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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 businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on fathers in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a uniform of gravitas, projecting authority and performance—traits I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". However, before recently, my generation appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the incoming 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 public'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 remained mostly unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that rarely chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange place," notes 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 arriving 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 is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has historically signaled 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 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 manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its slim cut now feels passé. I imagine this sensation will be all too recognizable for many of us in the global community whose families originate in somewhere else, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a specific cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, endures: in the past year, major retailers report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will resonate with the group 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 lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits naturally with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their suspiciously impeccable, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one academic refers to the "enactment of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; scholars have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "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, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders once donned formal Western attire during their formative years. Currently, certain world leaders have begun swapping their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's image, the tension between insider and outsider is visible."

The attire Mamdani chooses is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," notes one author, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an elitist selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet 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, skilled to adopt different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between cultures, customs and attire is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the tension between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to something not designed with me in mind, be it an cultural expectation, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make clear, however, is that in public life, image is not neutral.