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Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen hurrying through the Square Mile. You could spot them on fathers in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of seriousness, signaling authority and professionalism—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "man". However, before lately, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished from my mind.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. But whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a cohort that seldom chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird position," says style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade since the end of the second world war," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal locations: marriages, funerals, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." 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 gaining public trust. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a subtle form of drag, in that it performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its slim cut now feels passé. I imagine this sensation will be all too familiar for many of us in the global community whose parents originate in other places, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed 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 likely to be out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, department stores report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the expense 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 rent freeze, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other national figures and their suspiciously polished, tailored sheen. Like a certain UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Perhaps the point is what one scholar refers to the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a deliberate understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, some 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." 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 white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once wore three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have started swapping their usual fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," says one expert, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, able to assume different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between cultures, traditions and attire is typical," commentators note. "White males can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make clear, however, is that in public life, appearance is not neutral.