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Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. You saw them on City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, projecting authority and professionalism—qualities I was expected to aspire to to become a "adult". However, before lately, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but 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, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: 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 cohort that rarely chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange place," says style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death 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 settings: marriages, funerals, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long ceded from daily life." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem relatable, 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 proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the infrequent times 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 picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents originate in somewhere else, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a specific cut can therefore define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, department stores report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing this brand; 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 elite, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "controversial" beige attire to other national figures and their notably polished, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to define them.

The Act of Normality and A Shield

Perhaps the key is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of banality", summoning the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; historians have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "I think 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 asserting credibility, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures once donned formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have begun exchanging their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's public persona, the struggle between insider and outsider is apparent."

The attire Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," says one author, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an elitist betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to adopt different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and clothing styles is typical," commentators note. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the discomfort 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 style decisions make clear, however, is that in politics, image is never without meaning.