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Coming of age in London during the 2000s, I was always surrounded by suits. You saw them on City financiers rushing through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of gravitas, signaling authority and professionalism—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". However, before lately, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my mind.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony dressed in 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. But whether he was celebrating in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that rarely chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange place," says style commentator 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 rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal locations: weddings, funerals, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy states. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long ceded from everyday use." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of winning public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "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 performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo department store several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this sensation will be only too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose families come from somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to be out of fashion within five years. Yet the attraction, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, department stores report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will resonate with the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; 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 naturally with that elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other national figures 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 A Shield

Maybe the key is what one scholar calls the "enactment of ordinariness", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; scholars have long noted that its modern roots lie in imperial 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 traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously wore three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have begun swapping 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 significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," notes 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 sharp awareness of the double standards applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, able to assume 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," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to fit into something not designed with me in mind, be it an inherited tradition, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in politics, appearance is not neutral.