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Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was always surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers hurrying through the financial district. They were worn by dads in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, signaling authority and professionalism—qualities I was expected to aspire to to become a "adult". Yet, until lately, my generation appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in 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 unlike any recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing was largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird place," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death since the end of the second world war," with the real dip coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest settings: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy states. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long retreated from daily life." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it enacts authority in the hope of gaining public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." To a large extent, a suit is just a nuanced form of drag, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo department store 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 feeling will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose parents come from somewhere else, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to be out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, major retailers report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "controversial" beige attire to other world leaders and their suspiciously polished, custom-fit appearance. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

The Act of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; scholars have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "I think if you're a person of color, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures previously donned three-piece suits during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have started exchanging their usual fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," notes one author, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out 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. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, able to assume different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between languages, customs and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "White males can go unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, 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 clear, however, is that in public life, appearance is never neutral.