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Growing up in London during the 2000s, I was always surrounded by suits. They adorned businessmen hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, projecting authority and professionalism—traits I was told to embrace to become a "man". Yet, until lately, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captured the world's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing was largely unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that seldom chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird place," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade since the end of the second world war," with the real dip coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest locations: weddings, memorials, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long retreated from everyday use." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of winning public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "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 performs masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. 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 several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I imagine this sensation will be all too familiar for many of us in the global community whose parents originate in other places, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, 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 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 destined to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their notably impeccable, custom-fit appearance. Like a certain British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one academic calls the "enactment of banality", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; historians have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in imperial 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 white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is not a recent phenomenon. Even historical leaders once donned formal Western attire during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have begun swapping their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," notes 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."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the double standards 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 adapting between languages, traditions and clothing styles is typical," commentators note. "White males can remain unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to 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.