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Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was always surrounded by suits. You saw them on City financiers rushing through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a uniform of gravitas, signaling authority and professionalism—traits I was told to aspire to to become a "man". However, until recently, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Subsequently came the incoming 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 captured the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing was largely unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a cohort 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 slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest settings: marriages, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy clarifies: "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 drag, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I require 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 outdated. I suspect this sensation will be only too familiar for numerous people in the global community whose parents come from other places, particularly global south countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: 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 likely to be out of fashion within five years. Yet the appeal, at least in some quarters, persists: in the past year, 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 a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." To that end, 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 cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "controversial" tan suit to other national figures and their notably impeccable, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Perhaps the point is what one scholar calls the "enactment of ordinariness", summoning the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a studied understatement, 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 historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; historians have long noted that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "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 asserting legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously wore formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have begun exchanging their usual military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the struggle between insider and outsider is apparent."

The suit Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child 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," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an elitist selling out his distinctive roots and values."

But 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 adopt different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between cultures, customs and clothing styles is common," it is said. "White males can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in public life, appearance is not neutral.