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Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned businessmen hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the evening light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of seriousness, projecting authority and professionalism—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". However, until recently, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that seldom chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird position," says style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest settings: marriages, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long ceded from daily life." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem relatable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a subtle form of performance, in that it performs manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese retailer several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I imagine this feeling will be only too familiar for many of us in the diaspora whose parents originate in somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to be out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, department stores report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the group most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his stated policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably polished, custom-fit sheen. As one British politician learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Perhaps the point is what one academic calls the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; scholars have long noted that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "I think if you're from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once donned formal Western attire during their formative years. These days, certain world leaders have started exchanging their typical fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's public persona, the struggle between insider and outsider is apparent."

The attire Mamdani selects is highly significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," notes one author, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an elitist selling out his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to adopt different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between languages, traditions and clothing styles is typical," commentators note. "White males can remain unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to 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 sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in public life, image is not neutral.