🔗 Share this article

Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on City financiers rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on dads in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the golden light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of gravitas, signaling authority and professionalism—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "adult". Yet, until lately, my generation appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the world's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. But whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a cohort that rarely chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird place," says style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the second world war," with the real dip arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest settings: weddings, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long ceded from daily life." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it performs authority in the hope of gaining public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "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 proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I imagine this feeling will be only too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose parents come from other places, especially global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a particular cut can thus characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within five years. But the appeal, at least in some quarters, endures: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." To that end, 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 expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their notably polished, tailored sheen. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to define them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the key is what one academic calls the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit 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 from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures previously wore formal Western attire during their formative years. Currently, other world leaders have started swapping their usual fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's image, the struggle between belonging and otherness is visible."

The attire Mamdani selects is highly 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 expect as a marker of leadership," notes one author, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an elitist selling out his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an acute 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 personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and clothing styles is common," it is said. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to 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, appearance is not without meaning.