🔗 Share this article

Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by 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 cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a uniform of gravitas, signaling power and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". Yet, until recently, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captivated the public's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was celebrating in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a generation that seldom chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird position," says style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal locations: weddings, funerals, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent 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 confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem relatable, because they're trying to get your votes." To a large extent, a suit is just a nuanced form of drag, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I imagine this feeling will be only too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose families come from somewhere else, especially global south countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic 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 a few seasons. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, department stores report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development 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 long and storied: from a former president's "controversial" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably polished, custom-fit appearance. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Maybe the key is what one academic refers to the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; scholars have long pointed out 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 might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously donned formal Western attire during their formative years. These days, certain world leaders have begun swapping their usual military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," says one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his distinctive roots and values."

Yet 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, able to assume different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between cultures, traditions and attire is typical," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the tension between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is evident. 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 evident, however, is that in public life, appearance is not without meaning.