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Coming of age in London during the 2000s, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of seriousness, signaling power and performance—traits I was expected to aspire to to become a "man". However, before lately, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captivated the public's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange place," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the real dip arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest settings: marriages, funerals, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy states. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from daily life." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are also living in a democratic society, 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 closeness to power.

Guy's words 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 selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its slim cut now feels passé. I suspect this feeling will be all too recognizable for many of us in the diaspora whose families originate in somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, 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. Take now: 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 fall out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, department stores report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will resonate with the group most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his stated policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits naturally with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their notably polished, custom-fit sheen. As one UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one academic calls the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" 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 pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders once wore formal Western attire during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have begun swapping their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's image, the tension between belonging and otherness is visible."

The suit Mamdani selects is highly significant. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," notes one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet 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 occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between languages, traditions and clothing styles is common," it is said. "White males can remain unnoticed," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, 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 sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in politics, image is not without meaning.