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Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always surrounded by suits. They adorned businessmen rushing through the financial district. They were worn by dads in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a uniform of gravitas, projecting power and professionalism—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". Yet, until recently, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was largely unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that rarely chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange position," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically conveyed 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 approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a subtle form of performance, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be all too familiar for numerous people in the global community whose parents come from other places, especially 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 specific cut can thus characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, major retailers report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the group most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—which include a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

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

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one academic calls the "enactment of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a studied understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; historians have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it 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 white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures once donned three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have begun swapping their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's public persona, the struggle between insider and outsider is visible."

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," says one expert, 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. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to assume different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between languages, customs and attire is common," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power 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, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in public life, image is not neutral.