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Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always surrounded by suits. You saw them on City financiers rushing through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a uniform of gravitas, signaling authority and professionalism—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". Yet, before lately, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained largely unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange position," says style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal locations: marriages, funerals, to some extent, 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." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of gaining public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're 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 enacts manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I imagine this sensation will be only too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose families originate in other places, particularly global south countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular cut can thus define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, department stores report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely 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 demographic most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their suspiciously impeccable, custom-fit appearance. As one British politician learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

The Act of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one academic calls the "enactment of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; scholars have long noted that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "I think if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously wore three-piece suits during their early years. These days, other world leaders have started exchanging their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani chooses is deeply significant. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," says one author, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to assume different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between cultures, customs and attire is common," it is said. "White males can go unnoticed," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic 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 culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in politics, image is never without meaning.