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Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was always surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a costume of gravitas, projecting authority and professionalism—traits I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". However, before recently, people my age appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished from my mind.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that seldom bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird place," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest locations: weddings, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of 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 support me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're 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 drag, 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 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 high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be only too recognizable for many of us in the global community whose families come from somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in some quarters, persists: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will resonate with the demographic most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

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 sheen. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Maybe the point is what one academic refers to the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; historians have long noted that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "I think if you're from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders once donned three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have started swapping their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the tension between belonging and otherness is visible."

The suit Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an acute 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, able to adopt different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, customs and attire is typical," it is said. "White males can go unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes 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 discomfort of trying to conform to 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 not without meaning.