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Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a uniform of seriousness, projecting authority and performance—traits I was told to embrace to become a "man". However, before lately, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that seldom bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird place," says style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying 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 strictest locations: marriages, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy states. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long ceded from daily life." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of winning 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 manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. 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 a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I imagine this sensation will be only too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose families come from other places, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: more relaxed 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 destined to fall out of fashion within five years. Yet the attraction, at least in some quarters, endures: recently, major retailers report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something special."

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. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, 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 thirties and forties, 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 extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—such as a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A status symbol fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their notably polished, tailored sheen. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Perhaps the key is what one scholar calls the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; historians have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "I think if you're a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once donned formal Western attire during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have started swapping their typical military wear 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 visible."

The attire Mamdani selects is highly significant. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," notes one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to adopt different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can remain unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to 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 clear, however, is that in public life, image is never neutral.