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Growing up in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on City financiers rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on dads in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the evening light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of seriousness, projecting power and performance—traits I was told to aspire to to become a "man". However, before recently, my generation appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with unstructured lines, 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.

"The suit is in this weird place," 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."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal locations: weddings, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy states. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long retreated from daily life." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs authority in the hope of gaining public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a nuanced form of drag, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be all too familiar for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents originate in somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: in the past year, department stores report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that sells 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." To that end, his mid-level suit will resonate with the demographic most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—which include a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably impeccable, tailored sheen. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to define them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one academic calls the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; scholars have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen 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 traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting legitimacy, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously donned three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, other 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 struggle between insider and outsider is apparent."

The suit Mamdani selects is highly significant. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," says one expert, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to adopt different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and clothing styles is typical," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not built for me, 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 public life, appearance is not neutral.