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Growing up in London during the 2000s, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen hurrying through the Square Mile. You could spot them on fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the evening light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, signaling authority and professionalism—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "man". However, until lately, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a cohort that rarely chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange place," 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 most formal locations: weddings, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy explains. "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 "wear a suit to say: 'I represent 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 attempt of winning public confidence. 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 drag, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words 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 Tokyo retailer several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I imagine this sensation will be only too familiar for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents originate in other places, particularly global south countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, echoing 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 certain circles, endures: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the group most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's precisely 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, constructing affordable homes, and fare-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 grew up in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their notably impeccable, custom-fit appearance. As one UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to define them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of banality", summoning the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; historians have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." It is also seen 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 signaling credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a new phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures previously donned formal Western attire during their formative years. These days, certain world leaders have started exchanging their usual fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the tension between insider and outsider is visible."

The attire Mamdani chooses is deeply symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," notes one author, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to adopt different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can remain unnoticed," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not designed with me in mind, be it an inherited tradition, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in public life, appearance is not without meaning.