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Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a uniform of gravitas, projecting authority and professionalism—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "adult". Yet, before recently, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but disappeared from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird place," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the real dip arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal locations: marriages, 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 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.'" But while the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs 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 nuanced form of drag, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few years ago. When I first selected it, 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 originate in other places, especially developing countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a specific cut can therefore 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 considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within a few seasons. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the demographic most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his stated policies—which include a capping rents, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits naturally with that elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their suspiciously impeccable, tailored sheen. Like a certain British politician learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

The Act of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one academic calls the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a deliberate understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; scholars have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a new phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders once wore three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have started exchanging their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's image, the tension between belonging and otherness is apparent."

The attire Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," says one author, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to assume different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between cultures, customs and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "White males can remain unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to something not designed with me in mind, 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, appearance is never neutral.