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Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a uniform of gravitas, projecting power and performance—qualities I was expected to aspire to to become a "man". Yet, until lately, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captured the world's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird position," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the second world war," with the real dip coming 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 ceded from daily life." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." To a large extent, a suit is just a subtle form of performance, 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 ceremony or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this sensation will be all too familiar for many of us in the global community whose families originate in somewhere else, especially developing countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a specific cut can therefore define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within five years. Yet the attraction, at least in some quarters, endures: recently, department stores report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that retails 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." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his stated policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably impeccable, tailored appearance. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one scholar refers to the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous 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 contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "I think if you're from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders once wore formal Western attire during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have started exchanging their typical fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "Being the son 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," notes one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to assume different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not built for me, be it an inherited tradition, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in public life, appearance is not without meaning.