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Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was always surrounded by suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a uniform of seriousness, projecting authority and performance—traits I was told to aspire to to become a "man". However, until recently, my generation seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had all but disappeared from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, pristine 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. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was largely constant: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that rarely bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird position," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "It's been dying 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."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest locations: weddings, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy states. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has historically signaled this, today it enacts authority in the hope 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." 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 require a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese department store several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I imagine this feeling will be all too familiar for many of us in the global community whose parents come from somewhere else, especially global south countries.

It's no surprise, 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 therefore 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 cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to be out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in some quarters, endures: in the past year, major retailers report suit 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

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, 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 align with his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never 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 power suit fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as attainable 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 polished, tailored appearance. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one academic calls the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; scholars have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that 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, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously wore formal Western attire during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have started swapping their typical fatigues for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the struggle between insider and outsider is apparent."

The attire Mamdani chooses is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," says one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an elitist betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able 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 typical," commentators note. "White males can remain unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to something not built for me, be it an inherited tradition, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in public life, appearance is never neutral.