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Growing up in London during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a uniform of gravitas, signaling power and professionalism—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". However, until recently, people my age appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had all but vanished from my mind.

Then came the incoming 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 captivated the public's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that rarely bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange place," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death 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 most formal locations: marriages, funerals, to some extent, court appearances," Guy states. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long ceded from daily life." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of gaining 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." To a large extent, a suit is just a nuanced form of performance, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this feeling will be all too familiar for many of us in the global community whose families originate in other places, especially developing 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 thus characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor extremely 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 professional incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict 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 this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, 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 national figures and their notably impeccable, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain British politician 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 calls the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a studied modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous 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: "The suit isn't neutral; historians have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously wore formal Western attire during their formative years. Currently, other world leaders have started swapping their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is highly significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," says one author, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, 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 typical," commentators note. "White males can remain unnoticed," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is visible. 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 sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in politics, image is not neutral.