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Coming of age in London during the 2000s, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, projecting authority and performance—qualities I was expected to aspire to to become a "man". Yet, before recently, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Then came the newly elected 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. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other 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 frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary 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.

"The suit is in this weird 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 significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it enacts authority in the hope of gaining public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem relatable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a nuanced form of performance, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis 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 sophisticated and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be all too familiar for many of us in the diaspora whose parents come from other places, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a specific cut can thus characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to be out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the attraction, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the demographic 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 extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his stated policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says 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 attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" beige attire to other national figures and their suspiciously polished, custom-fit sheen. As one British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to define them.

The Act of Banality and A Shield

Perhaps the key is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of banality", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; scholars have long noted that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "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 asserting legitimacy, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures once donned formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have started swapping their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's public persona, the struggle between belonging and otherness is visible."

The suit Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "Being the son 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," says one author, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist betraying his distinctive roots and values."

But 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 millennial, able to assume different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between cultures, traditions and attire is typical," commentators note. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in politics, image is never neutral.