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Coming of age in London during the 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the golden light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a uniform of seriousness, signaling authority and professionalism—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "man". However, until lately, my generation appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had all but disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable 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 hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that rarely chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange position," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the real dip coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest locations: weddings, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long retreated from daily life." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has historically signaled this, today it enacts authority in the hope of gaining public trust. As Guy clarifies: "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 manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo department store several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I suspect this feeling will be only too familiar for numerous people in the global community whose parents come from somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: 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 be out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will resonate with the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, 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 extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—which include a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and fare-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 was raised in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other national figures and their suspiciously impeccable, tailored appearance. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to define them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Perhaps the point is what one scholar refers to the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; scholars have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "I think if you're from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting legitimacy, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously donned formal Western attire during their early years. These days, other world leaders have begun exchanging their typical military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani selects is deeply significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," notes one author, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his distinctive 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 millennial, able to assume different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, customs and attire is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not designed with me in mind, be it an inherited tradition, 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.