🔗 Share this article

Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, projecting authority and professionalism—traits I was expected to aspire to to become a "man". Yet, before recently, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony wearing 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 mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained largely unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird place," says style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: marriages, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy states. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long ceded from daily life." Numerous politicians "don this attire 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 signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of gaining public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're 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 drag, in that it performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I dust off 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 sensation will be only too familiar for many of us in the global community whose parents originate in other places, especially global south 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 particular cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, endures: in the past year, major retailers 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 Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will resonate with the group most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "controversial" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably polished, tailored appearance. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Maybe the point is what one academic calls the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate 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 aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; historians have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "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 credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously donned three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, certain world leaders have begun swapping their typical fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and otherness is apparent."

The attire Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the double standards 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 identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between languages, customs and attire is typical," it is said. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the discomfort 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 sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in public life, appearance is never without meaning.