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Growing up in London during the 2000s, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen hurrying through the financial district. You could spot them on 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 functioned as a costume of seriousness, projecting authority and performance—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "man". Yet, until recently, my generation appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a generation that seldom chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange place," says style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade 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 settings: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," 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." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of winning public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're 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 nuanced form of performance, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I imagine this sensation will be only too familiar for many of us in the diaspora whose parents originate in somewhere else, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a particular cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, endures: recently, major retailers report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic 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. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits naturally 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 former president's "shocking" beige attire to other national figures and their suspiciously impeccable, tailored appearance. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to define them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the key is what one scholar refers to the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire 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 connect with as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; historians have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "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 credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously donned three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have started exchanging their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the struggle between belonging and otherness is apparent."

The attire Mamdani chooses is deeply symbolic. "Being the son 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 marker of leadership," says one expert, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to assume different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, customs and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unnoticed," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to fit into something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, 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 neutral.