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Growing up in London during the 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, signaling power and professionalism—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". However, before lately, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely 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, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange place," says men's fashion writer 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 advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy states. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long ceded from everyday use." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the hope of gaining public trust. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're also living in a democratic society, 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 drag, in that it performs manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis 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 retailer several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this feeling will be all too recognizable for many of us in the global community whose parents originate in other places, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of 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. Yet the appeal, at least in some quarters, endures: recently, major retailers report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the demographic most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning professional incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his stated policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits naturally 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 "controversial" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably impeccable, tailored appearance. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to define them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Perhaps the point is what one academic refers to the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a studied understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; historians have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." Some also view it 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.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a recent phenomenon. Even historical leaders once wore three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have started exchanging their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's public persona, the struggle between belonging and otherness is visible."

The suit Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," says one author, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to assume different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between cultures, customs and attire is common," it is said. "White males can go unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the awkwardness 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 style decisions make evident, however, is that in politics, appearance is never without meaning.