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Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on dads in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a uniform of seriousness, projecting authority and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". Yet, before recently, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that rarely bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange place," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death since the end of the second world war," with the significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: marriages, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long retreated from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. 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 enacts masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its slim cut now feels passé. I suspect this feeling will be only too familiar for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents come from other places, especially developing countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: more relaxed 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 be out of fashion within five years. Yet the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, department stores report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will appeal to the group most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally with that elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their suspiciously impeccable, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to define them.

The Act of Banality and A Shield

Perhaps the key is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; historians have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "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 question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously donned 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 struggle between belonging and otherness is visible."

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly significant. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," says one author, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist selling out his non-mainstream 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 younger leader, able to adopt different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between cultures, customs and attire is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unnoticed," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to something not designed with me in mind, be it an cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in politics, image is never neutral.