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Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers hurrying through the financial district. You could spot them on fathers in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of gravitas, projecting authority and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". However, until 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. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a generation that seldom bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange position," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the real dip coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest settings: weddings, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem relatable, because they're trying to get your votes." To a large extent, a suit is just a subtle form of performance, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo department store a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be only too familiar for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents originate in somewhere else, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a specific cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to be out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, major retailers report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, 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, university-educated earning professional incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, building 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. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits naturally with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably impeccable, custom-fit sheen. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

The Act of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the key is what one academic calls the "enactment of banality", invoking the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a studied understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; historians have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "I think if you're from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting legitimacy, particularly to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once donned three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have begun swapping their typical fatigues for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's image, the tension between belonging and otherness is visible."

The attire Mamdani chooses is highly significant. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an elitist selling out his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to adopt different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between cultures, traditions and attire is typical," commentators note. "Some individuals can remain unnoticed," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the tension between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not built for me, 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 neutral.