🔗 Share this article

Coming of age in London during the 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on fathers in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, projecting authority and professionalism—traits I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". However, until recently, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—well, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange place," says men's fashion writer 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 advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest settings: weddings, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long ceded from everyday use." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. 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." In many ways, a suit is just a subtle form of drag, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—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 tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this feeling will be only too familiar for many of us in the global community whose families come from other places, especially developing countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a particular cut can thus characterize an era—and feel rapidly 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 considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: 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 special."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; 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 elite, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "controversial" beige attire to other world leaders and their suspiciously impeccable, tailored sheen. Like a certain British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one scholar refers to the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a deliberate modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; scholars have long noted that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "I think if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of 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 started exchanging their usual fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani chooses is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," notes one author, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But 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 younger leader, skilled to assume different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between languages, traditions and clothing styles is common," it is said. "White males can go unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to fit into something not designed with me in mind, be it an inherited tradition, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in public life, image is never neutral.