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Growing up in London during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen hurrying through the financial district. You could spot them on dads in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the golden light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, projecting power and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". However, until lately, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained largely unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that seldom bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange place," says men's fashion writer 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."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest settings: weddings, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the hope of gaining public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem relatable, 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 stayed with me. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo department store 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 imagine this sensation will be only too recognizable for many of us in the diaspora whose families originate in other places, particularly global south 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 specific cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting 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 likely to fall out of fashion within five years. Yet the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, major retailers report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" tan suit to other national figures and their notably impeccable, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one academic calls the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; scholars have long noted that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that 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 legitimacy, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a new phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders once wore three-piece suits during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have begun swapping their usual military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," says one expert, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to adopt different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between languages, customs and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "White males can go unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. 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 style decisions make evident, however, is that in politics, appearance is not neutral.