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Growing up in London during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen hurrying through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the golden light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of gravitas, projecting authority and performance—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "adult". Yet, until recently, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. But whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a cohort that rarely chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange place," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the real dip arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal settings: marriages, funerals, to some extent, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long ceded from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has historically conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the hope of winning public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are also living in a democratic society, 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 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 retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be only too familiar for many of us in the global community whose parents come from other places, particularly global south countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic 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. Yet the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that sells 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 moderately-priced suit will resonate with the group 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 lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his stated policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits naturally with that elite, just as attainable 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 national figures and their notably polished, custom-fit sheen. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

The Act of Banality and A Shield

Perhaps the key is what one scholar refers to the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" 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 historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; historians have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're a person of color, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures once donned formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have started exchanging their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," notes one author, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to adopt 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," commentators note. "Some individuals can remain unnoticed," but when others "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to 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 clear, however, is that in public life, appearance is not neutral.