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Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on businessmen hurrying through the financial district. You could spot them on fathers in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a costume of gravitas, projecting authority and performance—traits I was expected to aspire to to become a "man". Yet, before recently, my generation appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a generation that seldom chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange position," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been 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."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest settings: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for 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: "Because we are 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 enacts masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this sensation will be only too familiar for numerous people in the global community whose families originate in other places, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to be out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, department stores report suit sales increasing 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 Suitsupply, a European label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning middle-class 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 align with his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A status symbol fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "controversial" tan suit to other national figures and their notably polished, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one scholar calls the "enactment of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; scholars have long noted that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you might not 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 not a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures previously wore formal Western attire during their early years. These days, other world leaders have begun swapping their usual 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 apparent."

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child 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," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his distinctive roots and values."

But 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, able to adopt different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between languages, customs and clothing styles is typical," it is said. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make clear, however, is that in politics, appearance is not without meaning.