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Growing up in London during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on City financiers hurrying through the financial district. You could spot them on fathers in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of gravitas, projecting authority and professionalism—traits I was expected to aspire to to become a "adult". Yet, before recently, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing was largely 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—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange place," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death since the end of the second world war," with the real dip arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal locations: weddings, memorials, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it performs authority in the hope of gaining public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are 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 masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this feeling will be all too familiar for numerous people in the diaspora whose families originate in somewhere else, especially global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular cut can thus characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within five years. Yet the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, major retailers report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the group most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other national figures and their notably polished, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to define them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Maybe the key is what one academic calls the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a studied understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; historians have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that if you're a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously donned three-piece suits during their formative years. Currently, other world leaders have started exchanging their usual 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 apparent."

The suit Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "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 marker of leadership," notes one author, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to assume different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between cultures, customs and clothing styles is typical," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in public life, image is not neutral.