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Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. They adorned City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of gravitas, signaling authority and professionalism—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "adult". Yet, until recently, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely vanished from my mind.

Then 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 distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captured the world's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. But whether he was cheering in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, 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 slow death since the end of the second world war," with the real dip arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest locations: weddings, funerals, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it performs authority in the hope of gaining public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are also living in a democratic society, 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 proximity to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—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 expensive, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be only too recognizable for many of us in the global community whose parents come from other places, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a specific cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to be out of fashion within five years. Yet the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, major retailers report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear 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 moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the group most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated 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 don't contradict his proposed policies—which include a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their suspiciously polished, custom-fit appearance. Like a certain British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one scholar refers to the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a studied understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; scholars have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that if you're a person of color, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures once wore three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have started swapping their typical military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without 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 Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," says one expert, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an elitist betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp 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 younger leader, skilled to adopt different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and clothing styles is common," it is said. "White males can go unnoticed," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic 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 evident, however, is that in politics, appearance is never neutral.