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Growing up in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always surrounded by suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a uniform of gravitas, signaling authority and professionalism—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "man". Yet, until lately, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my mind.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captured the world's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that rarely chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange position," says style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying 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, to some extent, court appearances," Guy states. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long retreated from everyday use." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "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 nuanced form of drag, in that it enacts masculinity, 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 dust off the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its slim cut now feels passé. I suspect this sensation will be all too recognizable for many of us in the global community whose families originate in somewhere else, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to be out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, department stores report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will resonate with the group most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other national figures and their suspiciously impeccable, tailored sheen. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to define them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Maybe the key is what one academic calls the "enactment of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages 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. But, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; historians have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "I think if you're from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting legitimacy, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously wore formal Western attire during their formative years. Currently, certain world leaders have started swapping their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time 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 who wears suits and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to assume different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between cultures, traditions and attire is typical," commentators note. "White males can go unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into 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 evident, however, is that in public life, appearance is never neutral.