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Growing up in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, projecting authority and professionalism—qualities I was expected to aspire to to become a "adult". However, until recently, my generation appeared to wear them infrequently, 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 closed ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captivated the public's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange place," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death 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 strictest locations: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long ceded from daily life." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of winning public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem relatable, because they're trying to get your votes." To a large extent, a suit is just a nuanced form of performance, in that it performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo department store several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this sensation will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose parents originate in other places, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a particular cut can thus characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: recently, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his stated policies—which include a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other national figures and their suspiciously impeccable, tailored appearance. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to define them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one scholar calls the "enactment of banality", invoking the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" 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: "This attire isn't neutral; scholars have long noted that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "I think 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 signaling credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once donned three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have started exchanging their typical military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply significant. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," says one author, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure 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. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, able 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 common," it is said. "Some individuals can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt 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, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to 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 public life, image is never neutral.