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Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on businessmen hurrying through the Square Mile. You could spot them on fathers in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of gravitas, signaling power and professionalism—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "man". Yet, until recently, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captivated the public's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was largely constant: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange position," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death 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 most formal locations: 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 everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire 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 historically signaled this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of winning public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're 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 performance, in that it performs manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this feeling will be only too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents originate in somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, 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." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their notably polished, custom-fit sheen. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Maybe the point is what one academic refers to the "enactment of banality", invoking the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection 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, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; 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 traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously donned formal Western attire during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have started exchanging their typical military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's public persona, the struggle between belonging and otherness is visible."

The attire Mamdani chooses is highly symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," says one expert, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an elitist selling out his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to assume different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, customs and clothing styles is typical," it is said. "White males can go unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, 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 public life, appearance is never without meaning.