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Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a uniform of gravitas, signaling power and professionalism—traits I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". However, until lately, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange position," notes 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 coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest settings: weddings, funerals, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy states. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the hope of gaining public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." To a large extent, a suit is just a nuanced form of performance, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the infrequent times I need 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 selected it, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I imagine this feeling will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose parents originate in somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to 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 Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within five years. Yet the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, department stores report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will resonate with the group most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning professional incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

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

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" tan suit to other national figures and their suspiciously polished, tailored appearance. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

The Act of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one academic refers to the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" 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 military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; historians have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're a person of color, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a new phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures previously donned formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have started swapping their typical military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the tension between insider and outsider 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 pressure to meet what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," says one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his distinctive roots and values."

But 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 millennial, skilled to assume different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "White males can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to something not built for me, be it an inherited tradition, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in politics, appearance is never without meaning.