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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 City financiers rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the evening light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, signaling authority and professionalism—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". Yet, until recently, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my mind.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private 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 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 was largely unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that rarely bothers to wear one.

"This garment 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 coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal locations: marriages, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long retreated from daily life." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public trust. 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." To a large extent, a suit is just a subtle form of drag, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I imagine this feeling will be only too familiar for numerous people in the diaspora whose families come from somewhere else, especially global south countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within five years. Yet the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, major retailers report suit sales rising 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 Suitsupply, a Dutch label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally 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 professional incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his stated policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A status symbol fits naturally with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "controversial" tan suit to other national figures and their notably polished, tailored sheen. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

The Act of Banality and A Shield

Maybe the key is what one academic calls the "enactment of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into 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 cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; historians have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "I think 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 legitimacy, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures once donned three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have begun exchanging their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and otherness is visible."

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," notes one expert, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an acute 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 younger leader, able to assume different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between cultures, customs and attire is common," it is said. "White males can remain unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is visible. 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, image is never neutral.