Coming of age in London during the 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers hurrying through the Square Mile. They were worn by dads in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a uniform of seriousness, signaling power and performance—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "adult". However, before recently, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.
Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a cohort that rarely chooses to wear one.
"This garment is in this weird 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 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 states. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long ceded from daily life." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the hope of winning public trust. 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 nuanced form of drag, in that it performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.
Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo 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 When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated.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 suspect this sensation will be all too familiar for numerous people in the diaspora whose families come from somewhere else, especially global south countries.
Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a specific cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic 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. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, major retailers 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."
Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced 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. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing 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 was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."
The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably polished, tailored sheen. Like a certain UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.
Maybe the point is what one academic refers to the "performance of ordinariness", invoking 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—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; scholars have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "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 credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.
Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Even historical leaders once donned formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, certain world leaders have begun swapping their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one without 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 democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," says one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his distinctive roots and values."
But there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, able to adopt different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is typical," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the expectations associated with them.
Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make clear, however, is that in politics, appearance is never without meaning.
Elara is a seasoned gaming journalist with a passion for slot mechanics and player strategies.
