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Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a costume of gravitas, signaling authority and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". However, until recently, people my age 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. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a cohort that seldom bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange position," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death since the end of the second world war," with the real dip arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy states. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long ceded from everyday use." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public trust. 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." In many ways, a suit is just a nuanced form of performance, in that it enacts 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 retailer several 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 feeling will be all too familiar for many of us in the diaspora whose parents come from other places, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a specific cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the group most inclined 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. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, building 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 status symbol fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "controversial" beige attire to other national figures and their notably impeccable, tailored appearance. Like a certain British politician learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to define them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Perhaps the key is what one academic refers to the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a deliberate modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, some 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." 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 signaling credibility, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once donned three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have started exchanging their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist selling out his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to adopt different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between cultures, customs and attire is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to fit into something not designed with me in mind, be it an cultural expectation, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in politics, appearance is not without meaning.