🔗 Share this article

Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen rushing 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. Traditionally, the suit has served as a uniform of gravitas, projecting power and performance—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "man". However, until lately, people my age appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had all but vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the public's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. But whether he was cheering in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a cohort that seldom chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird place," says style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the second world war," with the real dip coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, funerals, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long ceded from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it enacts authority in the hope of gaining public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're also living in a liberal democracy, 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 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 retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo department store a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be all too recognizable for many of us in the global community whose families originate in other places, especially developing countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a particular cut can thus characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, echoing Richard Gere's 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 five years. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, major retailers report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Accessible 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 neither poor nor extremely wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning professional 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 align with his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised 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 long and storied: from a former president's "controversial" tan suit to other world leaders and their suspiciously polished, custom-fit appearance. As one British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one scholar calls the "enactment of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; 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 a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once donned three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, certain 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 insider and outsider is apparent."

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," says one expert, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like 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 interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, 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 clothing styles is common," it is said. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. 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 clear, however, is that in politics, image is not neutral.