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Growing up in the British capital during the 2000s, 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, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a uniform of seriousness, signaling power and performance—traits I was told to embrace to become a "man". Yet, until recently, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captured the public's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird place," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade 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 locations: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, legal proceedings," 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." 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 signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of gaining public trust. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're 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 subtle form of drag, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I imagine this sensation will be only too recognizable for many of us in the global community whose families come from somewhere else, particularly global south countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a particular cut can thus define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to be out of fashion within a few seasons. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, major retailers 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 Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will resonate with the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's exactly 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 rent freeze, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits naturally with that elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

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

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Perhaps the key is what one scholar refers to the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages 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 aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; scholars have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that 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 question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures once donned three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, certain world leaders have started swapping their usual fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's public persona, the struggle between belonging and otherness is visible."

The suit Mamdani selects is highly significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," says one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist selling out his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, able to assume different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between languages, customs and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the tension between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to something not designed with me in mind, be it an inherited tradition, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make clear, however, is that in politics, appearance is not neutral.