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Growing up in London during the 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of gravitas, signaling power and professionalism—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". However, until lately, my generation seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was celebrating in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom chooses 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 most formal settings: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the hope of winning public trust. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are 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 enacts masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—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 refined and high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I imagine this sensation will be all too recognizable for many of us in the global community whose parents originate in somewhere else, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore 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 cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. Yet the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, department stores report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear 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 sells in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits naturally with that elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their notably impeccable, tailored sheen. Like a certain UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one scholar calls the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages 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, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; scholars have long noted that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is not a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously wore three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have started swapping their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between insider and outsider is visible."

The attire Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," notes one author, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to adopt different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between languages, customs and attire is common," commentators note. "White males can go unnoticed," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, 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 culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in public life, image is not neutral.