🔗 Share this article

Growing up in the British capital 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 the city's great park, playing with footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a uniform of seriousness, signaling authority and professionalism—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "man". However, until recently, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished from my mind.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the public's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that seldom chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange place," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long ceded from daily life." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in 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 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 drag, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese retailer several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I imagine this feeling will be only too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose families come from other places, especially developing countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a particular cut can thus define 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 cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, major retailers report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the group most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—such as a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up 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 legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their notably impeccable, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Perhaps the point is what one scholar refers to the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive 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 neutral; scholars have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that if you're a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is not a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures once wore formal Western attire during their formative years. Currently, other world leaders have begun swapping their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's image, the tension between insider and outsider is apparent."

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," notes 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 double standards applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to adopt different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and attire is typical," it is said. "White males can go unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully navigate 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 culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in public life, appearance is not neutral.