Since the start of the full-scale war in Ukraine in 2022, Russia has become increasingly opaque – statistically, economically, and socially. Official data is increasingly inaccessible or unreliable, while traditional economic indicators like GDP, inflation, or trade balances often fail to capture the nuanced transformations taking place within Russian society. In this context, indirect or behavioral indicators – especially those related to consumer spending – become critical tools for understanding the lived reality inside the country. Two such indicators stand out: spending on public dining and the consumption of alcohol.
These categories may seem trivial at first glance. Yet they offer a valuable lens into the psyche of a society under both external sanctions and internal political suppression. When people can no longer afford foreign travel as before, new cars, or real estate, they may redirect their spending to more accessible outlets – like restaurants, bars, and liquor stores. This shift can help decode not just economic resilience or adaptation, but also emotional and psychological coping mechanisms in the face of crisis.
Russians spend more money on restaurants. The war hawks and the liberals are angry about it, while the Kremlin is happy that people eat and drink instead of protesting
Despite heavy Western sanctions, supply chain disruptions, and macroeconomic turbulence, one sector of the Russian economy has demonstrated consistent resilience: public dining. According to official data, the physical volume index of food service turnover in Russia continued to grow steadily between 2022 and 2024 – even as other consumer sectors faltered. In April 2022, this index grew by 1.9%, but by May 2023, the year-on-year increase had jumped to a staggering 21.8%. Even in early 2025, growth rates remained positive, with the index rising by 6.4% in January and 8.5% in April compared to the previous year.
These figures stand in stark contrast to downturns in sectors like automotive manufacturing, real estate, or aviation – industries that are more reliant on foreign technology, imports, or stable international partnerships. Dining, by contrast, remains local, flexible, and emotionally compensatory.
There are a few reasons why public dining has not only survived, but in some cases thrived. First, even amid a downturn in living standards, a segment of the Russian population – particularly those tied to the military-industrial complex – has experienced real income growth. As the state pumps billions of rubles into defense production, workers in associated industries, along with government contractors and regional administrations, receive better wages. However, these extra rubles often cannot be used for large purchases: real estate has become unaffordable, foreign vacations are limited, and car prices have soared due to supply constraints and weakened currency.
Instead, many Russians appear to be spending their disposable income on services and experiences that offer immediate gratification. Dining out satisfies this need. In major cities like Moscow and St. Petersburg, the restaurant industry has rebounded sharply. Cafés and eateries are full; the nightlife scene continues undisturbed. This kind of consumption serves as a form of escapism from the political and economic pressures of daily life.
This phenomenon has sparked criticism from both extremes of Russia’s fragmented political spectrum. For pro-war hardliners, spending evenings at sushi bars or nightclubs while soldiers fight and die at the front is seen as a betrayal of national sacrifice. Meanwhile, anti-war liberals criticize the same behavior as an immoral denial of the war’s brutal consequences and an unwillingness to confront the growing repression and economic decay.
Yet it is precisely this apolitical consumerism – this desire to insulate one’s private life from public crisis – which the Kremlin seems keen to preserve. As long as society stays anesthetized by restaurants, festivals, and low-grade consumer optimism, it is less likely to question the costs of its geopolitical ambitions.
From an economic standpoint, the boom in dining also reflects broader substitution trends. The withdrawal of Western food chains after 2022 created new market opportunities for domestic players. While many brands were replaced by cheaper or lower-quality alternatives from third countries, the illusion of abundance has been maintained – at least in urban centers. In this sense, restaurants are part of a curated consumer landscape engineered to maintain stability in the face of isolation.
Alcohol Consumption and the Anatomy of Escapism
Alongside public dining, alcohol consumption serves as a second, highly revealing indicator of societal stress and transformation. Since the onset of the war, alcohol sales in Russia have increased both in volume and in strength. In 2022, retail sales of alcohol grew by 3.5%, and consumption of hard liquor (vodka, cognac, spirits over 25% ABV) rose by 11% compared to the previous year. This trend continued into 2023 and 2024, with average per capita consumption reaching 6.81 liters of pure ethanol – the highest level in nearly a decade.
On paper, these numbers may not seem shocking, especially for a country with a long history of heavy drinking. But they run counter to previous public health achievements: for most of the 2010s, alcohol consumption had been declining in Russia, thanks to regulatory campaigns, stricter sales policies, and changing social norms. That reversal since 2022 reflects more than just lifestyle choice – it reveals growing anxiety, social atomization, and emotional fatigue.
Interestingly, the growth in alcohol use is not uniform. Sales of light alcoholic beverages have declined or stagnated, while vodka and other strong spirits have surged. Market analysts link this to several converging trends. First, wine – particularly imported wine – has become prohibitively expensive due to sanctions, import duties, and limited availability. With tariffs on foreign wines possibly rising from 25% to 50%, many middle-income Russians, especially women aged 30 to 45 (the core demographic for wine consumption), are turning either to domestic substitutes or stronger liquors.
This economic stratification of alcohol preferences signals a worrying pattern. As higher-end wines become a luxury good reserved for the affluent, the broader population leans into cheaper and stronger alternatives. In some regions, this even includes an uptick in illegal production and bootlegging, particularly where local bans or restrictions mimic the anti-alcohol campaigns of the late Soviet era. According to WHO definitions, much of Russia’s alcohol consumption is “unrecorded” – ranging from homemade spirits to smuggled goods and chemical surrogates.
Regional variation plays a major role here. While federal statistics may show modest increases, localized consumption of unregistered alcohol can be far more extreme. The lack of a coherent nationwide alcohol policy makes the issue even more acute. Restrictions vary dramatically from region to region, creating a patchwork of legal environments that enable the growth of underground markets.
There is also a gendered dimension. While beer and wine were previously seen as more “acceptable” forms of alcohol, particularly among women, the rising cost and falling quality of these drinks has pushed some female consumers toward hard liquor. As the emotional toll of war, censorship, and economic pressure accumulates, alcohol becomes not just a form of socialization, but a coping mechanism.
The data also hints at a substitution of lifestyle. In the absence of foreign travel, cultural mobility, drinking has taken on new functions. It fills the space once occupied by other leisure activities, especially for younger and middle-aged adults whose aspirations have been disrupted. The market is adapting accordingly: while luxury wine is shrinking, domestic spirit producers are expanding, often with state support.
Much like with public dining, the Kremlin appears to tolerate, or even quietly encourage, this form of passive self-medication. In a system where social control is paramount, a population numbed by alcohol and distracted by consumer comforts is less likely to ask questions.
In the fog of statistical uncertainty and propaganda, tracking hard data on GDP or trade flows can only tell part of the story of modern Russia. To understand how the war in Ukraine, sanctions, and isolation are transforming the country, we must turn to behavioral indicators – what people eat, where they spend, and how they drink.
The steady growth of Russia’s food service sector and the resurgence of strong alcohol consumption point to a society under pressure. These trends reflect not only economic shifts, but emotional ones: the turn toward immediate pleasures in the face of long-term decline, the avoidance of politics through lifestyle choices, and the reliance on consumption as a salve for social unease.
