Orlan MKS and the one-size-fits-all Russian approach

If you’ve ever watched a live stream from the International Space Station, you’ve seen it. That bulky, beige-and-blue suit that looks like a relic from a Cold War sci-fi film. It’s the Orlan MKS, the current generation of Russia’s extravehicular activity suit, and it has been the backbone of Russian spacewalks for over four decades. While NASA has gone through multiple suit iterations, from the Apollo A7L to the current EMU and the next-gen xEMU, Roscosmos has stuck to a stubbornly singular philosophy: one suit, one size, one way. For American men in their 20s watching the space industry accelerate, the Orlan MKS is a fascinating case study in why “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” can be both a strength and a glaring liability.

The Orlan story starts in the 1970s. When the Soviet Union needed a suit for station operations, they didn’t go the modular, custom-fitted route. Instead, they engineered a suit that could be “worn” by anyone between roughly 5’5” and 6’2”, with adjustments for height and girth via removable sizing rings and fabric inserts. The Orlan-MKS, the latest variant introduced in 2017, still uses this basic architecture. It is a rear-entry suit, meaning the cosmonaut climbs in through a hatch in the back rather than zipping into separate pants and torso sections. This design choice eliminates the complex waist and shoulder joints found in American suits, replacing them with a single, rigid aluminum pressure vessel. The result is a suit that can be donned in under five minutes, requires no assistance, and can be stored flat. For a space station crew with limited time and resources, that’s a huge practical win.

But the trade-offs are brutal. The one-size-fits-all approach means the Orlan MKS fits nobody perfectly. Short cosmonauts have to contend with extra leg length that bunches up, reducing mobility and increasing fatigue. Taller crewmembers find themselves scrunched, with limited range of motion in their shoulders. The suit’s internal pressure is fixed at 5.8 psi, significantly higher than the 4.3 psi used by NASA’s EMU. Higher pressure means less risk of decompression sickness, but it also makes the suit stiffer. Every movement fights against a balloon-like resistance. To conserve power and cooling, the Orlan MKS uses a passive thermal control system instead of the water-cooled garments NASA employs. This works fine for short sorties, but during a six-hour spacewalk, cosmonauts can overheat if they’re doing heavy work. There’s no active cooling loop, just a fabric liner that wicks sweat. It’s like wearing a drysuit designed by a committee that never actually used it. For a 20-something American guy who values performance and fit, this feels like flying a fighter jet with a seat that doesn’t adjust.

The gear itself is a mixed bag. The outer shell is a multi-layer fabric of nylon, Nomex, and Kevlar, designed to resist micrometeoroids and thermal extremes. The gloves are the weak point. Unlike American gloves with articulated fingers and individual thumb joints, Orlan gloves are essentially stiff mittens with separate thumb and forefinger sections. Fine manipulation is nearly impossible. Cosmonauts describe them as “clubs.” The helmet is a single-piece polycarbonate dome with no internal visor to block direct sun glare. That means cosmonauts often squint or look away from the sun, reducing situational awareness. The suit’s built-in electronics are old-school analog, with no digital displays. You get pressure, oxygen, and battery levels via mechanical gauges and simple LEDs. It works, but it’s like comparing a 1990s Volvo to a Tesla Model X.

So why does Russia keep using this approach? Because it’s incredibly reliable. The Orlan MKS has never had a catastrophic failure during a spacewalk. Its simplicity means fewer things to break. Cosmonauts train on a single variant, reducing complexity and cost. For a space program with a fraction of NASA’s budget, this makes cold economic sense. But as commercial space stations like Axiom Station come online, and as private companies like SpaceX and Blue Origin push for lunar and Martian surface operations, the Orlan’s limitations become critical. A suit that works for a zero-g spacewalk on a station is not the same as a suit that needs to walk, kneel, and dig in lunar regolith. You can’t adjust leg lengths on the fly. You can’t swap out gloves for different tasks. You can’t seal a leak in the field without returning to the airlock.

For casual space enthusiasts watching the next decade unfold, the Orlan MKS is a reminder that gear is not just hardware; it’s philosophy. The Russian approach values endurance and simplicity over human factors and adaptability. It works. But it won’t get us to Mars. American designers are now moving toward custom-fit, modular suits with active cooling, digital displays, and flexible joints. The Orlan MKS, meanwhile, will likely remain on the ISS until the station’s planned decommissioning. After that, it’s probably headed to a museum. When you see it in action, appreciate the engineering that kept cosmonauts alive for over 40 years. But also realize that one size fits all is a compromise you don’t want to make when you’re the one wearing it.