In the early '90s, Maxim Ignatyev began selling sneakers when others were in line for sausage.
And while others were hawking their goods from stalls at Kievsky Station, Ignatyev, now the CEO of Reebok Russia, had bigger plans.
"We'd have sold them fast [at the station]. It wouldn't have been a problem," says Ignatyev, who has been running Reebok Russia for almost a decade. "But we said from the start that we were going to provide quality service."
Ignatyev's quality-first approach looks to have paid off: The company has built eight exclusive Reebok stores, doubled revenues since the 1998 crisis, launched local production and is even starting up its own chain of fitness clubs.
A graduate of the physics and mathematics faculty of the Patrice Lumumba University of International Friendship, Ignatyev applied his technical education directly for a brief, six-month spell at a Moscow institute before swapping science for commerce.
In 1985, he joined U.S. company Inter-Torg, which specialized in supplying industrial equipment to the Soviet Union.
Despite Ignatyev's long-standing passion for volleyball, it was a long time before his career shifted from heavy machinery to sportswear.
"I worked with Inter-Torg for six years, progressing from technical assistant to project manager," says Ignatyev. "One of the areas we were working in was petrochemicals and we had a project with an institution that specialized in the production of synthetic rubber. The head of this company approached us and said 'let's make sports shoes.'"
As luck would have it, one of Ignatyev's close partners at Inter-Torg had contacts in Reebok's U.S. management.
In 1991 they began production negotiations. However, it soon became clear that making Reebok shoes locally would be prohibitively complex -- at least for the time being.
"We decided it didn't make sense. But I began to look into the opportunities for supplying and selling sports shoes in Russia," says Ignatyev.
At the end of 1991, Reebok headquarters gave Ignatyev the thumbs-up to sell sportswear in Russia. He was tasked with carrying out the business plan; and in December that year Reebok's local subsidiary, Reebok Russia, was officially registered.
"When I told my friends I was planning to sell Reebok shoes, they thought I was insane," Ignatyev says. "'They'd say, 'there are still lines for sausage, and you're running around trying to sell sneakers!'"
The competition posed little threat in the early days -- it would be several years before Nike arrived. But when it came to finding upmarket retail premises, Moscow at the start of the '90s held as much promise as the Gobi Desert.
Choice was limited to the Arbat Irish House and the Sadko Arcade.
Ignatyev's solution was extremely unorthodox for Reebok. In May 1993, he opened the doors to Reebok's flagship store on Novinsky Boulvard -- only the company's third dedicated store internationally -- which proved a hit from day one.
Reebok's tracksuits and sneakers appealed to the sporty side of the business elite -- and rapidly joined the crimson blazer, gold chain, Mercedes and disgruntled blonde bombshell as a staple trapping of Russia's new rich.
"Some customers would spend over $1,000 in one visit," Ignatyev recalls.
As the super-wealthy moved off in search of new fashions, Russia's well-heeled but far less mercurial emerging middle class became the main customers, and good ones at that.
Before the crisis, Reebok Russia's coffers swelled with turnover of more than $40 million a year.
But the good times came to an end with the August 1998 financial collapse.
For Reebok Russia, the situation was further exacerbated by the fact that the firm had been steadily losing ground to its competitors globally since 1997.
Sales fell by 50 percent in Moscow -- and plummeted by as much as 75 percent in the regions. Ignatyev was forced to make sweeping staff cuts.
But fast forward to the present, and the situation is quite the reverse.
"The market quickly righted itself," he says, predicting that Reebok Russia's profits will exceed pre-crisis levels in 2002.
Following a brief stint in charge of Reebok's operations in Scandinavia, Ignatyev returned in mid-2000 with the task of reorganizing Reebok Russia into an independently owned company to act as exclusive local distributor.
The overhaul meant he was finally able to brush the cobwebs off his shelved production plans, and the new Reebok Russia was granted a license to produce sportswear. Today, 20 percent of Reebok clothes sold in Russia are made locally. The company has three factories in Russia and two in Belarus.
Reebok recently opened its first fitness center near Polezhayevskaya metro station, and another is slated to open in September on Sheremetyevskoye Shosse. New stores are planned in Moscow and Kiev.
So if you want to find Planet Reebok, the best place to look may be Russia.
And while others were hawking their goods from stalls at Kievsky Station, Ignatyev, now the CEO of Reebok Russia, had bigger plans.
"We'd have sold them fast [at the station]. It wouldn't have been a problem," says Ignatyev, who has been running Reebok Russia for almost a decade. "But we said from the start that we were going to provide quality service."
Ignatyev's quality-first approach looks to have paid off: The company has built eight exclusive Reebok stores, doubled revenues since the 1998 crisis, launched local production and is even starting up its own chain of fitness clubs.
A graduate of the physics and mathematics faculty of the Patrice Lumumba University of International Friendship, Ignatyev applied his technical education directly for a brief, six-month spell at a Moscow institute before swapping science for commerce.
In 1985, he joined U.S. company Inter-Torg, which specialized in supplying industrial equipment to the Soviet Union.
Despite Ignatyev's long-standing passion for volleyball, it was a long time before his career shifted from heavy machinery to sportswear.
"I worked with Inter-Torg for six years, progressing from technical assistant to project manager," says Ignatyev. "One of the areas we were working in was petrochemicals and we had a project with an institution that specialized in the production of synthetic rubber. The head of this company approached us and said 'let's make sports shoes.'"
As luck would have it, one of Ignatyev's close partners at Inter-Torg had contacts in Reebok's U.S. management.
In 1991 they began production negotiations. However, it soon became clear that making Reebok shoes locally would be prohibitively complex -- at least for the time being.
"We decided it didn't make sense. But I began to look into the opportunities for supplying and selling sports shoes in Russia," says Ignatyev.
At the end of 1991, Reebok headquarters gave Ignatyev the thumbs-up to sell sportswear in Russia. He was tasked with carrying out the business plan; and in December that year Reebok's local subsidiary, Reebok Russia, was officially registered.
"When I told my friends I was planning to sell Reebok shoes, they thought I was insane," Ignatyev says. "'They'd say, 'there are still lines for sausage, and you're running around trying to sell sneakers!'"
The competition posed little threat in the early days -- it would be several years before Nike arrived. But when it came to finding upmarket retail premises, Moscow at the start of the '90s held as much promise as the Gobi Desert.
Choice was limited to the Arbat Irish House and the Sadko Arcade.
Ignatyev's solution was extremely unorthodox for Reebok. In May 1993, he opened the doors to Reebok's flagship store on Novinsky Boulvard -- only the company's third dedicated store internationally -- which proved a hit from day one.
Reebok's tracksuits and sneakers appealed to the sporty side of the business elite -- and rapidly joined the crimson blazer, gold chain, Mercedes and disgruntled blonde bombshell as a staple trapping of Russia's new rich.
"Some customers would spend over $1,000 in one visit," Ignatyev recalls.
As the super-wealthy moved off in search of new fashions, Russia's well-heeled but far less mercurial emerging middle class became the main customers, and good ones at that.
Before the crisis, Reebok Russia's coffers swelled with turnover of more than $40 million a year.
But the good times came to an end with the August 1998 financial collapse.
For Reebok Russia, the situation was further exacerbated by the fact that the firm had been steadily losing ground to its competitors globally since 1997.
Sales fell by 50 percent in Moscow -- and plummeted by as much as 75 percent in the regions. Ignatyev was forced to make sweeping staff cuts.
But fast forward to the present, and the situation is quite the reverse.
"The market quickly righted itself," he says, predicting that Reebok Russia's profits will exceed pre-crisis levels in 2002.
Following a brief stint in charge of Reebok's operations in Scandinavia, Ignatyev returned in mid-2000 with the task of reorganizing Reebok Russia into an independently owned company to act as exclusive local distributor.
The overhaul meant he was finally able to brush the cobwebs off his shelved production plans, and the new Reebok Russia was granted a license to produce sportswear. Today, 20 percent of Reebok clothes sold in Russia are made locally. The company has three factories in Russia and two in Belarus.
Reebok recently opened its first fitness center near Polezhayevskaya metro station, and another is slated to open in September on Sheremetyevskoye Shosse. New stores are planned in Moscow and Kiev.
So if you want to find Planet Reebok, the best place to look may be Russia.