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Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on businessmen hurrying through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the golden light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, signaling authority and professionalism—traits I was told to aspire to to become a "man". However, until lately, people my age appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was largely unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange position," says style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death since the end of the second world war," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest locations: weddings, funerals, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy states. "It is 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.'" Although the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public confidence. 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." In many ways, a suit is just a nuanced form of drag, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—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 refined and high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I suspect this feeling will be only too familiar for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents come from somewhere else, especially developing 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 quickly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to be out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: 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 desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his stated policies—which include a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably impeccable, custom-fit appearance. Like a certain British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Maybe the key is what one academic calls the "enactment of ordinariness", invoking the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; historians have long noted that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, particularly to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously donned formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have begun exchanging their usual military wear 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 highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to assume different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between cultures, customs and attire is typical," commentators note. "White males can go unremarked," but when others "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 tension between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in politics, appearance is never neutral.