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Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. They adorned City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, projecting authority and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". Yet, before recently, my generation seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird place," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade since the end of the second world war," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal locations: weddings, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. 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." To a large extent, a suit is just a nuanced form of performance, in that it performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this feeling will be all too recognizable for many of us in the diaspora whose families come from other places, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic 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 five years. But the appeal, at least in some quarters, persists: in the past year, department stores report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning professional incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his stated policies—which include a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their notably polished, tailored sheen. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one scholar calls the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; historians have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "I think if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Even historical leaders once wore three-piece suits during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have started exchanging their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and otherness is apparent."

The attire Mamdani selects is highly significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," says one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, 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. "White males can remain unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek 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 tension between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to something not designed with me in mind, be it an cultural expectation, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in public life, appearance is not without meaning.