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Coming of age in London during the 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a uniform of gravitas, projecting authority and professionalism—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". Yet, before recently, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished from my mind.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captivated the public's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. 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, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange position," notes style commentator 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 rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest settings: weddings, memorials, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it enacts authority in the hope of winning public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "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 performance, in that it performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the infrequent times I need 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 refined and expensive, but its slim cut now feels passé. I suspect this sensation will be all too familiar for many of us in the diaspora whose families originate in other places, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the attraction, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, major retailers report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, 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, college graduates earning professional incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—which include a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

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, custom-fit appearance. Like a certain British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one scholar refers to the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; historians have long noted that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "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, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders once wore formal Western attire during their formative years. These days, certain world leaders have begun swapping their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's image, the struggle between insider and outsider is visible."

The suit Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent 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 navigate carefully by "not looking like an elitist betraying his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled 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 typical," commentators note. "White males can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to something not designed with me in mind, be it an cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in public life, image is never neutral.