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Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on businessmen hurrying through the financial district. You could spot them on fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the golden light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of gravitas, projecting power and performance—traits I was told to aspire to to become a "man". However, until lately, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office 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 captivated the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that seldom chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange place," notes style commentator 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 advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal locations: marriages, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy states. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it performs authority in the hope of winning 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 performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese retailer several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated 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 come from somewhere else, especially developing 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 specific cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of 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 fall out of fashion within a few seasons. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, major retailers report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that sells 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." Therefore, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates 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 don't contradict his proposed policies—which include a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" beige attire to other national figures and their suspiciously impeccable, tailored sheen. As one British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

The Act of Normality and A Shield

Perhaps the key is what one scholar calls the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a studied understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; historians have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously wore three-piece suits during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have started swapping their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani chooses is deeply significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," notes one author, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to assume different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between cultures, customs and attire is common," it is said. "White males can remain unnoticed," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the awkwardness 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 style decisions make evident, however, is that in politics, image is not without meaning.