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Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a uniform of seriousness, signaling power and performance—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "adult". However, before recently, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly constant: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird position," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the hope 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 subtle form of performance, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony 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 high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be all too familiar for many of us in the global community whose families originate in somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, 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 quickly outdated. Consider the present: 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 destined to be out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, endures: recently, department stores report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will resonate with the group most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the cost 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 proposed policies—which include 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," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits naturally with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "controversial" beige attire to other national figures and their notably impeccable, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Perhaps the key is what one scholar refers to the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a studied understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, 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 contemporary origins lie in military or colonial 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 white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously donned formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have started swapping their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is highly significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," says one author, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to adopt different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between cultures, traditions and attire is typical," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully navigate 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 fit into something not designed with me in mind, 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, image is never neutral.