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Coming of age in London during the 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by suits. You saw them on businessmen hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, signaling authority and professionalism—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". Yet, until lately, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my mind.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captivated the public's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. But whether he was cheering in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird position," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest locations: weddings, memorials, and sometimes, legal proceedings," 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." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it enacts authority in the hope of gaining public trust. 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 nuanced form of performance, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this feeling will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose parents come from somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a specific cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: recently, department stores report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their suspiciously impeccable, tailored sheen. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one scholar calls the "enactment of banality", summoning the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; scholars have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously wore formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have started exchanging their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani selects is deeply significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," says one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his distinctive roots and values."

But 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 younger leader, skilled to assume different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between cultures, traditions and attire is common," it is said. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not built for me, 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 politics, appearance is never neutral.