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Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen rushing through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the golden light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a uniform of gravitas, signaling power and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". Yet, until recently, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had all but vanished from my mind.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a generation that seldom chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird place," notes style commentator 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."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal settings: marriages, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long retreated from daily life." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "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 performance, in that it performs manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its slim cut now feels passé. I imagine this feeling will be only too recognizable for many of us in the global community whose families originate in somewhere else, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. Yet the appeal, at least in some quarters, endures: recently, major retailers report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his stated policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally with that elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "controversial" tan suit to other national figures and their suspiciously polished, tailored sheen. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

The Act of Normality and A Shield

Maybe the key is what one scholar calls the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous 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; scholars have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "I think if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures previously donned formal Western attire during their formative years. These days, certain world leaders have begun swapping their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The attire 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 expect as a sign of leadership," says one author, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to adopt different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is typical," it is said. "White males can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the discomfort 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 sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in politics, image is not without meaning.