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Growing up in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always surrounded by suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, signaling power and performance—traits I was told to embrace to become a "adult". However, before lately, my generation seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captured the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a cohort that seldom chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird position," 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 rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest locations: marriages, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of winning public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are also living in a liberal democracy, 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 enacts masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo 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 suspect this feeling will be only too familiar for many of us in the global community whose families come from other places, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has fallen out of 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, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. Yet the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: in the past year, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will appeal to the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning professional incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump 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 naturally with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other national figures and their suspiciously impeccable, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to define them.

The Act of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one scholar calls the "enactment of banality", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; scholars have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in military or colonial 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, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders once donned formal Western attire during their early years. These days, other world leaders have started swapping their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's public persona, the tension 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 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 selling out his distinctive 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, able to adopt different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between languages, traditions and attire is typical," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unnoticed," 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 public persona, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in politics, appearance is never neutral.