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Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, signaling power and professionalism—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". However, until lately, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. But whether he was celebrating 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, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird place," says style commentator 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 most formal settings: marriages, funerals, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it enacts authority in the hope of gaining public trust. 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 nuanced form of performance, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its slim cut now feels passé. I imagine this sensation will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents originate in other places, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, 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, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to be out of fashion within five years. Yet the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will resonate with the group most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated 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 plausibly align with his proposed policies—which include a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" beige attire to other national figures and their notably polished, tailored appearance. Like a certain British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Maybe the point is what one academic refers to the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a deliberate modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; scholars 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 from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously wore formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have begun exchanging their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani chooses is deeply symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," notes one author, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream 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 assume different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and clothing styles is typical," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. 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 never neutral.