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Growing up in London during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, signaling power and performance—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". Yet, until recently, my generation appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had all but vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that rarely chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird 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."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal locations: weddings, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in 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 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 nuanced form of performance, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—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 expensive, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I suspect this feeling will be only too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents come from somewhere else, especially global south countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a specific cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, endures: in the past year, major retailers report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to 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 exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will resonate with the group most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning professional incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his stated policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits seamlessly 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 former president's "controversial" tan suit to other national figures and their suspiciously polished, tailored sheen. Like a certain British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one academic refers to the "enactment of banality", invoking the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; scholars have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "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 credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once wore formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have begun swapping their typical fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," notes one author, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an sharp 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 adopt different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is typical," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. 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 style decisions make evident, however, is that in politics, image is never neutral.