🔗 Share this article

Growing up in London during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of seriousness, signaling power and professionalism—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". However, before lately, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but vanished from my mind.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captured the world's imagination unlike any recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a generation that rarely chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird place," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal locations: weddings, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long retreated from daily life." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically signaled this, today it enacts authority in the attempt 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." To a large extent, a suit is just a subtle form of drag, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. 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 a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its slim cut now feels passé. I suspect this sensation will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose families originate in other places, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. 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 daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his stated policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "shocking" tan suit to other national figures and their notably polished, tailored sheen. Like a certain British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one scholar 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 modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; historians have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "I think if you're from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously donned formal Western attire during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have begun exchanging their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to conform to 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 elitist selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp 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 personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and clothing styles is common," it is said. "White males can remain unnoticed," but when others "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, 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 clear, however, is that in public life, appearance is not neutral.