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Growing up in London during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on City financiers rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of gravitas, signaling power and performance—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "man". However, until recently, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird position," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death since the end of the second world war," with the significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest locations: marriages, funerals, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long ceded from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." To a large extent, a suit is just a subtle form of drag, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo department store several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I imagine this feeling will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose families come from other places, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can thus 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 cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: in the past year, major retailers report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to 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 background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the demographic most likely 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. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly 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," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "controversial" tan suit to other national figures and their notably polished, tailored sheen. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Perhaps the key is what one academic refers to the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to 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 contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that if you're a person of color, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once wore three-piece suits during their formative years. Currently, other world leaders have started swapping their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is highly significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure selling out his distinctive 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, skilled to adopt different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, customs and clothing styles is typical," it is said. "White males can go unnoticed," but when others "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in public life, appearance is not neutral.