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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, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a uniform of seriousness, signaling authority and professionalism—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". Yet, until lately, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious 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 remained mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird place," 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 advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest settings: weddings, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long retreated from daily life." Numerous politicians "don this attire 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 performs authority in the hope of gaining public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "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 performance, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese department store several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its slim cut now feels passé. I suspect this feeling will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents come from other places, especially global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a particular cut can thus characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, department stores report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite 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. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his upbringing," 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 group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his proposed policies—which include a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" tan suit to other national figures and their suspiciously impeccable, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one scholar calls the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a studied understatement, 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 military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; historians have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "I think if you're a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders once donned formal Western attire during their formative years. Currently, other world leaders have begun exchanging their usual fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's public persona, the struggle between insider and outsider is visible."

The suit Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "Being the son 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 walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from 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 code-switching between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is typical," it is said. "White males can remain unnoticed," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to fit into something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in politics, appearance is never neutral.