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Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was always surrounded by suits. You saw them on City financiers hurrying through the financial district. You could spot them on fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of gravitas, projecting power and performance—traits I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". However, before recently, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captured the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird place," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade since the end of the second world war," with the significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest settings: weddings, funerals, 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 retreated from daily life." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has historically conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the hope of winning public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem relatable, because they're trying to get your votes." To a large extent, a suit is just a nuanced form of drag, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its slim cut now feels passé. I suspect this feeling will be only too familiar for many of us in the global community whose parents originate in somewhere else, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a specific cut can thus characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within five years. Yet the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, major retailers report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his stated policies—which include a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably polished, custom-fit appearance. As one UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one scholar refers to the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; historians have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "I think if you're a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Even historical leaders once donned three-piece suits during their formative years. Currently, other world leaders have begun exchanging their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's image, the struggle between belonging and otherness is visible."

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to assume different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "White males can remain unnoticed," but when others "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not designed with me in mind, be it an inherited tradition, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in public life, appearance is not neutral.