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Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on dads in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, signaling authority and performance—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "adult". However, before lately, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had all but vanished from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony dressed in a sober 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. Yet whether he was cheering in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing was largely constant: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially 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," 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."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal locations: marriages, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long retreated from daily life." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a nuanced form of performance, in that it performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo department store several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I imagine this sensation will be all too familiar for numerous people in the global community whose parents 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 silhouette goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, major retailers 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 Politics of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with 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 precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his proposed policies—which include a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "controversial" beige attire to other national figures and their suspiciously polished, custom-fit appearance. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

The Act of Normality and A Shield

Maybe the key is what one academic calls the "enactment of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a studied understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit 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 legitimacy, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders once wore three-piece suits during their formative years. Currently, certain world leaders have started exchanging their usual military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani chooses is highly significant. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," says one expert, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

But 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 millennial, able to adopt different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and clothing styles is typical," commentators note. "Some individuals can remain unnoticed," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the tension between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the discomfort 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 clear, however, is that in politics, appearance is not neutral.