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Growing up in London during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a uniform of gravitas, signaling authority and professionalism—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "man". Yet, until recently, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the world's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing was largely unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a generation that seldom bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange position," says style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the real dip arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest locations: marriages, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long ceded from everyday use." Many 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 traditionally signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of gaining public trust. As Guy elaborates: "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 subtle form of performance, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words 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 several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this feeling will be all too familiar for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents come from other places, particularly global south countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a specific cut can therefore define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: recently, major retailers report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will resonate with the demographic most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "He's extremely 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 naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other national figures and their suspiciously polished, custom-fit appearance. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the key is what one academic refers to the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a deliberate modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; historians have long noted that its modern roots lie in military or colonial 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 white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once wore three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have begun exchanging their usual fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's public persona, the struggle between belonging and otherness is apparent."

The attire Mamdani chooses is deeply significant. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," says one author, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of 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 interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to assume different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between cultures, traditions and attire is common," it is said. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to 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, appearance is never without meaning.