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Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on fathers in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the golden light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of gravitas, projecting power and professionalism—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "adult". However, until lately, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was celebrating in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained largely unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that seldom chooses to wear one.

"This garment 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 significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, funerals, to some extent, court appearances," Guy states. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long ceded from daily life." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy elaborates: "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 subtle form of performance, in that it performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I imagine this sensation will be only too recognizable for many of us in the diaspora whose families come from somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the group most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, 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—which include a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "controversial" tan suit to other national figures and their notably polished, tailored sheen. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one scholar refers to the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; historians 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 from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting legitimacy, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously donned formal Western attire during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have begun swapping their usual fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," says one expert, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an elitist betraying his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to adopt different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between languages, customs and attire is common," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, 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 inherited tradition, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in politics, image is never neutral.