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Coming of age in London during the 2000s, I was always surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers hurrying through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the golden light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of gravitas, projecting power and performance—qualities I was expected to aspire to to become a "man". However, before lately, people my age seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captured the world's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was celebrating in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit 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 advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal locations: marriages, funerals, to some extent, 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 "wear a suit 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 traditionally conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining 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." In many ways, a suit is just a subtle form of performance, in that it performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese retailer several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its slim cut now feels passé. I suspect this feeling will be only too familiar for many of us in the diaspora whose families originate in other places, particularly developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a specific cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, major retailers report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely 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 likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning professional incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

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

The Act of Banality and A Shield

Perhaps the point is what one academic refers to the "enactment of banality", summoning the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; scholars have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously donned three-piece suits during their formative years. Currently, other world leaders have started swapping their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's image, the tension between insider and outsider is apparent."

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure selling out 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, able to assume different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between cultures, traditions and attire is typical," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not designed with me in mind, be it an inherited tradition, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in politics, appearance is not without meaning.