🔗 Share this article

Growing up in the British capital during the 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the financial district. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a costume of gravitas, signaling authority and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". Yet, until lately, my generation seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captured the public's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained largely unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—well, as common 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. "Its decline has been a slow death 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, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of gaining public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're 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 nuanced form of drag, 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 black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese retailer several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its slim cut now feels passé. I imagine this sensation will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the diaspora whose families come from somewhere else, especially global south countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. Yet the attraction, at least in some quarters, endures: in the past year, department stores report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his proposed policies—which include a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A status symbol fits naturally 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 well-known leader's "controversial" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably impeccable, custom-fit appearance. As one UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one academic refers to the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a deliberate 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 military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; scholars have long pointed out that its modern roots 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 might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting legitimacy, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously wore three-piece suits during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have started swapping their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the tension between belonging and otherness is visible."

The suit Mamdani chooses is deeply significant. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent 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 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 different rules applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, able to adopt different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between languages, customs and attire is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to something not designed with me in mind, be it an inherited tradition, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in politics, appearance is not without meaning.