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Growing up in London during the 2000s, I was always surrounded by suits. You saw them on businessmen hurrying through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of gravitas, projecting authority and performance—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "man". However, until recently, my generation seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captured the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that seldom bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange position," says style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal locations: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long retreated from daily life." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are 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 drag, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo department store a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I imagine this feeling will be all too recognizable for many of us in the diaspora whose families originate in other places, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can thus characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: in the past year, department stores report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

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

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one academic calls the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with 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; scholars have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "I think if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously donned formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have begun exchanging their typical fatigues for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's public persona, the struggle between belonging and otherness is apparent."

The attire 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 look for as a marker of leadership," says one author, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to assume different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between languages, customs and clothing styles is typical," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to something not designed with me in mind, be it an cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in public life, image is never neutral.