The fitting room at ZUZWA's Antwerp atelier smells faintly of steam and wool

The fitting room at ZUZWA's Antwerp atelier smells faintly of steam and wool. Zuza Walczuk stands behind a model wearing a coat that looks like it was pulled from a 1940s wardrobe and then put through a pasta roller. The sleeves are too long. The hem catches at the knee. Walczuk pins the shoulder, steps back, unpins it, moves it a quarter-inch forward. Her business partner, Weronika Zalazinska, watches from a stool by the window, notebook open, saying nothing.

This is how most of ZUZWA's collections begin: with a coat that doesn't fit, a hem that refuses to behave, and two women who met in Warsaw and decided that Polish fashion didn't need to look like an apology.

Before the house

Walczuk trained at the Academy of Fine Arts in Warsaw, then spent three years in the pattern-cutting department at a manufacturer in Łódź that made outerwear for German brands. She learned how a lapel rolls, how a sleeve should hang when the arm is at rest, and how little margin there is between a coat that works and one that sags. Zalazinska studied fashion management in Kraków and worked in buying for a department store in Warsaw, where she spent most of her time explaining to customers why Polish-made clothing cost more than the Spanish stuff and was worth it.

They met in 2015 at a trade show in Warsaw. Walczuk had a small stand showing a capsule of six coats. Zalazinska stopped, looked at the construction, asked about the fabric. The coats were made from deadstock wool Walczuk had bought from a mill in Bielsko-Biała that was closing. The linings were cotton, not polyester. The buttonholes were hand-sewn, which in 2015 was either a selling point or a sign you didn't understand industrial production.

Zalazinska bought one. A year later, she called Walczuk and suggested they start a label together. Walczuk was working freelance for a knitwear brand in Gdańsk. Zalazinska had left the department store and was consulting for a textile importer. Neither had money. They registered ZUZWA in 2017 with a combined capital of twelve thousand złoty, roughly three thousand euros, and rented a studio in Praga, the part of Warsaw that still looked like Warsaw.

The first collection

ZUZWA's debut collection, shown in a gallery in Praga in March 2018, consisted of nine pieces: four coats, three dresses, two skirts. Everything was made in Warsaw. The palette was grey, navy, rust, and a particular shade of green that Walczuk later described as "the colour of moss on concrete". The silhouettes were boxy but not shapeless, with dropped shoulders and hems that hit mid-calf or just above the ankle. The coats had oversized pockets. The dresses had no waistline.

The collection sold out in three months, mostly through a single stockist in Kraków and ZUZWA's own website. The margins were thin. Walczuk and Zalazinska were cutting patterns in the studio, sourcing fabric from Polish mills, and working with a single seamstress in a suburb of Warsaw who had spent thirty years making uniforms for state enterprises. The aesthetic was deliberate: post-Soviet without nostalgia, utilitarian without the military reference, feminine without the waist.

By 2019, ZUZWA had stockists in Berlin, Copenhagen, and Antwerp. The press began to notice. Not Vogue, not yet, but smaller publications that covered emerging designers and used words like "uncompromising" and "rigorous". The house showed at Fashion Week Poland in Łódź that October. The collection was called Concrete and Linen. It included a trench coat with a detachable wool lining, a shirt-dress in heavyweight linen, and a skirt with a hemline that looked like it had been torn rather than cut.

What stayed

ZUZWA's signature, if it has one, is the refusal to make clothing that flatters in the conventional sense. The cuts are architectural but not aggressive. The fabrics are heavy: 14oz linen, 12oz cotton twill, wool that doesn't drape so much as hold its shape. The colour palette has expanded slightly—there is now a recurring use of brick red and a particular shade of grey-blue—but the house has never made anything in pastel.

The coats remain the core of each collection. ZUZWA makes three or four new styles per season, always in wool or a wool blend, always with a lining that can be removed or replaced. The construction is traditional: canvas interlining, pad-stitched lapels, sleeves set by hand. The house works with two mills in Poland, both of which produce cloth for tailoring houses in Italy and England, and both of which were on the verge of closing when ZUZWA started buying from them.

Walczuk still cuts most of the patterns herself. Zalazinska handles production, which now involves four seamstresses in Warsaw and a small atelier in Antwerp that ZUZWA opened in 2021. The Antwerp space is not a flagship—it's too small, and it doesn't have a shopfront—but it allows the house to produce some pieces locally and to handle European orders without shipping everything from Poland.

What changed

In 2022, ZUZWA showed at Paris Fashion Week for the first time, as part of the official calendar. The collection was called Unfinished. It included a coat with raw-edge seams, a dress with an exposed zip that ran from neck to hem, and a skirt made from panels of fabric that didn't quite meet. The press response was mixed. Some critics called it a strong debut. Others suggested the house was trying too hard to make a statement.

Walczuk and Zalazinska have not shown in Paris since. They returned to Warsaw and Antwerp, where they continue to produce two collections a year and sell through a network of roughly twenty stockists across Europe and Japan. The house has no plans to expand into accessories, no plans for a diffusion line, and no interest in collaborations with sportswear brands.

In an interview with 032c in 2023, Zalazinska was asked what ZUZWA's long-term goal was. She said the goal was to keep making coats that didn't fall apart and to pay the seamstresses on time. Walczuk, sitting beside her, added that they would also like to buy the building in Praga where the studio is currently rented, but that this was probably unrealistic.

What remains

The studio in Praga is on the third floor of a block that was built in the 1960s and has not been renovated since. The stairwell smells of cabbage and cigarettes. Inside, the space is bright, with large windows facing east and a cutting table that takes up most of the room. There are bolts of fabric stacked against one wall, a dress form in the corner, and a coat hanging on a rail that looks like it might be from the next collection or might be from three seasons ago.

Walczuk is pinning a sleeve. Zalazinska is on the phone with a stockist in Tokyo, explaining that the delivery will be late because the lining fabric was delayed at the mill. This is what remains of ZUZWA: two women in a studio in Warsaw, making coats that don't flatter, that cost more than they should, and that will probably still be wearable in ten years. The house has no flagship, no celebrity endorsements, and no plans to change course.

The coat Walczuk is working on has a hem that still catches at the knee. She unpins the shoulder again, moves it back a quarter-inch, and steps away. It's better. Not perfect, but better. That will do.