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Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. You saw them on City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the evening light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, projecting authority and performance—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "man". Yet, until recently, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely vanished from my mind.

Then 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. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that rarely chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird position," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the real dip coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal locations: weddings, memorials, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long retreated from daily life." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs authority in the hope of gaining public trust. As Guy elaborates: "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 nuanced form of performance, in that it performs manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few 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 numerous people in the diaspora whose families come from other places, particularly developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a specific cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, department stores report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear 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 retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

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 clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the key is what one academic calls the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; scholars have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting legitimacy, particularly to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously donned formal Western attire during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have started swapping their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to conform to 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 establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an acute 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, skilled to adopt different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between cultures, traditions and attire is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to something not designed with me in mind, be it an inherited tradition, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in public life, image is never without meaning.