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Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, signaling authority and professionalism—traits I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". However, before recently, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely vanished from my mind.

Then came the incoming 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 ingenious campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that seldom bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird position," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying 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 most formal settings: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy states. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long ceded from daily life." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically signaled this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're also living in a democratic society, 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 enacts manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this sensation will be only too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose families come from other places, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, 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 therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: 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: 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 appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will resonate with the demographic 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. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to 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 status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

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

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Maybe the point is what one scholar refers to the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive 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 noted that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "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, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures once wore three-piece suits during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have begun swapping their usual fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani selects is deeply significant. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," notes one author, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to adopt different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between languages, customs and attire is common," commentators note. "White males can remain unremarked," but when others "attempt 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 dynamic between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to fit into something not designed with me in mind, be it an inherited tradition, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in public life, appearance is not without meaning.