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Growing up in the British capital during the 2000s, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the golden light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, signaling power and professionalism—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "man". However, before recently, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. But whether he was cheering in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a generation 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 arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long ceded 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 hope of gaining 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." To a large extent, a suit is just a subtle form of drag, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese department store 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 imagine this feeling will be all too familiar for numerous people in the global community whose families come from other places, especially developing countries.

It's no surprise, 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 thus characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to be out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, endures: in the past year, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that sells 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." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning professional 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 plausibly don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their suspiciously polished, tailored sheen. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one academic calls the "enactment of ordinariness", invoking the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous 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: "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 signaling legitimacy, particularly 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, other world leaders have begun swapping their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the struggle between belonging and otherness is apparent."

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," notes one expert, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "That may come 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 cultures, traditions and attire is common," it is said. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to something not built for me, be it an inherited tradition, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make clear, however, is that in public life, appearance is not neutral.