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Growing up in the British capital during the 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by suits. You saw them on City financiers rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of seriousness, projecting power and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". Yet, before recently, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the world's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was largely 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 weird 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 significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, funerals, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" 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 democratic society, politicians want to seem relatable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a subtle form of drag, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I dust off 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 slim cut now feels outdated. I suspect this feeling will be only too familiar for many of us in the global community whose parents originate in somewhere else, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. 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 appetite to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning professional incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his stated policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably impeccable, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to define them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Perhaps the key is what one scholar calls the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire 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: "I think if you're a person of color, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once wore three-piece suits during their early years. These days, other world leaders have begun swapping their typical military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's public persona, the struggle between insider and outsider is visible."

The attire Mamdani selects is highly significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," notes one expert, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an elitist selling out his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, able to adopt different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between cultures, customs and clothing styles is typical," commentators note. "White males can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, 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 sartorial choices make clear, however, is that in public life, image is not neutral.