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Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was always surrounded by suits. They adorned businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of gravitas, projecting power and performance—traits I was told to embrace to become a "adult". However, before recently, people my age appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers 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 real dip arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest locations: marriages, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy states. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long ceded from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am 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 performs authority in the attempt of winning public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are 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.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo department store a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I imagine this feeling will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose families come from other places, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a specific cut can thus characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. Yet the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, department stores report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that sells in a mid-market 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 demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated 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 lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, building 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 grew up in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits naturally with that elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably polished, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

The Act of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a deliberate understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; historians have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Even historical leaders once wore three-piece suits during their formative years. Currently, certain world leaders have begun swapping their typical fatigues 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 chooses is highly symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," says one expert, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure betraying his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to assume different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and attire is typical," it is said. "White males can remain unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully navigate 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 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 style decisions make clear, however, is that in politics, appearance is not neutral.