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Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen hurrying through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of gravitas, signaling authority and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". However, before lately, people my age appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had all but vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high 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 attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird 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 significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest locations: weddings, funerals, to some extent, 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 ceded from daily life." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs authority in the hope of winning public trust. As Guy clarifies: "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 proximity to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese 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 imagine this feeling will be only too recognizable for many of us in the global community whose parents originate in somewhere else, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a particular cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: recently, department stores report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will resonate with the demographic most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, 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 arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—which include 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 New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" tan suit to other national figures and their notably polished, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain British politician learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Perhaps the key is what one scholar refers to the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; scholars have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're a person of color, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, particularly to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously wore three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have started exchanging their typical military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's image, the struggle 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 pressure to meet what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," says one author, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem 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 adapting between languages, traditions and attire is common," commentators note. "White males can remain unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into 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 clear, however, is that in public life, image is never without meaning.