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Growing up in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on businessmen hurrying through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, signaling authority and performance—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". However, before lately, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my mind.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the public's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was celebrating in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, 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 chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird position," notes men's fashion writer 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 most formal settings: marriages, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe 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.'" Although the suit has historically conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are 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 performs masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I imagine this sensation will be only too familiar for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents come from other places, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; 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 trendy, but given the cost, 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: 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 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 background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning professional incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—which include a capping rents, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally 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 world leaders and their suspiciously polished, tailored sheen. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to define them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the key is what one scholar calls the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" 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 military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "I think if you're a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once wore three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have begun exchanging their typical military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's public persona, the struggle between insider and outsider is apparent."

The attire Mamdani selects is highly significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," notes one author, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an elitist selling out his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to assume different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between cultures, traditions and attire is typical," it is said. "White males can remain unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to fit into something not designed with me in mind, be it an cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in politics, appearance is not without meaning.