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Growing up in the British capital during the 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by suits. You saw them on City financiers rushing through the Square Mile. They were worn by fathers in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a uniform of seriousness, signaling authority and performance—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "adult". However, before lately, my generation seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished 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 distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet traditional, 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 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 strictest locations: marriages, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long ceded from daily life." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it enacts authority in the hope of gaining public trust. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are also living in a democratic society, 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 performs manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer several 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 only too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose parents originate in other places, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a specific cut can thus characterize 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 price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within five years. Yet the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: 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 Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch 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 mid-level suit will resonate with the demographic most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his stated policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president 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 cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their suspiciously polished, custom-fit sheen. As one British politician learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

The Act of Banality and A Shield

Maybe the key is what one academic refers to the "performance of banality", 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 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 neutral; scholars have long noted that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that 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, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures previously wore formal Western attire during their formative years. These days, certain world leaders have begun swapping their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani chooses is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," notes one author, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure selling out his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, able to adopt different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to fit into something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in public life, appearance is never neutral.