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Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was always surrounded by suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, signaling authority and performance—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". However, before lately, my generation appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished from my mind.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captured the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, 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 rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird place," says style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal locations: marriages, funerals, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy states. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long ceded from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are 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 drag, 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 ceremony or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its slim cut now feels passé. I imagine this sensation will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents come from other places, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a specific cut can thus characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within five years. Yet the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, major retailers report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the cost 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 proposed policies—which include a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "controversial" tan suit to other world leaders and their suspiciously impeccable, custom-fit appearance. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of ordinariness", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a studied modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; scholars have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously donned formal Western attire during their formative years. Currently, other world leaders have started exchanging their usual 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 visible."

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply significant. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to adopt different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between languages, customs and attire is typical," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to 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 public life, appearance is not neutral.