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Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of gravitas, signaling authority and performance—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "man". Yet, before lately, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely vanished from my mind.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the public's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. But whether he was cheering in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange position," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the real dip arriving 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's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long retreated from daily life." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of winning public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are 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 performance, in that it enacts 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 retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo department store several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I imagine this sensation will be only too familiar for numerous people in the global community whose families originate in other places, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within five years. Yet the appeal, at least in some quarters, persists: recently, major retailers report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection 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 inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning professional incomes, often discontented 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 stated policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their suspiciously polished, custom-fit appearance. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Maybe the point is what one academic calls the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; historians have long noted 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 white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once donned three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, other 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 image, the struggle between insider and outsider is apparent."

The suit Mamdani chooses is deeply significant. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," says one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an elitist betraying his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an acute 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, skilled to adopt different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between cultures, traditions and attire is common," it is said. "White males can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to something not designed with me in mind, be it an inherited tradition, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in public life, image is never without meaning.