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Growing up in the British capital during the 2000s, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. They were worn by fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the golden light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, signaling authority and professionalism—qualities I was expected to aspire to to become a "adult". However, before lately, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative 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 mostly constant: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with soft shoulders, 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 strange position," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal locations: marriages, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from daily life." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. 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." To a large extent, a suit is just a subtle form of performance, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few 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 recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents come from other places, especially global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, major retailers report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Mid-Market 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 upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the group most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his proposed policies—which include a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their suspiciously polished, tailored appearance. Like a certain British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one academic refers to the "enactment of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a studied modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous 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: "This attire isn't apolitical; historians have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "I think if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures previously donned formal Western attire during their formative years. Currently, certain world leaders have started exchanging their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani selects is highly significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, 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 "avoiding the appearance of an elitist selling out his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "That may come 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 typical," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unnoticed," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the expectations 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 designed with me in mind, be it an inherited tradition, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in public life, appearance is never without meaning.