🔗 Share this article

Coming of age in London during the 2000s, I was always surrounded by suits. They adorned businessmen rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on fathers in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of gravitas, signaling power and professionalism—traits I was told to embrace to become a "man". Yet, before recently, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the public's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. But whether he was cheering in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a generation that seldom chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird place," says style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade since the end of the second world war," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the strictest locations: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy states. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long ceded from daily life." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. 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 manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—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 expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I imagine this sensation will be only too familiar for numerous people in the global community whose parents come from other places, particularly 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 trends; a specific cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: 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 likely to fall out of fashion within five years. Yet the attraction, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, major retailers report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning professional incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits seamlessly 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 well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other national figures and their notably polished, tailored sheen. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of ordinariness", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a deliberate understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"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 historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; 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 white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures once donned three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have begun swapping their usual fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the struggle between insider and outsider is apparent."

The suit Mamdani selects is highly significant. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," says one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist betraying his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an acute 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, skilled to assume different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between languages, traditions and attire is common," commentators note. "White males can remain unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into 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 politics, appearance is not neutral.