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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 financial district. You could spot them on fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of gravitas, signaling power and professionalism—traits I was told to aspire to to become a "man". However, before recently, my generation appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had all but disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was largely constant: 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 cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange position," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying 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."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest settings: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from daily life." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs authority in the hope of winning public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're 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 subtle form of drag, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—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 tailored fit now feels outdated. I imagine this feeling will be only too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose parents come from somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular cut can thus characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting 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 destined to be out of fashion within five years. Yet the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his stated policies—which include a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "controversial" tan suit to other world leaders and their notably polished, tailored appearance. Like a certain UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Maybe the point is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of banality", summoning the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into 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 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." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that 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 signaling legitimacy, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures once wore formal Western attire during their early years. These days, other world leaders have begun swapping their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's public persona, the struggle between belonging and otherness is apparent."

The attire 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 look for as a sign of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the double standards 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 code-switching between languages, customs and clothing styles is common," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the discomfort 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 sartorial choices make clear, however, is that in public life, image is never neutral.