🔗 Share this article

Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was always immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on businessmen hurrying through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a costume of gravitas, projecting authority and professionalism—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "man". Yet, before lately, my generation seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had all but disappeared from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing remained mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a generation that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird position," notes style commentator 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 rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, memorials, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long retreated from daily life." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." To a large extent, a suit is just a nuanced form of drag, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo 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 suspect this sensation will be only too familiar for numerous people in the diaspora whose families originate in somewhere else, especially global south countries.

It's no surprise, the everyday suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a specific cut can therefore define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to be out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, department stores report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his stated policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits naturally with that tycoon class, just as attainable 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, tailored appearance. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Perhaps the point is what one academic refers to the "enactment of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a studied modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; historians 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 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 "changing styles" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously wore formal Western attire during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have started exchanging their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the struggle between insider and outsider is apparent."

The attire Mamdani chooses 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 marker of leadership," says 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 different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to adopt different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, customs and clothing styles is common," it is said. "White males can go unnoticed," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the expectations associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the awkwardness 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 style decisions make evident, however, is that in politics, image is never without meaning.