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Growing up in the British capital during the 2000s, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, projecting authority and professionalism—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". However, until recently, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captured 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 was largely unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a generation that seldom bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange position," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death since the end of the second world war," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest locations: marriages, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it performs 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 masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo department store a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its slim cut now feels passé. I suspect this feeling will be only too familiar for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents originate in other places, especially 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 quickly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within five years. Yet the attraction, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning middle-class 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 arguably align with his stated policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "shocking" tan suit to other national figures and their notably polished, custom-fit sheen. As one British politician learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of ordinariness", summoning the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into 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. But, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; scholars have long pointed out 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, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures once wore formal Western attire during their formative years. Currently, other world leaders have begun swapping their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani chooses is deeply significant. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," says one author, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist selling out his non-mainstream 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 millennial, skilled to assume different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unnoticed," but when others "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is evident. 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 sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in politics, image is never without meaning.