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Growing up in London during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned businessmen rushing through the financial district. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the evening light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a uniform of gravitas, signaling authority and professionalism—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". However, before lately, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared 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, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the public's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange place," says style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death since the end of the second world war," with the significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest locations: weddings, funerals, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy states. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally 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.'" But while the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem relatable, because they're trying to get your votes." To a large extent, a suit is just a nuanced form of drag, in that it performs 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 formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese department store several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this feeling will be all too familiar for numerous people in the global community whose parents originate in somewhere else, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday 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. Take now: more relaxed suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, endures: recently, department stores report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the group most inclined 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. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

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 polished, tailored appearance. Like a certain UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Maybe the point is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of banality", invoking 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 imperial administration." Some also view it 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 legitimacy, particularly to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously donned formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have started exchanging their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani chooses is deeply significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," says one expert, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, able to adopt different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between languages, traditions and attire is common," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, 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 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.