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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 City financiers rushing through the Square Mile. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of seriousness, signaling authority and professionalism—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". However, before recently, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely vanished from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captured the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained largely unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a cohort that seldom bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange place," says style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the second world war," with the significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal locations: weddings, funerals, to some extent, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long retreated from everyday use." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for 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 clarifies: "Since we're also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a nuanced form of drag, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I imagine this sensation will be all too familiar for many of us in the diaspora whose families come from other places, especially developing countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a specific cut can thus characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the appeal, at least in certain circles, 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 exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the group most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his stated policies—which include a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "As an immensely 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 well with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other national figures and their suspiciously impeccable, tailored appearance. Like a certain UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

The Act of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one academic calls the "enactment of ordinariness", invoking the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; 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 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 "code-switching" is hardly a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders once donned formal Western attire during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have begun swapping their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the struggle between belonging and otherness is apparent."

The suit Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," notes one expert, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an elitist betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to adopt different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between cultures, customs and clothing styles is common," it is said. "White males can remain unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in politics, appearance is never neutral.