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Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the evening light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a uniform of seriousness, signaling power and professionalism—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "adult". Yet, before recently, people my age appeared 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. He was sworn in 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 unlike any recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird 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 strictest settings: weddings, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy states. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Many 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 traditionally conveyed this, today it performs authority in the hope of winning public trust. As Guy elaborates: "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 subtle form of drag, in that it performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo department store a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be all too familiar for many of us in the global community whose families originate in other places, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a particular cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to be out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: in the past year, department stores report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning professional incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—which include a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised 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 constituency."

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

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the key is what one academic refers to the "enactment of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; scholars 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 a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, particularly to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures previously wore formal Western attire during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have begun swapping their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child 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 sign of leadership," says 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 acute awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to adopt different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between languages, traditions and attire is typical," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to something not built for me, be it an inherited tradition, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in public life, image is never without meaning.