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Growing up in London during the 2000s, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on fathers in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, signaling authority and performance—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "man". Yet, until lately, my generation seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had all but vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, crisp 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 cheering in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange position," says style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest settings: weddings, funerals, 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 ceded from daily life." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has historically signaled this, today it enacts 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." In many ways, a suit is just a subtle form of performance, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this sensation will be only too familiar for numerous people in the global community whose parents come from other places, particularly developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, department stores report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates 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 extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably polished, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Maybe the key is what one academic calls the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous 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: "This attire isn't neutral; scholars have long noted 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 white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, particularly to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously wore three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have begun exchanging their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the struggle between insider and outsider is apparent."

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," notes one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet 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 millennial, skilled to assume different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between cultures, customs and clothing styles is typical," commentators note. "White males can go unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation 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 built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in public life, appearance is not without meaning.