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Growing up in London during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, projecting power and professionalism—qualities I was expected to aspire to to become a "man". However, before recently, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captured the world's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that rarely chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird position," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death since the end of the second world war," with the real dip coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from daily life." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has historically conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are 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 nuanced form of performance, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—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 expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this feeling will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose families originate in somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a specific cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the demographic most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning middle-class 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 plausibly align with his stated policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" beige attire to other national figures and their notably impeccable, tailored sheen. Like a certain British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the key is what one scholar calls the "enactment of banality", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; scholars have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "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, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously wore three-piece suits during their formative years. Currently, certain world leaders have begun exchanging their usual fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," notes one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist selling out his non-mainstream 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 younger leader, able to adopt different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between cultures, traditions and attire is typical," it is said. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to fit into 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 evident, however, is that in politics, appearance is not without meaning.