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Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the evening light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of gravitas, projecting authority and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". Yet, until recently, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, 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 dressed in a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captured the world's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. But whether he was cheering in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with unstructured lines, 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.

"This garment is in this weird place," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest locations: weddings, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long ceded from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning 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 enacts masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo department store 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 all too familiar for many of us in the diaspora whose parents come from other places, especially developing countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed 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 be out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the attraction, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, department stores report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits naturally with that elite, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "controversial" tan suit to other world leaders and their suspiciously polished, tailored sheen. As one British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe 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 historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; historians have long pointed out that its modern roots 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 traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Even historical leaders once donned three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, certain world leaders have begun swapping their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly 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," says one author, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to adopt different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between languages, customs and attire is common," it is said. "White males can remain unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to fit into something not built for me, be it an inherited tradition, 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 never neutral.