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Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. You saw them on City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a uniform of seriousness, projecting authority and performance—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "adult". Yet, before lately, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the public's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was largely unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a generation that seldom chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird place," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade 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 locations: weddings, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy states. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from daily life." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it performs authority in the hope of winning public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem relatable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a subtle form of drag, in that it performs manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. 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 several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined 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 families originate in other places, especially global south countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a particular cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, department stores report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning professional 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 arguably don't contradict his stated policies—which include a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up 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 legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their notably impeccable, custom-fit appearance. 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 A Shield

Perhaps the key is what one scholar refers to the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a deliberate modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, some 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 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 asserting legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures once wore three-piece suits during their early years. These days, other world leaders have started exchanging their usual military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," notes one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his distinctive 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, skilled to adopt different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between cultures, customs and attire is common," it is said. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, 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.