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Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of gravitas, projecting authority and performance—traits I was told to embrace to become a "man". Yet, until lately, my generation seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

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 ingenious campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. But whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange position," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the second world war," with the real dip arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long retreated from everyday use." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of winning public confidence. 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 wedding or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its slim cut now feels passé. I suspect this sensation will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose parents originate in other places, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, department stores report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning professional 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 rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally with that elite, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their suspiciously polished, custom-fit sheen. As one British politician learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to define them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the key is what one academic calls the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; 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 a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously wore three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have begun exchanging their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is highly significant. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters expect as a sign 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 sharp 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 personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between languages, customs and attire is typical," it is said. "White males can remain unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to something not built for me, 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.