🔗 Share this article

Growing up in London during the 2000s, I was always surrounded by suits. You saw them on businessmen hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, projecting authority and professionalism—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "man". Yet, before recently, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was celebrating in a music venue or attending 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 typically professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a cohort that seldom 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 coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal settings: weddings, memorials, to some extent, court appearances," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long ceded from daily life." Numerous 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 performs authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are also living in a democratic society, 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 performs masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I imagine this feeling will be all too recognizable for many of us in the global community whose parents originate in somewhere else, particularly developing 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 thus define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to be out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their suspiciously polished, tailored sheen. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to define them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the point is what one scholar refers to the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a deliberate modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive 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; historians have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting legitimacy, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously wore three-piece suits during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have begun exchanging their typical military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's public persona, the struggle between belonging and otherness is apparent."

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "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 sign of leadership," notes one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist selling out his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, able to adopt different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between cultures, customs and clothing styles is typical," 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.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to something not built for me, be it an inherited tradition, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in politics, image is not without meaning.