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Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned businessmen hurrying through the financial district. You could spot them on dads in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the golden light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of gravitas, projecting authority and performance—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". Yet, before recently, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished from my mind.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was largely constant: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird position," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the real dip coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest locations: weddings, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition 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 legitimacy.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it enacts authority in the hope of gaining public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're 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 subtle form of performance, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese department store several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I imagine this sensation will be all too recognizable for many of us in the diaspora whose parents come from somewhere else, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular 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 in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to be out of fashion within five years. Yet the appeal, at least in some quarters, persists: recently, department stores report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his stated policies—such as a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other national figures and their notably polished, custom-fit appearance. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the key is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of banality", summoning the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a studied understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; historians have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "I think if you're from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is not a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures once wore formal Western attire during their formative years. Currently, other world leaders have started swapping their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," says one expert, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to adopt different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between languages, traditions and clothing styles is typical," commentators note. "White males can remain unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to fit into something not built for me, 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, appearance is not without meaning.