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Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of seriousness, projecting authority and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". Yet, before recently, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, 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 private ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a generation that rarely chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange place," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death since the end of the second world war," with the significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest settings: weddings, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy elaborates: "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 performance, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo department store a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this sensation will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents come from somewhere else, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a specific cut can thus characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to be out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, major retailers report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch 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 moderately-priced suit will appeal to the demographic most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his stated policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits naturally with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "shocking" tan suit to other national figures and their suspiciously impeccable, tailored appearance. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one academic refers to the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a studied understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; historians have long noted that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that 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 asserting legitimacy, particularly to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders once donned formal Western attire during their formative years. Currently, other world leaders have begun exchanging their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between insider and outsider is apparent."

The suit Mamdani chooses is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," says one author, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his distinctive 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 younger leader, skilled to assume different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between languages, customs and attire is common," it is said. "White males can remain unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the authority 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 inherited tradition, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in public life, image is never without meaning.