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Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the evening light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a costume of gravitas, signaling power and professionalism—qualities I was expected to aspire to to become a "adult". However, until lately, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony wearing a sober 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 contender for city hall. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a generation that rarely chooses to wear one.

"This garment 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 real dip arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," 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 am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem relatable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a nuanced form of drag, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be all too recognizable for many of us in the diaspora whose families originate in somewhere else, particularly global south countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Like 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, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, 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 appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, department stores report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the group most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "controversial" beige attire to other national figures and their notably impeccable, tailored sheen. As one British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Perhaps the key is what one scholar refers to the "performance of ordinariness", invoking 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 appeal to as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; scholars have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "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 asserting legitimacy, particularly to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously wore formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have started exchanging their usual fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani chooses is deeply symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," notes one author, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to assume different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between languages, customs and attire is typical," commentators note. "White males can remain unnoticed," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

In every seam 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 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 without meaning.