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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 Square Mile. They were worn by dads in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the golden light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a uniform of seriousness, projecting authority and professionalism—traits I was expected to aspire to to become a "man". Yet, until recently, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was cheering in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird position," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the real dip coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal locations: weddings, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long retreated 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 authority.'" Although the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the hope of winning public trust. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're also living in a liberal democracy, 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 performs masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese department store several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its slim cut now feels passé. I imagine this sensation will be all too recognizable for many of us in the diaspora whose families originate in somewhere else, especially global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in some quarters, persists: in the past year, major retailers report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear 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 European 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 extremely wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the group most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A status symbol fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "controversial" beige attire to other world leaders and their suspiciously impeccable, tailored appearance. Like a certain UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Maybe the point is what one academic calls the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; scholars have long pointed out that its modern roots 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 aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once wore formal Western attire during their formative years. Currently, certain world leaders have started exchanging their typical fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's image, the tension between insider and outsider is visible."

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters expect 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 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 millennial, able to assume different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between cultures, traditions and attire is typical," it is said. "White males can go unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in politics, appearance is not neutral.