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Coming of age in London during the 2000s, I was always surrounded by suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. They were worn by fathers in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of gravitas, projecting power and performance—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". However, until lately, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely vanished from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that rarely bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange place," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the second world war," with the significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, funerals, to some extent, court appearances," Guy states. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long ceded from daily life." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. 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 nuanced form of performance, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I imagine this sensation will be only too recognizable for many of us in the global community whose families come from other places, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a specific cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to be out of fashion within a few seasons. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, major retailers report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the group most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning professional incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his stated policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally with that elite, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "controversial" beige attire to other world leaders and their suspiciously impeccable, tailored appearance. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to define them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Perhaps the point is what one academic refers to the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; scholars have long noted that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it 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 traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders once donned three-piece suits during their formative 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 tension between belonging and otherness is apparent."

The suit Mamdani chooses is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child 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," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to adopt different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, customs and clothing styles is typical," it is said. "White males can go unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the discomfort 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 style decisions make clear, however, is that in politics, appearance is not neutral.