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Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on businessmen hurrying through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in Hyde 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 uniform of seriousness, signaling power and professionalism—qualities I was expected to aspire to to become a "man". Yet, until lately, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. But whether he was celebrating in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a cohort that seldom bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird position," notes 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 coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest settings: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has historically conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the hope of gaining public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're 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 masculinity, authority and even proximity 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 picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this sensation will be only too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose families originate in other places, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular cut can thus characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, 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, endures: recently, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will resonate with the group most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "controversial" beige attire to other world leaders and their suspiciously impeccable, tailored appearance. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Maybe the key is what one scholar refers to the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's historical role 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 inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; historians have long noted that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once donned formal Western attire during their formative years. Currently, certain world leaders have started swapping their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani selects is highly significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to assume different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and attire is typical," commentators note. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into 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 sartorial choices make clear, however, is that in politics, image is never without meaning.