The lights dim, the music pulses, as the first designer’s collection hits the runway at Zimbabwe Fashion Week (ZFW), there’s an almost sacred moment of pride. It’s an electrifying, beautiful defiance a promise that Zimbabwean creativity is alive, vibrant, and ready for the world. But for those of us who care deeply about the economic future of this country, that brilliant spotlight casts a sharp, sobering shadow. Beyond the polished catwalk, on every street corner and in every bustling market, a much different fashion show is happening one featuring the clothes that are systematically killing the local industry. This is the $1 Tsunami, and it’s swallowing our designers whole.

The issue isn’t a simple case of fair competition, it’s a structural imbalance that puts local talent at an insurmountable disadvantage. Walk through any market and you’ll find two major culprits. First, the ubiquitous piles of mabhero (second-hand clothes). These “pre-loved” garments, which often originate overseas and are channeled through our borders via neighbors like Mozambique, offer our cash-strapped public a necessary survival mechanism. But let’s be honest while they clothe the nation, they are also a form of economic waste colonialism. Vendors can sell entire pieces for less than the cost of the raw cotton fabric a local manufacturer needs to buy before they even start cutting.

How can a formal business, paying taxes and wages, possibly compete with that? Then there’s the sheer volume of new, cheap fast fashion, primarily flowing in from China and Turkey. We’re talking about massive shipments that are constantly under-invoiced or illegally ushered past checkpoints by unscrupulous actors. They bypass the duties, dodge the proper taxes, and land on our shelves at prices no legitimate Zimbabwean business could ever touch. When your factory has to deal with erratic power, high material costs, and a proper tax bill, the fight is over before it begins.

The impact is devastatingly visible. This isn’t just about a few designers struggling; it’s about the erosion of our entire textile manufacturing base. We’ve watched proud, historical factories close their doors, resulting in the retrenchment of thousands of skilled workers. This vibrant industry, which was once a cornerstone of employment, is now a shadow of its former self. When you speak to local manufacturers, their frustrations are raw and real. They talk about the endless battle against high local utility costs and the necessity of importing every single raw material be it specialized yarn or fabric because our own supply chain has collapsed. They are using older machinery, battling unpredictable logistics, and ultimately, forced to price their genuinely beautiful, high-quality garments higher than the imported plastic-fantastic alternative.

Our own consumers, facing economic pressure, are forced to choose quantity over quality, contributing to the cycle that keeps our designers poor and our factories quiet.

This is why ZFW must be more than just a beautiful weekend. It has to be a catalyst. The answer isn’t a simple, unenforceable ban the government has tried that, and the imports continue to flow. The true solution requires a collective act of will and strategic protection. We need to see zero tolerance for corruption at our border posts every single shipment must pay its fair due. This must be coupled with a massive injection of industrial support for our manufacturers, giving them tax breaks and access to capital to upgrade their aging machinery and become truly cost-competitive. Crucially, we need to appeal to our national conscience.

Every time a government ministry, a school, or a state-run enterprise buys uniforms or supplies, they should be mandated to buy local. Every consumer must realize that choosing a Zimbabwean-made garment isn’t just a purchase it’s an investment in a local job, a local factory, and ultimately, our national dignity. Zimbabwean designers are bursting with talent they are ready to dress the world. But unless we collectively defend them from the illegal, unsustainable influx of foreign goods, the only thing we’ll be left with is a stunning fashion show that leads to an empty factory. The thread is unraveling. The time to start stitching it back together is now.