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Growing up in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always surrounded by suits. You saw them on City financiers rushing through the financial district. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the golden light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, signaling power and professionalism—traits I was told to aspire to to become a "man". Yet, until recently, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my mind.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the public's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing remained mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom 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 real dip coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest locations: weddings, memorials, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long retreated from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has historically conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are also living in a liberal democracy, 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 manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I need 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 sophisticated and expensive, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be only too familiar for numerous people in the global community whose parents originate in other places, especially global south countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a specific cut can therefore define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of 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 be out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates 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 lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised 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 cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "controversial" tan suit to other national figures and their notably impeccable, custom-fit sheen. As one UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

The Act of Banality and A Shield

Perhaps the key is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of ordinariness", invoking the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a studied modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; scholars have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in military or colonial 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 white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously donned three-piece suits during their formative years. Currently, other world leaders have started exchanging their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one without 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 significant. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," says one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist selling out his non-mainstream 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 millennial, able to adopt different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and clothing styles is common," it is said. "Some individuals can go unnoticed," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously 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 fit into something not designed with me in mind, 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 politics, appearance is not without meaning.