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Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the financial district. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the golden light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of gravitas, signaling authority and performance—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". However, until recently, my generation seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was celebrating in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a cohort that seldom chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird place," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death 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 strictest settings: marriages, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long ceded from daily life." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem relatable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a nuanced form of performance, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this sensation will be only too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose parents come from somewhere else, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a particular cut can therefore define 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 cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to be out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, department stores report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will appeal to the group 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 precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A status symbol fits naturally with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other national figures and their notably polished, custom-fit appearance. Like a certain British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to define them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one scholar calls the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a studied understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; historians have long noted that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "I think 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 legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously donned three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have started swapping their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani chooses is deeply significant. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," says one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like 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 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 multicultural background, where adapting between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is common," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the discomfort 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 evident, however, is that in public life, image is never neutral.