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Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on City financiers hurrying through the financial district. You could spot them on dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of seriousness, signaling power and performance—qualities I was expected to aspire to to become a "man". However, before recently, people my age appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished from my mind.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captured the world's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was largely unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, as typical 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 significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest settings: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom 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 legitimacy.'" Although the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem relatable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a subtle form of performance, in that it performs manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I imagine this feeling will be only too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose families originate in other places, especially developing countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to be out of fashion within five years. Yet the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, department stores report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump 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 naturally with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "controversial" tan suit to other national figures and their notably impeccable, custom-fit appearance. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

The Act of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one academic calls the "enactment of banality", invoking the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a studied understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; scholars have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that 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.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously donned formal Western attire during their formative years. Currently, certain world leaders have started swapping their typical military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," notes one author, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet 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 younger leader, able to assume different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between languages, customs and attire is typical," commentators note. "White males can remain unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to 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 sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in public life, appearance is not neutral.