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Coming of age in London during the 2000s, I was always surrounded by suits. You saw them on businessmen hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, signaling power and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". However, before lately, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing remained mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a cohort that seldom bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird position," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death 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 strictest settings: weddings, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" But while 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." In many ways, a suit is just a subtle form of performance, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this sensation will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose families originate in other places, particularly developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's 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 a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will appeal to the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "controversial" tan suit to other world leaders and their suspiciously impeccable, tailored sheen. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Maybe the point is what one academic calls the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; historians have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial 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 traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously donned formal Western attire during their formative years. Currently, other world leaders have begun swapping their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the tension between insider and outsider is apparent."

The attire Mamdani chooses is deeply symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," notes one expert, while simultaneously 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 different rules applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to assume different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and attire is typical," it is said. "Some individuals can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the expectations 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 conform to something not built for me, 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, appearance is not neutral.