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Growing up in the British capital during the 2000s, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a uniform of gravitas, projecting authority and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". Yet, until lately, my generation seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captured the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: 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 bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird place," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade since the end of the second world war," with the real dip arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal settings: marriages, funerals, to some extent, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has historically signaled this, today it enacts authority in the hope 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 subtle form of drag, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words 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 retailer several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I suspect this feeling will be all too familiar for many of us in the global community whose families originate in other places, particularly global south countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting 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 likely to fall out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: recently, major retailers report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that sells 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." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the group most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates 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 extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "controversial" beige attire to other national figures and their suspiciously polished, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

The Act of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one scholar calls the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a deliberate modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; historians have long noted that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it 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 signaling credibility, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously donned three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, certain world leaders have begun swapping their typical military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's public persona, the struggle between belonging and otherness is apparent."

The attire Mamdani selects is highly significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," says one expert, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an elitist betraying his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to assume different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between cultures, traditions and attire is typical," it is said. "Some individuals can go unnoticed," but when others "seek to gain the authority 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, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to something not designed with me in mind, 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, appearance is never neutral.