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Growing up in London during the 2000s, I was always surrounded by suits. They adorned businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a uniform of seriousness, signaling power and professionalism—qualities I was expected to aspire to to become a "man". However, before lately, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had all but disappeared from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the public's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. But whether he was celebrating in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

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

"Today it is only worn in the strictest locations: weddings, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it enacts authority in the hope of winning public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are 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 proximity to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its slim cut now feels passé. I imagine this feeling will be only too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents come from other places, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a particular cut can thus characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to be out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, department stores report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will appeal to the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing this brand; 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 elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

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, tailored appearance. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one academic calls the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a studied modesty, 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 cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; historians have long noted that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you might not 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 "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously donned formal Western attire during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have begun swapping their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the tension between insider and outsider is apparent."

The suit Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to conform to 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 "not looking like an elitist selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to assume different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between languages, customs and clothing styles is common," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, 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 culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in politics, appearance is never neutral.