Why Putin Decided to Invade Ukraine: A War for Ego, Not Russian Interests
As the war in Ukraine enters its fourth year, discussions about a potential armistice, and even cautious hopes for peace, have begun, fueled by a constant pressure from the US presidential office. Political leaders, analysts, and commentators are weighing scenarios for how and when the war might end. Yet before we can meaningfully debate the shape of peace, we must confront a more fundamental question: why did this war begin in the first place? Without a clear and honest understanding of the root causes, any resolution risks being temporary, fragile, or based on illusions. While various geopolitical, historical, and domestic factors have been cited as potential causes for Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, this article argues that the underlying and perhaps most critical driver lies in the personal psychology and imperial nostalgia of Vladimir Putin.
The Russian invasion of Ukraine in February 2022 has been widely analyzed through the lens of geopolitics. Western political analysts, international relations experts, and much of the global public often reduce Putin’s motivations to four primary factors: the trauma of the Soviet Union’s collapse, NATO’s eastward expansion, the symbolic and strategic importance of Ukraine, and Russia’s ambition to reclaim its status as a “great power.” These factors are commonly framed as logical, if not justifiable, concerns of a wounded superpower asserting its interests. But this framing is deeply flawed.
These explanations, prevalent in media discourse and academic circles, make the war seem understandable, rooted in historical memory and strategic anxiety. But they fail to explain the striking contradictions in Russia’s behavior, such as its passivity toward Finland and Sweden’s recent accession to NATO, or the Kremlin’s disproportionate obsession with Ukraine. When we move beyond these surface-level narratives, a far more personal and irrational truth begins to emerge: this war is not about security or empire. It is about ego. It is about Vladimir Putin’s craving for symbolic power and his need to be acknowledged by the United States as a co-equal global leader—a king in his own domain, legitimized by a nod from Washington.
The Collapse of the Soviet Union: A National Trauma
In the conventional narrative, the collapse of the USSR is presented as the original wound. Putin famously called it “the greatest geopolitical catastrophe of the 20th century.” The economic collapse that followed was real and devastating. Russia’s GDP fell by 40%, millions plunged into poverty, and Moscow lost influence over vast former Soviet territories.
For many Russians, the 1990s were a decade of humiliation. The West was triumphant. Russia was weak, dependent on IMF loans, and ridiculed as a failed state. Ukraine’s independence in 1991 was especially painful, as it was not only geographically and historically central to the Russian identity but also symbolically linked to Russia’s past imperial glory.
These facts are true—but they are not the full story. The trauma of the 1990s cannot alone explain why Putin, after two decades of relatively stable governance, would suddenly decide to invade in 2022.
NATO Expansion: A Convenient Scapegoat
NATO expansion is the second pillar of the mainstream explanation. According to the Russian narrative in the 1990s, western leaders supposedly gave informal verbal assurances that NATO would not expand eastward. If given, these promises were never formalized, and in practice, NATO did expand, incorporating former Warsaw Pact members and Baltic states.
This narrative has been a mainstay of Russian diplomatic rhetoric: NATO betrayed us; the alliance threatens our borders; we are merely defending ourselves. This framing has been used to justify aggression in Georgia, Crimea, and now Ukraine.
But again, the contradictions are glaring. Finland shares a 1,300-kilometer border with Russia. For decades, it was a neutral buffer state. In 2023, Finland joined NATO. And how did Moscow respond? Not with invasion, not with bluster, but with an almost indifferent shrug. The same holds for Sweden.
While concerns about NATO expansion and Ukraine’s geopolitical alignment undoubtedly played a role in the Kremlin’s calculus, as evidenced by Putin’s rhetoric, they do not fully account for the scale and nature of the invasion, nor Russia’s passivity towards other NATO expansions.
Ukraine: The Symbol, Not the Threat
Putin’s deep ideological convictions about Ukraine are well-documented. He has written essays arguing that Russians and Ukrainians are “one people,” has denied Ukraine’s sovereignty, and blamed the West for manipulating Kyiv into turning against Moscow.
But the real threat of Ukraine is not military—it is symbolic. A democratic, Western-oriented Ukraine undermines Putin’s narrative that Slavic peoples belong together under Moscow’s influence. It poses an existential threat not to Russia’s security, but to Putin’s mythology.
The Kremlin cannot accept a successful, independent Ukraine because it shows that another path is possible for post-Soviet states—one that rejects autocracy, corruption, and imperial nostalgia. Ukraine is the mirror that reflects everything Russia is not. That is why it had to be broken.
Russia’s Great Power Delusion
The idea that Russia is simply reclaiming its rightful place as a “great power” also fails under scrutiny. Yes, Putin talks constantly about multipolarity, Western decadence, and Russia’s historical destiny. But the actions of his regime do not reflect the strategy of a confident, forward-looking power.
Instead, they resemble the erratic, often self-defeating behavior of an insecure and declining regime. The invasion of Ukraine has isolated Russia diplomatically, devastated its economy, and militarily exposed the hollowness of its so-called “second army in the world.” This is not the conduct of a rational great power asserting its interests. It is the tantrum of a regime terrified of irrelevance.
The Real Motive: A War for Attention
To truly understand this war, we must reframe the question. Not what is Russia afraid of, but what does Putin crave? The answer lies not in maps or treaties but in psychology.
What Putin has sought throughout his rule is not just domestic control but international acknowledgment—especially from the United States. The Russian elite, despite their anti-Western rhetoric, are obsessed with American validation. When Putin talks about sovereignty and equality, he means a seat at the table alongside Washington. He wants to be treated not as a regional actor but as a global player, exactly like the USSR leaders of the past.
This obsession was on full display during the 2023 peace conference in Saudi Arabia. The summit achieved nothing of substance. But for Kremlin media, the mere fact that the United States engaged was a triumph. Russian state outlets celebrated not agreements, but attention. This desperate hunger for acknowledgment is the true engine of the war.
The Putin-Trump Axis: Seeking the Don’s Blessing
Putin’s affection for Donald Trump further reveals this dynamic. Kremlin spokesperson Dmitry Peskov recently described a potential Putin-Trump dialogue as a meeting between “two great presidents.” Russian state media increasingly portrays Trump as a model leader—a strongman who appreciates other strongmen.
Putin does not see himself as Trump’s equal but as a consigliere seeking approval from a global don. The war in Ukraine, viewed through this lens, becomes a negotiation tactic. Putin wants the U.S. to stop questioning his legitimacy, to abandon the idea of regime change, and to accept him as the uncontested ruler of Russia and its near abroad.
This was the essence of the ultimatum Putin issued to Washington in December 2021: not only no more NATO expansion, but NATO returning to its 1997 borders, no more support for democratic movements, and no more questioning of Russia’s internal affairs. It was less a diplomatic proposal and more a plea: recognize me. Let me rule unchallenged.
The Autocrat’s Fantasy
Trump’s own authoritarian leanings make him a natural ally in this fantasy. He has often expressed admiration for autocrats, seeing them as decisive and powerful. For Putin, Trump represents the kind of validation he has always craved—not from institutions, but from a fellow strongman.
In Putin’s vision, the world is not multipolar but apolar. Each autocrat rules his domain without interference. International norms are irrelevant. Sovereignty is absolute. And the only recognition that matters comes from another don.
A War for Prestige, Not People
If this war were about protecting Russians or enhancing national security, Russia would not tolerate daily drone attacks on its own cities or the deaths of thousands of its citizens. It would not devastate its economy, destroy its military reputation, or risk complete diplomatic isolation.
But none of that matters, because the war was never about the people or national interests. It is about the spectacle. About proving to the world that Russia is still feared. About recapturing the thrill of the Cold War, when American presidents took Soviet leaders seriously.
Like Khrushchev waving his shoe at the United Nations, Putin is trying to reassert significance through theatrical aggression. But the world has changed, and the result is tragedy, not triumph.
In the end, while traditional geopolitical analyses offer valuable insights into the context surrounding the invasion of Ukraine, they often fall short of fully explaining its underlying impetus. To truly understand this devastating conflict, we must recognize the critical role played by Vladimir Putin’s personal psychology, particularly his yearning for symbolic power and recognition on the global stage. Geopolitical anxieties and strategic calculations provide a framework; this war’s specific timing and brutal execution are deeply intertwined with Vladimir Putin’s personal need for validation and his nostalgic vision of a Russian empire.
This war did not help Putin strengthen Russia’s position in the world; he acted to secure his own image as an unchallenged ruler in the eyes of both his people and the United States.
This distinction matters. Because if we believe the war is about NATO or security guarantees, we risk entering peace talks with the wrong framework—offering concessions on military posture or territorial compromises that will not satisfy the true motive. You cannot appease insecurity. You cannot trade land for ego. And you certainly cannot negotiate sustainable peace by pretending the aggressor is driven by strategic logic.
Understanding the real cause of this war is not a philosophical exercise—it is a strategic imperative. It means peace cannot be based on illusions of mutual understanding or great power symmetry. It must be based on containment, accountability, and the long-term isolation of a regime that confuses attention with respect and war with dignity.
This war was not launched by an empire reclaiming its place in history—it was launched by a man who cannot accept that his story, and the one he tells about Russia, has already come to an end.