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Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a uniform of seriousness, projecting authority and performance—qualities I was expected to aspire to to become a "adult". However, before lately, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange place," says style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death 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 most formal settings: marriages, funerals, to some extent, court appearances," Guy states. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of winning public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are also living in a liberal democracy, 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 performs masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese department store several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be only too familiar for many of us in the global community whose families come from somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to be out of fashion within five years. Yet the attraction, at least in some quarters, endures: recently, major retailers report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," 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 discontented by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—which include a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits seamlessly 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 notably polished, tailored appearance. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to define them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one scholar calls the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"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 military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; scholars have long noted that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that if you're a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously wore three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have begun exchanging their usual military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and otherness is visible."

The suit Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," notes one author, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the double standards 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 multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, customs and attire is typical," commentators note. "Some individuals can remain unnoticed," but when others "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to something not designed with me in mind, be it an cultural expectation, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make clear, however, is that in politics, appearance is not without meaning.