🔗 Share this article

Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. You could spot them on dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, signaling authority and professionalism—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "man". However, until lately, people my age appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had all but vanished from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captured the world's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. But whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was frequently 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 seldom bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird 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 real dip arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal locations: marriages, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy states. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long ceded from everyday use." Numerous 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 traditionally conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "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 subtle form of performance, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the infrequent times I require a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese department store several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I imagine this sensation will be all too familiar for numerous people in the global community whose families come from other places, especially global south countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: in the past year, major retailers report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a Dutch label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—which include a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes 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 more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "controversial" beige attire to other national figures and their suspiciously polished, custom-fit appearance. Like a certain UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Maybe the point is what one scholar calls the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into 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, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; scholars have long noted that its modern roots lie in military or colonial 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 white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures previously donned three-piece suits during their early years. These days, other world leaders have begun exchanging their typical fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between belonging and otherness is visible."

The suit Mamdani selects is deeply significant. "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 sign of leadership," notes one author, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an elitist betraying his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp 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, 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," it is said. "White males can go unnoticed," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in public life, image is never without meaning.