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Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was always surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on dads in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, projecting authority and performance—traits I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". However, until recently, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the public's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was largely unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird place," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the second world war," with the significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal locations: weddings, funerals, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from daily life." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're also living in a democratic society, 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 proximity to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I imagine this feeling will be all too familiar for numerous people in the global community whose parents originate in somewhere else, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting 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 likely to be out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, department stores report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic 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. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit well 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 national figures and their notably polished, tailored appearance. As one UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one scholar refers to the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a studied modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; scholars have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "I think if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously wore three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, certain world leaders have started exchanging their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and otherness is visible."

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply significant. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," notes one author, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an elitist betraying 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 younger leader, able to assume different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between cultures, customs and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "White males can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, 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 culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in public life, appearance is never without meaning.