🔗 Share this article

Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, 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 Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, projecting power and professionalism—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". However, until lately, my generation appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had all but disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. But whether he was cheering in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was almost always in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird place," says style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the real dip coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long retreated from daily life." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of gaining public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem relatable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a nuanced form of performance, 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 ceremony or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I imagine this sensation 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 fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: more relaxed 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. But the appeal, at least in some quarters, endures: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift 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 European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and 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 grew up in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "controversial" beige attire to other world leaders and their suspiciously impeccable, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

Performance of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of banality", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; scholars have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "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 signaling legitimacy, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously wore three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have begun exchanging their typical 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 visible."

The attire 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 expect as a sign of leadership," says one expert, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to assume different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between cultures, 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 public persona, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to fit into something not designed with me in mind, be it an cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in politics, image is never neutral.