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Coming of age in London during the 2000s, I was always immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on City financiers rushing through the Square Mile. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a uniform of gravitas, signaling authority and performance—traits I was expected to aspire to to become a "man". Yet, before recently, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captured the world's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. But whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class 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," says style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade 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 locations: marriages, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long retreated from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are 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 nuanced form of performance, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a ceremony 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 refined and expensive, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I imagine this feeling will be only too recognizable for many of us in the global community whose families come from somewhere else, especially 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 silhouette goes through trends; a particular cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the appeal, at least in some quarters, persists: in the past year, major retailers report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other national figures and their notably polished, tailored appearance. Like a certain UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to define them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of banality", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a studied understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"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 contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "I think if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once wore formal Western attire during their early years. These days, other world leaders have begun swapping their typical fatigues 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 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 marker of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an elitist selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to adopt different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between cultures, traditions and attire is common," it is said. "White males can go unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not built for me, 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 never without meaning.