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Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always surrounded by suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the financial district. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a uniform of gravitas, projecting power and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". However, before recently, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a generation that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird position," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the second world war," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem relatable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a subtle form of performance, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo department store a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I imagine this feeling will be all too familiar for numerous people in the global community whose families come from other places, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a specific cut can thus characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, 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 certain circles, endures: in the past year, major retailers report suit sales increasing 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 retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "controversial" tan suit to other national figures and their notably 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.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one scholar calls the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a deliberate modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; scholars have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in military or colonial 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 traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once donned three-piece suits during their formative years. Currently, other world leaders have started exchanging their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the tension between belonging and otherness is apparent."

The suit Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," says one author, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an elitist selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an acute 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, skilled to adopt 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 others "attempt to gain the authority 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 evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in public life, appearance is never neutral.