🔗 Share this article

Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always surrounded by suits. You saw them on City financiers rushing through the Square Mile. They were worn by fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, signaling authority and professionalism—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "man". Yet, until recently, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had all but vanished from my mind.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captivated the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was celebrating in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was largely constant: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this strange position," notes 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 coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal settings: marriages, funerals, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy states. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically conveyed this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public confidence. 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." In many ways, a suit is just a nuanced form of performance, 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 dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo department store several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I imagine this sensation will be all too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose families come from somewhere else, especially developing countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, echoing a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: recently, department stores report tailoring sales rising 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 European label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates 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 don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, 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 notably polished, tailored appearance. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one academic refers to the "enactment of banality", invoking the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; scholars have long noted that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "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 signaling credibility, particularly to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is hardly a recent phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously donned three-piece suits during their formative years. Currently, certain world leaders have started swapping their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between insider and outsider is apparent."

The attire Mamdani chooses is deeply symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," says one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to assume different identities to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between cultures, customs and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "White males can go unnoticed," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to something not designed with me in mind, be it an inherited tradition, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in politics, image is not without meaning.