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Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the evening light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, projecting power and performance—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "adult". However, until recently, people my age appeared 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. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird position," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the real dip arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest settings: weddings, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of gaining public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." To a large extent, a suit is just a nuanced form of performance, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo department store several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I imagine this sensation will be only too recognizable for many of us in the diaspora whose families 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 silhouette goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to be out of fashion within five years. Yet the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, major retailers report tailoring 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 Suitsupply, a Dutch label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic 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 arguably don't contradict his stated policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never 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 seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "controversial" beige attire to other national figures and their notably polished, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

The Act of Normality and A Shield

Perhaps the key is what one scholar refers to the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to 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; scholars have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that if you're a person of color, 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 question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously wore formal Western attire during their formative years. These days, certain world leaders have begun swapping their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly significant. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," notes one author, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, able to adopt different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between cultures, customs and attire is common," it is said. "White males can remain unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to something not designed with me in mind, be it an cultural expectation, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in public life, appearance is never neutral.