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Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a costume of gravitas, projecting power and professionalism—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "man". Yet, before recently, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captured the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird position," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been 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, funerals, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long retreated from daily life." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." To a large extent, a suit is just a subtle form of drag, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. 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 picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this feeling will be only 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 shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, endures: recently, 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 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 product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will resonate with the group most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates 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 stated policies—such as a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "controversial" tan suit to other world leaders and their notably polished, tailored sheen. As one British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to define them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one academic calls the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive 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 modern roots lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "I think if you're a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously donned formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have started exchanging their usual fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is highly significant. "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 marker of leadership," notes one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an elitist betraying his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is read into 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 adapting between languages, traditions and clothing styles is common," it is said. "Some individuals can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, 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 clear, however, is that in public life, image is not neutral.