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Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the golden light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, signaling authority and performance—qualities I was expected to aspire to to become a "man". However, until lately, people my age appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had all but disappeared 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 captivated the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a typically middle-class 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 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 coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal locations: weddings, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long ceded from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public confidence. 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." In many ways, a suit is just a subtle form of drag, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese department store several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I imagine this feeling will be only too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose families originate in somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a specific cut can therefore define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to be out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, major retailers report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Symbolism 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 product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the demographic most likely 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 lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his stated policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "controversial" tan suit to other world leaders and their notably polished, tailored sheen. Like a certain British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Maybe the key is what one academic calls the "enactment of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a deliberate modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to 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 pointed out that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "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 signaling credibility, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once 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 image, the struggle between insider and outsider is apparent."

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," says one expert, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an elitist betraying his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, 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. "White males can remain unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the tension 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 politics, image is never neutral.