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Growing up in London during the 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, projecting authority and professionalism—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". However, before recently, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that rarely chooses to wear one.

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

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are 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 proximity to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I imagine this feeling will be only too familiar for many of us in the global community whose parents originate in other places, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's 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. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in some quarters, persists: recently, department stores report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will resonate with the group most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his proposed policies—which include a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably impeccable, tailored appearance. Like a certain British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to define them.

The Act of Normality and A Shield

Maybe the key is what one scholar calls the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a studied modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; scholars have long noted that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're a person of color, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is not a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously donned three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have begun swapping their usual military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," notes one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to assume different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and clothing styles is common," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to something not designed with me in mind, be it an inherited tradition, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in public life, image is never neutral.