🔗 Share this article

Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned businessmen 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 required uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, signaling power and professionalism—traits I was expected to aspire to to become a "adult". Yet, before recently, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Then 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, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captivated 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 unchanged: he was almost always 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 generation that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange place," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the second world war," with the significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest locations: marriages, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy states. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long ceded 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 enacts authority in the attempt of winning public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're also living in a liberal democracy, 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 drag, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even closeness 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 Japanese department store several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and expensive, but its slim cut now feels passé. I suspect this sensation will be only too recognizable for many of us in the diaspora whose parents originate in somewhere else, particularly global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a particular cut can therefore define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to be out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: in the past year, major retailers report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other national figures and their notably impeccable, tailored sheen. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Maybe the point is what one academic calls the "performance of banality", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a deliberate understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't apolitical; scholars have long noted that its contemporary origins 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 might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once donned three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have started exchanging their usual 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 selects is highly significant. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," notes one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "That may come 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 adapting between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can remain unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not designed with me in mind, be it an inherited tradition, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's style decisions make evident, however, is that in public life, image is never neutral.