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Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, signaling authority and professionalism—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". Yet, before lately, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange position," notes 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."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest settings: weddings, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public confidence. 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 drag, in that it performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese retailer 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 recognizable for many of us in the global community whose families originate in somewhere else, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, major retailers report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his stated policies—such as a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and 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 was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits naturally with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "controversial" beige attire to other national figures and their notably polished, custom-fit appearance. Like a certain British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Perhaps the point is what one scholar calls the "performance of banality", 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—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; historians have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "I think 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 asserting credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously donned three-piece suits during their formative years. Currently, certain world leaders have begun swapping their typical military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani selects is highly significant. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," says one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to assume different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between cultures, customs and attire is common," it is said. "White males can remain unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in public life, image is not without meaning.