look. Eventually she caused a scene — shouting, using slurs — even though Alexandra was visibly pregnant.

— I ended up just giving her the finished dress for free. And I’m sure she wore it to her event.

In her heart of hearts, Alexandra thought: “Enough! I want to sell only my own designs!”

The wish was granted.

But not without one more hurdle.

A serious illness became a catalyst for growth. Unsure how much time she had, Alexandra shifted into high gear. Today, seven years in remission, she credits recovery to deep inner work.

— It was a similar push I must have needed — like the moment with the dress. During my post-surgery recovery I thought: time is uncertain; I need to do everything I can, as soon as I can.

True to her nature, she soon turned to learning and enrolled into a fashion programme in Moscow to study brand DNA and marketing. Having entered her graduation collection into Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week Russia, she was awarded a grant. It was presented at the Museum of Moscow as the first collection of Alexandra Gapanovich, the brand.

It was 2021.

From that moment on, there were no more pauses — no hesitation, no reservations.

— I’m so proud I never stepped off my path and kept moving, steadily. I used to think I wasn’t a systematic person, but it turns out I am, and very much so. Good things don’t grow fast; I learned that firsthand. The fundamental layers take time — a long time. And all those difficult years? None of it was wasted. I’m incredibly fortunate — and I worked incredibly hard. There’s still so much I want to learn and do; I only hope I have the time.

Is there anything that surprised you most about your profession?

— Honestly, everything. Imagine spending years, decades tucked away in your own little world, with no real support (apart from family, of course), and then — in midlife — finding yourself in Moscow, finding success. It’s that childlike excitement again!

— And I’m still such a rookie!

By nature, Alexandra is a bit of a loner. But as a Gemini, she says she can switch, become outgoing, meet people — and in the moment she enjoys it.

— It’s uplifting. When you see people coming to you with enthusiastic eyes, hugging you, thanking you — how could you possibly resist that?

— But honestly, it’s still not easy for me. In those moments I give away a lot of energy, and I don’t really know how to take it back. I often feel so drained afterwards. I learnt that about myself once I started being in the public eye. It’s stressful for me, so I tend to avoid it when I can. And to recover afterwards… I clean.

She laughs when she says that. And for the first time I notice Alexandra wears white mascara — the tips of her eyelashes look like there are snowflakes on them.

For years Alexandra’s believed in doing what she loves and along the way, shaping the audience’s eye. Defining taste rather than following it. Being misunderstood didn’t scare her before. But now, with real eyes on her, it suddenly did. And she first noticed it while working on her collection “Eudialyte”, released earlier this year.

— When we were shooting the campaign, I looked at the pieces and thought, they’re so involved… will people understand them? What if they won’t? It was the first time I’d ever asked myself those questions.

—Then, after the show, another thought appeared: can I ever do something even better?

What made “Eudialyte” such a challenging one?

— The colour; the form. There are so many complex combinations and details. But I simply couldn’t have made it any other way. I’m deeply proud of that collection. It’s my strongest, most personal work.

It was inspired by Alexandra’s hiking trips with her father. He gave her his love for minerals; he let her read his books on them. He wasn’t a geologist — it was all amateur passion, but genuine passion. His whole generation was like that: guitars, campfires, tents. She grew up around that. It shaped her.

Eudialyte comes in reddish pink to wine-red, sometimes with magenta or brownish tones. It often forms juicy-looking patches inside lighter host rocks. Russia’s Kola Peninsula — a fantastical place: a home to stones of unimaginable shapes; jagged cliffs; waterfalls and bays; tundra; cold ocean caves; and thousands of lakes — is where Alexandra and her father would have come across it.

— I love minerals to the point of obsession. When I look at them, I fall into a meditative state. My mind stops thinking; it just marvels.

Speaking about meditative states: she considers cleaning one of them. Especially when there’s still a way to go before a vacation or time off. And we aren’t talking about a quick tidy-up — it can take her an entire month. A real, proper sort-out: threads by colour, beads by shape…

— It’s a kind of meditation for me. Traditional meditation, on the other hand, I can’t stand. The idea of sitting still and “calming the mind” drives me crazy. For me, meditation happens when I’m working with my hands — doing something repetitive, like knitting, embroidering, or sewing.

— When I’m sewing, I can sit for hours. Some people think that’s a nightmare, but for me, it’s perfect. That’s my kind of peace.

Still, why fashion and not something else?

— Mostly circumstances. Growing up in the late Soviet and post-Soviet 80s and 90s, those were difficult times; the selection in stores was... let’s say, very limited, almost nonexistent. And I’ve always been petite, so finding clothes that fit me was nearly impossible.

— I started making clothes for myself when I was young. Wherever I went in something I’d made, people would go, “Oh, where did you get that?” and then they’d ask me to make something for them too. I never advertised — it all just happened naturally.

Of all Alexandra’s designs, it’s her dresses that attract the most attention — her best-sellers, complex and one-of-a-kind. Rightfully so: there is a lot of handwork in them — intricate finishes, fabric distress, dyeing techniques. Not to mention the sculptural form, and the ruffles.

Do you ever have days when you think, “Today I’m not a designer at all”?

— I sure do! Especially when I’m tired or haven’t slept. That inner critic immediately shows up: “Really? You call yourself a designer?"

— “Dior was a designer — but you? What are you even trying to do?” Yes, it happens quite often. And sometimes I just want to be a mom and not do anything work-related for a day.

And solitude, that’s essential too.

— I had design in my life first and a family later, so those quiet moments have become rare, and I really cherish them. I just enjoy being alone. It’s something both a mother of several children and a creative person can understand — that need to be alone with your thoughts. I’m always thinking about something, but when no one’s around to interrupt, that’s my favourite state to be in.

She usually catches those moments in a cafe over lingonberry tea or caramel latte, right after she drops off her children at school or kindergarten.

— It’s become a little ritual of mine. Without it the day just doesn’t feel quite right.

At 45, Alexandra is finally learning to delegate — and to sleep through the night.

— It took complete exhaustion for me to realise I had to let go. It felt like I hadn’t slept in 25 years. I drove myself into a serious burnout. I couldn’t understand how it was possible to hand things over to someone else, to trust another person with something I’d always done myself. Yes, I had issues with trust. Now I have no idea how I ever managed to do everything alone. Honestly — how?!

With a psychologist’s help, she has allowed herself, reluctantly at first, to slow down and to discover in the process that there’s nothing wrong with just sitting on the couch — and, most importantly, not feeling that pulsing nagging sense of guilt about it.

— I’ve been focusing a lot on personal growth, on understanding myself more deeply. Why am I such a workaholic?

— Fashion design is, of course, at the centre of my life; it’s something I simply can’t imagine my life without. Yet there are still many day-to-day work things I need to step back from. There are people on my team now who are just as dedicated and passionate — and in many ways, they do certain things better than I can.

Some roots you don’t want to sever — and some you just can’t.

Why is it important for you that your pattern makers stay in Murmansk?

— It’s not really about them staying in Murmansk. It’s just that I’ve been working with this woman for over 15 years. Unlike me, she’s not someone who likes to move; she wouldn’t go to Moscow. I kept my atelier there; I still rent the space, and she works there with all the equipment. I trust her completely.

— I can’t imagine abandoning someone who’s been by my side for so long. She knows exactly what I want, understands my way of thinking, and often suggests smart, constructive solutions. We’re a real team, there’s complete trust between us. I’m very loyal that way. Distance isn’t a problem for me.

Right now Alexandra works only with what she’s lived — not with theories or abstractions, but real experience: what she’s witnessed in her own life, her family’s, her friends’.

— My childhood left me with the warmest memories — the smell of hay; picking berries and mushrooms; fishing; the countryside; the tablecloths and embroidered napkins. All of that became deeply embedded into my aesthetic.

— I wore second-hand clothes back then, and now I love giving my designs a slightly worn look, making them feel as if they already have a story, a life of their own. That sense of continuity runs through my work. My past connects to my present and to my future.

And the future lies in technology, something Alexandra wants to master so she can speak the same language as the new generation.

— We’ve already started experimenting — we made short videos with elements of AI. I show them to my kids and they say, “Cool.” There’s a new generation growing up behind us, and if we don’t create a space to preserve what was once precious to us, it might simply fade.

Let’s imagine your collections had a scent, what would it be?

— Mandarins. The scent of cold, of New Year’s, of memory. “Eudialyte” would be different — raw stone, damp earth, tundra. But overall? Always citrus. Always mandarins.

Besides her own memories and impressions, Alexandra also wants to interpret the traditions of the Far North.

— Lately I’ve been thinking seriously about visiting and speaking with the guardians of local minority traditions, for example, those who preserve Nenets or Sámi embroidery. I want to digitize and document the heritage — to create a research-based project before it disappears.

Alexandra is not a fan of straightforward, literal approaches. She says it worries her when designers simply turn to ornaments or embroidery for a contemporary “ethnic” look.

— I’m more interested in finding meaning through form, through cut, through the treatment of fabric.

— I can’t just take a Sámi motif of dancing figures and stitch it onto a dress — that’s a dangerous line where design turns into souvenir-making. First, I need to understand how to reinterpret it. Maybe to make the pattern abstract, but then, if I do, would the communities it belongs to feel offended, thinking I’m playing with their heritage?

Right now, the keepers of these traditions in the Far North still sew the way they did a hundred years ago. But will it speak to younger generations? For their heritage to continue, they’ll need to open up to that space where tradition meets contemporary fashion.

— You have to ask permission. You have to start a dialogue. My goal is to modernize tradition — to use new technologies like 3D, volume, appliqué — but to do it delicately, with respect. It’s a complex subject, which is why I haven’t touched it yet. But the thought is there. And it stays with me.

What does Russian style mean to you?

— It’s about a certain kind of femininity: dresses, restraint, softness, inner strength. An intellectual beauty. Of course, there are iconic pieces — the sarafan, for example — but they exist in other cultures too, so we can’t claim them as purely ours.

— I’d love for Russian women to be associated with taste, the way Parisian women are. But we live in a reality where, for most people, style simply isn’t a priority. We’re constantly in survival mode, and in those conditions, clothing must serve its purpose first.

— How do I define taste for myself? I think taste is when you look at someone and immediately sense there’s something unique about them, something truly their own. In the ideal sense, taste is an inner state — a feeling of one’s soul, of self, of how you move through the world.

Alexandra believes a lot of it comes from family.

— In general, interest in appearance begins at home. If your mother or grandmother didn’t have a sense of taste — if there wasn’t that visual culture around you — then there’s not much for it to grow from, unless you’re a natural exception who starts exploring it on your own. Of course, you can learn taste, but the instinct for it is often inherited.

As a child, Alexandra stole her brothers’ sportswear — and she never stopped. Today she still prefers oversized silhouettes: XXXL on her XS frame.

— I don’t like tight clothes. Volume feels like home — it’s that shy sparrow inside me wanting to hide. But I always dress with respect for the occasion. My mother taught me that. She used to say you can’t show up to someone’s birthday looking “whatever”, it shows how you feel about that person.

An unexpected place or thing that has inspired your design work?

— Once I was in this group of people, and I found myself so inspired by one person there, their appearance, their thoughts, the way they carried themselves. I suddenly started imagining what kind of pieces I would design for them. It really surprised me that inspiration can come not only from travel, culture or landscapes, but from peers. Some are so fascinating that you just want to capture them, their energy, their mood.

How would you define imagination? And when, for you, are thinking and imagination opposites, and when are they interchangeable?

— Let me try to unpack that. Imagination can be very vivid, while thought tends to be more material. In a way, imagination exists right on the threshold of thought.

— Something subtle, almost fleeting, passes through you; when you catch it, it turns into a thought that won’t let go. From there, it slowly becomes something real. So for me, the two are inseparable: the beginning of anything physical always starts in imagination.

But imagination can also stay where it is — if there’s no inner need to bring it into the world just yet.

— I sometimes feel like there’s a little shelf, or even a cabinet, in my mind where all those imaginings are stored, waiting for their moment.

Do you have a piece of clothing you’ve held onto for years, something you can’t let go of?

— An Orenburg shawl, a soft grey one made of down. My grandmother gave it to my mother, and my mother later passed it on to me. I used to wear it at home all the time, wrapped around my waist to keep warm — I’m always cold. At some point it was completely worn through.

— After my twins were born, I was probably reflecting on life a lot. For two months, I sat and stitched the holes closed.

Clothing, for Alexandra, is more than just fabric. It’s a connection to the past, a language of memory.

— I just couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.

Can you love the cold enough to build your world around it — in elaborate colourways, in sumptuous volume, in flowing feminine silhouettes? Alexandra did. She does.

And her path only keeps deepening.