Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned businessmen hurrying through the financial district. They were worn by 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 functioned as a costume of seriousness, signaling authority and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". However, until lately, people my age appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.
Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captured the world's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that rarely chooses to wear one.
"This garment is in this weird position," says 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 coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."
"It's basically only worn in the strictest locations: weddings, funerals, to some extent, court appearances," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long ceded from daily life." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a subtle form of drag, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.
Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo department store several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this feeling will be all too recognizable for many of us in the diaspora whose parents originate in other places, especially developing countries.
It's no surprise, the working man's 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 rapidly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of 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 appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, major retailers report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away 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 Suitsupply, a European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the group most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning professional incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, building affordable homes, and free public buses.
"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally with that elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."
The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "controversial" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably impeccable, custom-fit sheen. As one British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to characterize them.
The Act of Normality and Protective Armor
Perhaps the point is what one scholar refers to the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; historians have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "I think if you're a person of color, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting legitimacy, particularly to those who might question it.
Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders once wore formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have started exchanging their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.
"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between insider and outsider is visible."
The attire Mamdani chooses is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," notes one author, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an elitist selling out 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 younger leader, skilled to assume different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "White males can remain unnoticed," but when others "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the expectations associated with them.
In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in public life, appearance is not without meaning.
