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Coming of age in London during the 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on fathers in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of seriousness, signaling power and performance—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". However, before recently, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony wearing a subdued 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. But whether he was cheering in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange position," notes men's fashion writer 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 locations: weddings, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are also living in a democratic society, 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 enacts manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I imagine this feeling will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents come from somewhere else, especially 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 therefore characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting 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 be out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, department stores report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the cost 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 a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "controversial" tan suit to other world leaders and their notably impeccable, custom-fit sheen. As one UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one academic refers to the "enactment of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; historians have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in imperial 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 traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, particularly 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 formative years. These days, certain world leaders have started exchanging their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the tension between belonging and otherness is apparent."

The attire Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," says one author, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is read into 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 code-switching between cultures, customs and clothing styles is common," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unnoticed," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not designed with me in mind, be it an cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in public life, image is not neutral.