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Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, signaling authority and professionalism—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". However, until lately, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the public'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 was mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that rarely chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird place," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death since the end of the second world war," with the real dip coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, funerals, to some extent, court appearances," Guy states. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent 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 attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem relatable, 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 proximity to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this feeling will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents originate in other places, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to be out of fashion within a few seasons. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, major retailers report suit sales increasing 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 Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the demographic most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's exactly 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 rent freeze, constructing 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 New York real-estate world. A power suit fits naturally with that elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "controversial" tan suit to other national figures and their suspiciously polished, tailored appearance. As one UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to define them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Maybe the key is what one academic calls the "enactment of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" 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 historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; scholars have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "I think if you're a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, particularly to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once wore three-piece suits during their formative years. Currently, other world leaders have started swapping their typical fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," says one expert, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an elitist betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet 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 younger leader, skilled to adopt different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and attire is common," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into 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 style decisions make clear, however, is that in public life, image is never without meaning.