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Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on businessmen hurrying 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 cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of gravitas, projecting authority and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". However, until recently, my generation appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had all but vanished from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony wearing a subdued 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. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that rarely chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird place," says style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death since the end of the second world war," with the real dip coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "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 nuanced form of drag, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be all too familiar for numerous people in the diaspora whose families come from other places, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to be out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, department stores report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will resonate with the demographic most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "controversial" tan suit to other world leaders and their notably polished, tailored appearance. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one scholar calls the "enactment of ordinariness", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; historians 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 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, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously wore formal Western attire during their formative years. These days, certain world leaders have begun exchanging their usual military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's image, the struggle between insider and outsider is visible."

The attire Mamdani selects is highly significant. "Being the son 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," says one author, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an elitist selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to adopt different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between cultures, customs and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "White males can go unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the awkwardness 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 public life, image is not neutral.