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Growing up in London during the noughties, I was always surrounded by suits. You saw them on City financiers rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned 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 seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captured the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a generation that rarely chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange position," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the second world war," with the real dip arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest settings: marriages, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long retreated from daily life." 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 traditionally conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a subtle form of drag, in that it performs masculinity, 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 retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be all too familiar for many of us in the global community whose parents originate in 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 cycles; a specific cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their suspiciously impeccable, custom-fit appearance. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

The Act of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one scholar calls the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; historians have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "I think if you're a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously wore formal Western attire during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have started exchanging their usual military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an elitist betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to adopt different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting 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 authority that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the tension between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not designed with me in mind, be it an cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in public life, appearance is never without meaning.