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Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned businessmen rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the evening light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a costume of gravitas, signaling power and performance—qualities I was expected to aspire to to become a "adult". Yet, until lately, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected 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 notable silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the world's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, 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 chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird place," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death since the end of the second world war," with the real dip coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of winning public trust. 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." To a large extent, a suit is just a subtle form of performance, in that it performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its slim cut now feels passé. I imagine this sensation will be all too recognizable for many of us in the global community whose parents originate in somewhere else, especially developing countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a specific cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: more relaxed 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 destined to be out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will appeal to the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning middle-class 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 align with his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to 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 power suit fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their suspiciously polished, custom-fit sheen. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

The Act of Banality and A Shield

Perhaps the point is what one academic refers to the "enactment of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate understatement, 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: "The suit isn't neutral; scholars have long noted that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "I think 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 legitimacy, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures previously wore three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have started swapping their usual military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and otherness is visible."

The attire Mamdani chooses is deeply significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," notes one author, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, able to assume different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "White males can go unnoticed," but when others "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to 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 clear, however, is that in politics, appearance is never without meaning.