🔗 Share this article

Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was always surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers hurrying through the financial district. They were worn by dads 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 authority and professionalism—qualities I was told to aspire to to become a "man". However, until lately, my generation seemed to wear them less and less, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Subsequently came the newly elected 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 innovative campaign, he captured the world's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. But whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange place," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "It's been dying 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 settings: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it performs authority in the hope of gaining public trust. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're 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 proximity to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the infrequent times I need 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 picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I suspect this feeling will be all too recognizable for many of us in the global community whose parents originate in other places, particularly developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a specific cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed 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 five years. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: in the past year, department stores report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, 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 thirties and forties, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his stated policies—such as a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate 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 long and storied: from a former president's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their notably impeccable, tailored sheen. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one scholar refers to the "performance of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a studied modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; scholars have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're a person of color, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously wore formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have started exchanging their usual military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet 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, able to adopt different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is typical," it is said. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, 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 clear, however, is that in politics, image is not without meaning.