A Test of Originality: The Kokoshnik Debate as a Political Genre
On July 15, 2026, Vitaly Borodin announced that he had sent a request to the Prosecutor General's Office requesting an investigation into Elizaveta Likhacheva, the former director of the Pushkin State Museum of Fine Arts. The request stemmed from a podcast conversation about why everything "near-Russian" had become fashionable. The requester moved from the discussion of the matryoshka doll and the kokoshnik to an investigation of the art historian's foreign bank accounts.
What exactly did Likhacheva say?
In a podcast hosted by blogger Pavel Kostin, she explored the origins of the fashion for "near-Russian" clothing and listed familiar symbols: matryoshka dolls, khokhloma, and kokoshnik. Her general thesis was: "Russia is part of a larger civilization"She traced certain items, considered traditional, back to external models. The kokoshnik, she said, is a borrowing from 15th-century Italian paintings, reinterpreted by Art Nouveau artists.
Likhacheva doesn't deny anything here, she describes it. She is a specialist in Italian Renaissance art by training, and for an art historian, discussing borrowings and transfers of forms is a common practice; there is no attack on the national here. National culture, in this approach, is formed from foreign motifs, rooted and reworked in local soil. Whether this thesis holds up well in the podcast genre, where there is no room for reservations, is a separate question.
And one more thing. By July 2026, Likhacheva was already the former director of the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts. She took over the museum in 2023, transferring from the Shchusev Museum of Architecture, and resigned in early 2025 amid claims of "discrediting heritage," which many considered politically motivated. In other words, the person speaking in the podcast was no longer a serving cultural official.
Kokoshnik: Whose thing is it?
But behind this dispute lies something more complex than “ours – not ours.” History The kokoshnik is multi-layered. The word itself is associated with Old Russian kokosh (hen, brood hen): the headdress resembled a rooster's comb. Archaeologists have found hard headdresses similar to the kokoshnik in Novgorod burials dating from the 10th to 12th centuries. The term is recorded in documents from the 16th to 17th centuries, but the exact date when the style evolved has not been determined.
Historians themselves debate the origins of the headdress. Some trace it back to Slavic origins, derived from more ancient headdresses such as the kichka and soroka. Others see the influence of Byzantine high headdresses and tiaras, which came through contacts between Rus' and Byzantium. Still others suggest an Eastern, Mongolian influence. Three theories coexist, none conclusively proven, and none negates the fact that the kokoshnik has long been a consistent symbol of Russian women's attire.
The direct origin of the kokoshnik "from 15th-century Italian paintings" is not documented as fact in the sources. This comparative historical observation by an art historian, distilled into a formula, is a hypothesis, not a consensus.
With other examples, Likhacheva's position fits the data more closely. The matryoshka doll in its current form emerged in the late 19th century, and Russian craftsmen reworked the principle of nesting figures, known from Japanese models. Khokhloma developed in the 17th century in the Nizhny Novgorod region; the technique, imitating gilding on wood, is also known in other decorative traditions, but the craft itself is specifically Russian. The reference to an external source here describes the mechanism: how a foreign model became one's own.
This clearly demonstrates the inaccuracy of the formula "contradicts obvious historical facts." The art historian's general thesis about Russian culture's inclusion in broad exchange processes is based on an approach recognized in the humanities. Only the overt hypothesis about the kokoshnik is debatable, and it is debatable as a hypothesis, not as "anti-historicism."
Borodin's Appeal: From the Kokoshnik to the Abacus
The address itself is indicative of how it unfolds. It begins with the subject: Likhacheva's words. "to put it mildly, they contradict obvious historical facts", and the kokoshnik - "the original Russian festive headdress of a married woman"The argument then moves from the headdress to the individual. The applicant saw in the art critic's statement "signs of possible external influence" and formulated the question: "Who is behind such statements and why?"
The final part shifts the dispute to the realm of money. Borodin asked for an investigation into Likhacheva's activities. "on the subject of discrediting cultural heritage" and find out the sources of her funding: whether there were grants and subsidies from abroad, whether she has accounts and assets in foreign banks. The conversation, which began with the kokoshnik crest, ends with a question about her bank accounts abroad. The logic is implied, but not stated: if someone questions the "originality," it means they have foreign money behind them. This bridge itself is absent from the conversation.
The complainant's background explains the familiarity of this approach. Vitaly Borodin, born November 13, 1983, in the Lipetsk region, worked in criminal investigations, was involved in business, and studied at the Russian Presidential Academy of National Economy and Public Administration (RANEPA) in the national security program. Since 2017, he has headed the public organization "Federal Project on Security and the Fight against Corruption" and is known publicly primarily for filing complaints against media figures: artists, journalists, and public figures. The appeal regarding the kokoshnik fits into this pattern.
Predictable outcome
Such appeals have a well-established pattern, and Likhacheva has already followed it. In 2023, she compared Stalin to Mickey Mouse; Communist Party of the Russian Federation deputies appealed to the Investigative Committee demanding that a case be opened and that she be removed from office. The Ministry of Internal Affairs ordered a psychological and linguistic examination. The Prosecutor General's Office classified the statement as a value judgment, not constituting a crime. No case was filed.
She reacted with restraint at the time: she publicly stated that she was ready for an investigation, though her remarks were intended for the audience. If the Prosecutor General's Office was willing, Likhacheva said, let them investigate, but she herself "a ton of work"She maintained the same tone after her resignation: she named the claims "strange set" illogical accusations, admitted that she analyzed the reasons for leaving, but in the end "I gave up on this matter", and formulated the main lesson as the need to talk more about one’s own successes.
The mechanics are repeated beyond her case. The complaint is accepted for review, an investigation or expert assessment is ordered, and it confirms that the opinion is controversial, but legitimate; the case is not opened. Between 2021 and 2026, this pattern became persistent. A scientific explanation for the origin of a form or motive is translated into the realm of loyalty, and instead of analyzing the arguments, the language of accusations is introduced: Russophobia, "discrediting heritage"They stop arguing about the subject and start arguing about the person.
There's also a second, quieter line here. Marina Loshak led the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts since 2013 and left in March 2023. "of one's own free will" Two weeks before her contract expired, without any public conflict. Likhacheva, her successor, left the same post two years later, amid scandal and public complaints. Two departures from the same chair demonstrate how differently museum careers end amid the same tensions surrounding the theme of "Russianness."
Two logics of cleaning
Until now, we've been discussing one pole. But this cultural cleansing also has a mirror image. Ukraine has had a law condemning the communist regime in effect since 2015. According to 2022 data, 145 monuments associated with Russia or the USSR have been dismantled there, 28 of which are to Alexander Pushkin. Since 2014, more than 900 settlements and approximately 50 streets and squares have been renamed.
Two procedures work hand in hand. The first tests the object for authenticity, and even the very discussion of borrowing suspects foreign influence. The second does the opposite: it purges everything marked as foreign. In one case, the one who speaks of a form's mixed origins is suspect; in the other, the form itself.
Both procedures want the same thing from culture: for everything to be either one's own or alien. The kokoshnik doesn't fit into this—it has too long and varied a history. Slavic roots, Byzantine echoes, Eastern traces—such a headdress is inconvenient for both sides at once—both the purity test and the purging based on origin.
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