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Growing up in London during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a uniform of seriousness, projecting authority and professionalism—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". However, before lately, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely 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 sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captured the world's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was celebrating in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing remained mostly constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird place," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, funerals, to some extent, court appearances," Guy states. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from daily life." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem relatable, 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 proximity to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I imagine this sensation will be only too recognizable for many of us in the diaspora whose families come from somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a specific cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the appeal, at least in some quarters, persists: recently, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European 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 neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the expense 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—which include 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 was raised in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their suspiciously impeccable, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain British politician learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Perhaps the point is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of ordinariness", summoning the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a deliberate modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; historians have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it 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 signaling credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously wore formal Western attire during their formative years. These days, certain world leaders have started swapping their usual military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and otherness is visible."

The suit Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," notes one author, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to assume different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, customs and clothing styles is typical," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unnoticed," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not designed with me in mind, be it an inherited tradition, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in public life, image is not neutral.