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Growing up in London during the 2000s, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on businessmen hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, projecting authority and professionalism—qualities I was expected to aspire to to become a "man". Yet, before lately, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the public's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was cheering in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was largely 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 typical as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange place," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest settings: marriages, funerals, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from daily life." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of gaining public trust. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are also living in a democratic society, 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 drag, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the rare occasions 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 selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I imagine this feeling will be only too familiar for numerous people in the global community whose families come from somewhere else, especially developing countries.

It's no surprise, 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 a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, department stores report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something special."

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 reflection of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with 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 exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his stated policies—which include a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

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

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "controversial" beige attire to other world leaders and their suspiciously impeccable, tailored appearance. As one UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Maybe the point is what one scholar refers to the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a studied understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; historians have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "I think if you're from a minority background, 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.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures once wore three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have begun swapping their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's image, 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 democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," says one author, 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 double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, able to adopt different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, customs and attire is common," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not built for me, be it an inherited tradition, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in public life, appearance is not neutral.