🔗 Share this article

Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen rushing through the financial district. They were worn by dads in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a uniform of gravitas, projecting authority and professionalism—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "man". Yet, before lately, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my mind.

Subsequently 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 distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. But whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a cohort that seldom bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange place," notes 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 advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest locations: weddings, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are 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 subtle form of performance, in that it performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this sensation will be only too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose families originate in other places, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a particular cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting 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 destined to be out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, department stores report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire 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. "He is precisely a reflection of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will resonate with the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—which include a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

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

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" beige attire to other national figures and their notably impeccable, tailored sheen. As one UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one scholar refers to the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; scholars have long noted 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 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 question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously wore three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have started swapping their usual fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly significant. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage 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 navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure betraying his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to assume different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between languages, traditions and clothing styles is typical," it is said. "White males can go unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to something not designed with me in mind, be it an cultural expectation, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make clear, however, is that in politics, appearance is never neutral.