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Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. You saw them on City financiers rushing through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the golden light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a uniform of seriousness, signaling power and professionalism—traits I was told to embrace to become a "adult". Yet, until recently, my generation seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Subsequently 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 innovative campaign, he captivated 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 largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange position," notes 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 rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, funerals, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for 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: "Since we're also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem relatable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a nuanced form of drag, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo department store several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I imagine this sensation will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose parents come from somewhere else, especially global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to be out of fashion within a few seasons. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will resonate with the group most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning professional incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—which include 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. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "controversial" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably polished, custom-fit appearance. Like a certain British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the key is what one scholar calls the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; historians have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "I think if you're a person of color, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a new phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders once donned three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have begun swapping their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," says one author, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "That may come 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 adapting between languages, traditions and attire is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unnoticed," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to something not built for me, 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 public life, image is not neutral.