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Growing up in the British capital during the 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned businessmen rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a uniform of gravitas, signaling authority and professionalism—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "man". However, until lately, people my age appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the public's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that seldom chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange position," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death since the end of the second world war," with the real dip arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal locations: weddings, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from daily life." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." To a large extent, a suit is just a subtle form of drag, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer 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 recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents originate in somewhere else, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a specific cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, echoing 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 be out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: in the past year, 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 Politics of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a European 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 mid-level suit will appeal to the group most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his stated 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 luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits seamlessly 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" tan suit to other national figures and their notably polished, custom-fit appearance. As one UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Perhaps the key is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; historians have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting legitimacy, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a new phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once donned three-piece suits during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have started swapping their usual military wear 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 highly symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to adopt different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between languages, customs and attire 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 meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to fit into something not designed with me in mind, be it an cultural expectation, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in politics, image is never neutral.