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Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen hurrying through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of seriousness, projecting authority and performance—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". Yet, until recently, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the public'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 largely unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a generation that rarely chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange position," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal locations: weddings, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long retreated from daily life." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of gaining public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're 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 masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—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 expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I imagine this feeling will be all too familiar for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents originate in somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to be out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in some quarters, endures: in the past year, department stores report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will resonate with the demographic most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning professional incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his stated policies—which include a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," observes 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 well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other national figures and their notably polished, custom-fit sheen. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to define them.

The Act of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one academic refers to the "enactment of ordinariness", invoking the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a studied modesty, 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: "This attire isn't apolitical; scholars have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "I think 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 legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously donned three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have begun swapping 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 suit Mamdani chooses is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to adopt 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 typical," commentators note. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when others "seek 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 dynamic between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to fit into 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 evident, however, is that in public life, appearance is not neutral.