With just 40 outfits this is not a big exhibition but there is more pure-gold braid, brocade, cloth of gold and silver and casually tacked-on emeralds, rubies and pearls than you could shake a stick at.

In the V&A’s costume court, this flamboyant show is deeply satisfying. Even better, every garment is for a man. No flounces, just the glorious swagger of Russian men who knew that life does not get better than an embroidered coat and waistcoat with buttoned breeches or a general’s uniform made to one’s own design, worn at one’s own coronation — ideally (as in the case of Nicholas II) beneath a 13kg coronation mantle to which 2,691 ermines devoted their tails.

For these… are the tsars.

From tiny Philip II, who reigned for three years, dying from smallpox on the morning of his wedding to Princess Ekaterina Dolgorukaya, to hapless Nicholas II in pure gold and gem-scattered fancy dress in 1903 at probably the most lavish ball ever held, tales of Tchaikovsky-sized sadness and madness are woven into these clothes. Yet the cut and cloth is pure French.

Scorning its own national styles, from 1727 to 1900 Russia embraced European ones. Young Philip’s slim velvet, or gold-tissue coats, with thickly embroidered cuffs and fine knitted hose, all ape the chicest French style. Most of the precious-metal tissues and silk brocades were imported from famous Lyon weavers.

Later tsars designed themselves military outfits for their coronations, usually taking the rank of general. Paul I, son of Catherine the Great, was crowned in 1796 in a severely sexy grey wool coat with buff breeches of elk skin, plus slim, dashing over-the knee boots and gauntleted kid gloves.

His son, Alexander I, offers a baffling conundrum. Marvel at his tight boots more pointed than winkle-pickers, and slim leather breeches with minute stitching and a complicated front flap that begs to be unbuttoned. Then look at his portrait miniature, done three years later in the same outfit. How ever did that lard-arse get into these breeches, so long before magic knickers?

The show is nicely rounded out with a fine collection of postilions’ jackets, whose short, cropped fit and acres of buttons, tassels and frogging are all one could ever desire from a uniform. Complete with jaunty gold-fringed caps, these tight little garments are the forerunners of modern jockeys’ kit.

Glamour! We have forgotten the meaning of the word.

Until 2 March. Admission £5, concessions available. Information: www.vam.ac.uk.