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Growing up in London during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a uniform of gravitas, projecting authority and performance—qualities I was expected to aspire to to become a "adult". However, before recently, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Then 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 distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained largely unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that seldom chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange position," 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 strictest settings: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from daily life." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public trust. 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 subtle form of performance, in that it performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its slim cut now feels passé. I imagine this sensation will be only too familiar for many of us in the global community whose parents come from somewhere else, especially developing countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, major retailers report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "controversial" tan suit to other national figures and their notably polished, tailored appearance. As one UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to define them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one scholar refers to the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a studied understatement, 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 cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; scholars have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "I think if you're a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a recent phenomenon. Even historical leaders once donned three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, certain world leaders have begun swapping their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's public persona, the struggle between insider and outsider is visible."

The attire Mamdani chooses is deeply significant. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," notes one author, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure betraying his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to adopt different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "White males can remain unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, 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 evident, however, is that in politics, image is not neutral.