🔗 Share this article

Coming of age in London during the 2000s, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. You could spot them on fathers in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a uniform of seriousness, signaling power and performance—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". Yet, until lately, my generation appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captured the world's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. But 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. Loosely tailored, modern with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange place," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: marriages, funerals, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long retreated from daily life." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of gaining public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are 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 performance, in that it enacts masculinity, 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 a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I suspect this feeling will be all too recognizable for many of us in the diaspora whose families come from somewhere else, especially developing countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a specific cut can therefore define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's 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 appeal, at least in some quarters, persists: in the past year, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced 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 expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "controversial" tan suit to other national figures and their suspiciously impeccable, tailored sheen. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

The Act of Banality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the key is what one academic refers to the "enactment of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" 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: "This attire isn't apolitical; scholars have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." It is also seen 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 question it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously donned three-piece suits during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have begun swapping their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's image, the struggle between belonging and otherness is apparent."

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," notes one author, while simultaneously 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 suit-wearers and what is read into it. "This could stem 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 diverse background, where adapting between cultures, customs and clothing styles is common," it is said. "White males can go unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, 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 cultural expectation, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in public life, appearance is not without meaning.