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Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, signaling power and performance—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "man". Yet, before lately, my generation appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captivated the public's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. But whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was largely unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a generation that rarely bothers to wear one.

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

"It's basically only worn in the strictest locations: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it enacts authority in the hope of gaining public trust. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem relatable, because they're trying to get your votes." To a large extent, a suit is just a subtle form of drag, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese department store several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its slim cut now feels passé. I imagine this feeling will be all too familiar for numerous people in the diaspora whose families come from somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting 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 destined to be out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, major retailers report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the group most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his stated policies—such as a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, 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 "controversial" beige attire to other national figures and their notably impeccable, custom-fit sheen. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

The Act of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one academic refers to the "enactment of banality", invoking the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a studied understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, 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 modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that if you're a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once wore three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have begun swapping their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani chooses is deeply significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to adopt different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and clothing styles is common," it is said. "White males can remain unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not built for me, be it an inherited tradition, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make clear, however, is that in politics, image is never without meaning.