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Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of seriousness, projecting authority and performance—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "man". However, before recently, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the public's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing remained mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that seldom bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange position," says 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 rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, funerals, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long ceded from daily life." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of winning public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're also living in a democratic society, 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 performance, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese department store several years ago. When I first picked it up, 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 diaspora whose families originate in other places, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a specific cut can thus characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, echoing 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 be out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in some quarters, endures: in the past year, major retailers report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch 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 not poor but not extremely wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning professional incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his stated policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; 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 more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "controversial" tan suit to other national figures and their suspiciously polished, tailored sheen. Like a certain British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one academic calls the "enactment of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; scholars have long noted 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 asserting legitimacy, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a recent phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously donned formal Western attire during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have started exchanging their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and otherness is visible."

The attire Mamdani chooses is deeply significant. "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 sign of leadership," says one expert, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to assume different personas 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 unnoticed," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously 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 conform to 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 politics, appearance is never neutral.