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Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was always 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, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, signaling power and professionalism—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "man". However, until lately, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive 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 remained largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird position," 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."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: marriages, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long ceded from daily life." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're 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 nuanced form of drag, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few 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 all too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents originate in other places, particularly global south countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: in the past year, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning professional incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits naturally with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "controversial" beige attire to other world leaders and their suspiciously 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 Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one scholar calls the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; historians have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "I think if you're a person of color, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures previously wore three-piece suits during their early years. These days, other world leaders have started exchanging their typical military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's public persona, the struggle between insider and outsider is apparent."

The attire Mamdani chooses is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," notes one author, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an elitist selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers 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 occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is typical," commentators note. "White males can go unnoticed," but when others "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is evident. 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 sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in politics, appearance is not without meaning.