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Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on City financiers rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on fathers in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, projecting power and professionalism—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "man". However, until lately, my generation appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had all but disappeared from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captured the world's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club 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 traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange position," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the real dip coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from daily life." Many 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 signaled this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of winning public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a nuanced form of performance, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I suspect this feeling will be only too familiar for many of us in the global community whose families come from somewhere else, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to be out of fashion within a few seasons. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will resonate with 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. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his stated policies—which include a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits naturally with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "shocking" tan suit to other national figures and their suspiciously impeccable, tailored sheen. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

The Act of Banality and A Shield

Perhaps the point is what one academic refers to the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; historians have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in imperial 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 legitimacy, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders once wore formal Western attire during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have started swapping their typical fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly 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 look for as a marker of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to adopt different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between cultures, customs and attire is typical," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when others "attempt 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 dynamic between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not built for me, be it an inherited tradition, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in public life, image is not neutral.