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Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on dads in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the evening light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a costume of gravitas, signaling power and performance—qualities I was expected to aspire to to become a "adult". Yet, until recently, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that seldom bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird place," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade since the end of the second world war," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest settings: marriages, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long ceded from daily life." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a nuanced form of drag, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this feeling will be all too familiar for numerous people in the global community whose parents come from other places, particularly global south countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the appeal, at least in some quarters, persists: in the past year, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the group most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other national figures and their suspiciously impeccable, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

The Act of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one academic refers to the "enactment of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; historians have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously wore formal Western attire during their formative years. Currently, certain world leaders have begun swapping their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's public persona, the struggle between belonging and otherness is apparent."

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," says one author, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an elitist selling out his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to adopt different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between cultures, customs and clothing styles is typical," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unnoticed," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to fit into something not designed with me in mind, be it an inherited tradition, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in public life, image is never neutral.