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Coming of age in London during the 2000s, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. They adorned City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, projecting power and professionalism—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "man". However, until lately, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely vanished from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captivated the public'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 remained largely unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that seldom bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird position," 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 arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, funerals, to some extent, 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 "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs 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 subtle form of performance, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its slim cut now feels passé. I imagine this feeling will be all too familiar for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents originate in 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 characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to be out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the attraction, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, department stores report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away 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 Suitsupply, a European label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning middle-class 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 plausibly don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; 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 elite, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

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

The Act of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the key is what one academic calls the "enactment of ordinariness", invoking the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; scholars have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously wore formal Western attire during their formative years. Currently, certain world leaders have started exchanging their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," says one expert, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his distinctive roots and values."

But 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, skilled to assume different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between languages, customs and attire is typical," commentators note. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to something not built for me, be it an inherited tradition, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in politics, image is never without meaning.