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Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen hurrying through the Square Mile. 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 mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a uniform of seriousness, signaling authority and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". However, before lately, my generation appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high 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 was largely constant: he was frequently 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 generation that rarely chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird position," notes style commentator 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."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal locations: marriages, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're also living in a liberal democracy, 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 masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I imagine this sensation will be only too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose families come from other places, particularly developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: 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 fall out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will resonate with the demographic most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict 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. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "controversial" beige attire to other national figures and their notably polished, tailored appearance. As one British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one scholar refers to the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a studied understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, experts 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 modern roots lie in imperial administration." Some also view it 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 legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures once donned formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have started exchanging their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's image, the tension between insider and outsider is visible."

The suit Mamdani selects is highly 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 marker of leadership," notes one author, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp 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 assume different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between cultures, customs and attire is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the discomfort 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 clear, however, is that in public life, appearance is not without meaning.