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Coming of age in London during the 2000s, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of gravitas, projecting power and professionalism—traits I was told to embrace to become a "adult". However, before recently, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. But whether he was celebrating in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a cohort that seldom chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange position," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been 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."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, funerals, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long ceded 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 legitimacy.'" But while the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." To a large extent, a suit is just a subtle form of drag, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I suspect this feeling will be all too familiar for many of us in the diaspora whose parents originate in somewhere else, particularly global south countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can thus define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed 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 fall out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: recently, department stores report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with 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 align with his stated policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "controversial" tan suit to other world leaders and their suspiciously polished, custom-fit appearance. As one UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Maybe the point is what one academic refers to the "enactment of banality", invoking the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a studied understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; scholars have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously donned three-piece suits during their early years. These days, other world leaders have started exchanging their typical military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani chooses is deeply 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 at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the double standards 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 situation, 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 remain unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the awkwardness 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 sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in politics, appearance is not without meaning.