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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 rushing through the Square Mile. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a uniform of gravitas, projecting authority and professionalism—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". Yet, before recently, people my age appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captured the world's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. But whether he was celebrating in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially middle-class 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 place," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest settings: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem relatable, because they're trying to get your votes." To a large extent, a suit is just a nuanced form of drag, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—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 high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I suspect this feeling will be all too familiar for many of us in the global community whose parents come from other places, especially global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. Yet the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: recently, major retailers report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away 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 European label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." Therefore, 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 frustrated by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "controversial" tan suit to other national figures and their suspiciously polished, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one academic refers to the "enactment of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive 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 pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, 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.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously donned formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have begun exchanging their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the struggle between belonging and otherness is visible."

The suit Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to assume different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between languages, traditions and attire is typical," commentators note. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the awkwardness 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 sartorial choices make clear, however, is that in public life, appearance is never neutral.