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Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. You could spot them on fathers in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a uniform of seriousness, projecting power and professionalism—traits I was expected to aspire to to become a "man". Yet, until lately, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captured the world's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. But whether he was celebrating in a music venue 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 conventional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a generation that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange place," says style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal locations: marriages, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long ceded from daily life." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has historically conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of winning 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 nuanced form of drag, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese department store several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be only too recognizable for many of us in the diaspora whose parents originate in other places, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular cut can thus characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. Yet the appeal, at least in some quarters, 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 appetite to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the group most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, 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 align with his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "controversial" beige attire to other national figures and their notably impeccable, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain British politician learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

The Act of Banality and A Shield

Perhaps the point is what one scholar refers to the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; historians have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen 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 white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is not a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures once wore three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have started swapping their usual fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the struggle between insider and outsider is visible."

The attire Mamdani selects is highly significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," says one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an elitist selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, able to adopt different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between cultures, customs and attire is common," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the tension 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 cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in public life, appearance is not neutral.