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Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. You could spot them on fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the golden light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, signaling power and performance—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". Yet, until lately, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the public's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was largely unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that seldom chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange position," notes style commentator 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."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest locations: weddings, memorials, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs authority in the hope of gaining public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem relatable, 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 proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I imagine this sensation will be all too familiar for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents come from other places, particularly developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a particular cut can thus characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting 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 likely to fall out of fashion within five years. Yet the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the demographic most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning professional incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; 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 well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "controversial" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably polished, tailored appearance. Like a certain British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Maybe the key is what one scholar calls the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a studied understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; historians have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "I think if you're from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." 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. Even iconic figures previously donned formal Western attire during their formative years. Currently, certain world leaders have started exchanging their usual fatigues 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 visible."

The suit Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," notes one author, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of 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. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to assume different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between languages, customs and clothing styles is typical," commentators note. "White males can remain unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to fit into 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 clear, however, is that in politics, appearance is not neutral.