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Growing up in London during the 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a uniform of gravitas, projecting power and professionalism—traits I was told to embrace to become a "adult". Yet, before lately, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird place," 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 advent of business casual."

"Today it is 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 ceded from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of winning public trust. 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 enacts manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo department store several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be only too familiar for many of us in the diaspora whose parents originate in somewhere else, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, echoing a famous cinematic 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. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—which include a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "controversial" beige attire to other national figures and their suspiciously polished, custom-fit appearance. Like a certain British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

The Act of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one scholar refers to the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; scholars have long noted that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." Some also view it 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 credibility, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once donned formal Western attire during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have started swapping their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani chooses is deeply significant. "Being the son 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 author, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, able to assume different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam 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 society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in politics, appearance is not neutral.