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Growing up in London during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen hurrying through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a uniform of seriousness, projecting power and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". Yet, before lately, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely vanished 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, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that seldom bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird place," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the second world war," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest settings: weddings, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long ceded from everyday use." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of winning public trust. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are 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 nuanced form of drag, in that it performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I imagine this feeling will be all too familiar for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents come from somewhere else, 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 specific cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the appeal, at least in some quarters, persists: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the expense 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 proposed policies—which include a capping rents, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their suspiciously impeccable, tailored appearance. Like a certain British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one scholar refers to the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a deliberate modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"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: "This attire isn't apolitical; scholars have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures once wore formal Western attire during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have started exchanging their typical fatigues for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent 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 at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist betraying his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, able to assume different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between languages, traditions and clothing styles is typical," commentators note. "White males can go unnoticed," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, 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, appearance is not neutral.