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Growing up in the British capital during the 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers hurrying through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of gravitas, signaling authority and professionalism—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". However, until recently, people my age appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the world's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. But whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange place," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the real dip coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest locations: marriages, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy states. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long ceded from daily life." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of winning public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "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 nuanced form of performance, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents originate in other places, particularly developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular cut can thus characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, echoing 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 be out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: in the past year, major retailers report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the group most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning middle-class 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 arguably align with his stated policies—which include a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A status symbol fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other national figures and their notably impeccable, custom-fit appearance. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

The Act of Banality and A Shield

Perhaps the point is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of ordinariness", summoning the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; historians have long noted that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, particularly to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once donned three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have begun exchanging their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between insider and outsider is apparent."

The suit Mamdani chooses is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," notes one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist 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 assume different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and attire is typical," commentators note. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the tension 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 inherited tradition, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make clear, however, is that in politics, image is never without meaning.