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Growing up in London during the 2000s, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on City financiers rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on fathers in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a uniform of seriousness, projecting power and performance—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "man". Yet, before lately, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was largely constant: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird place," says style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the real dip coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal locations: marriages, funerals, to some extent, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it enacts authority in the hope of winning public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're 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 subtle form of drag, in that it performs manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be all too familiar for many of us in the diaspora whose parents originate in somewhere else, especially global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can thus characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, major retailers report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift 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 Suitsupply, a Dutch label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning professional incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump 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 naturally with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "controversial" tan suit to other national figures and their notably impeccable, tailored appearance. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Perhaps the point is what one academic calls the "performance of banality", 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—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive 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: "The suit isn't neutral; historians 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 a person of color, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting legitimacy, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is not a new phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously donned three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have started swapping their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the tension between belonging and otherness is visible."

The suit Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," says one author, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure 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 interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to assume different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and attire is typical," it is said. "White males can go unnoticed," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into 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 not neutral.