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Coming of age in London during the 2000s, I was always immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on City financiers rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the evening light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of gravitas, signaling power and professionalism—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". However, before lately, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a cohort 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 arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest locations: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy states. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining 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." To a large extent, a suit is just a nuanced form of performance, in that it enacts manliness, 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 retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I imagine this sensation will be only too familiar for numerous people in the global community whose families originate in somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, department stores report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the group most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning middle-class 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 don't contradict his stated policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as more accessible 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 appearance. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to define them.

The Act of Normality and A Shield

Maybe the point is what one scholar calls the "enactment of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice 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. However, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; historians have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously donned three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have started exchanging their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to adopt different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is common," it is said. "Some individuals can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to 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 style decisions make clear, however, is that in politics, image is not without meaning.