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Growing up in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always 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, kicking footballs in the evening light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a uniform of gravitas, projecting authority and professionalism—traits I was told to embrace to become a "adult". Yet, until lately, my generation appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony wearing 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 appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly unchanged: 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 seldom chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird position," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the real dip coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal settings: marriages, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy states. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of gaining public trust. 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 nuanced form of performance, in that it performs manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its slim cut now feels passé. I suspect this feeling will be all too familiar for many of us in the global community whose families come from somewhere else, especially global south countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular cut can thus characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed 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 likely to be out of fashion within a few seasons. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, major retailers report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning professional incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his stated policies—which include a capping rents, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their notably impeccable, tailored sheen. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

The Act of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one scholar calls the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a studied modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; scholars have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." It is also seen 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 asserting credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a new phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders once wore three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have started swapping their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

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

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 meet what many American voters look for 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 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 adapting between languages, customs and clothing styles is common," it is said. "White males can remain unremarked," but when others "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, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to something not built for me, be it an inherited tradition, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make clear, however, is that in politics, appearance is never without meaning.