🔗 Share this article

Growing up in London during the 2000s, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned City financiers hurrying through the financial district. You could spot them on fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of gravitas, signaling authority and professionalism—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "man". Yet, until lately, my generation seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had all but vanished from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captivated the public's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange position," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death since the end of the second world war," with the significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest settings: weddings, memorials, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a subtle form of drag, in that it performs manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its slim cut now feels passé. I suspect this feeling will be only too recognizable for many of us in the global community whose families come from other places, especially global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a particular cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the attraction, at least in some quarters, endures: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away 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 Suitsupply, a Dutch label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product 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 likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated 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 extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" tan suit to other national figures and their suspiciously polished, tailored sheen. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

The Act of Banality and A Shield

Maybe the key is what one scholar calls the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; historians have long noted that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of signaling legitimacy, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders once wore three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have begun swapping their typical military wear 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 attire Mamdani chooses is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," notes one author, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an elitist selling out his distinctive roots and values."

But 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 adopt different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between languages, customs and attire is common," commentators note. "White males can go unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not built for me, be it an inherited tradition, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in politics, image is never neutral.