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Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the Square Mile. They were worn by fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, projecting authority and performance—traits I was expected to aspire to to become a "adult". However, until lately, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captivated the public's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a cohort that rarely chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange position," notes style commentator 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."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest settings: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy states. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long retreated from daily life." Numerous politicians "don this attire 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 performs authority in the attempt of winning public trust. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a subtle form of drag, in that it performs manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words 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 Tokyo retailer a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this feeling will be only too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose parents originate in other places, especially developing countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a specific cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that retails in a moderate 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 resonate with the group most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated 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 extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his stated policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "controversial" beige attire to other national figures and their suspiciously impeccable, tailored sheen. As one British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Maybe the key is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of banality", summoning the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a deliberate understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; scholars have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in imperial 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 signaling legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once donned three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have started swapping their usual military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," says one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an elitist selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to adopt different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between languages, customs and attire is typical," it is said. "Some individuals can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully 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 discomfort 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 politics, image is not without meaning.