🔗 Share this article

Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on City financiers rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of gravitas, signaling power and performance—traits I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". Yet, before recently, my generation seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had all but disappeared from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that seldom chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird position," says style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal locations: weddings, memorials, and sometimes, court appearances," Guy states. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long ceded from daily life." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should vote for me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." To a large extent, a suit is just a subtle form of performance, in that it performs masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer several years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be only too recognizable for numerous people in the global community whose families originate in other places, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. Yet the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, major retailers report tailoring sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an appetite to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning professional incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his stated policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

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

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the key is what one scholar calls the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, 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 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 signaling legitimacy, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures once wore three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, certain world leaders have started exchanging their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani selects is deeply significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to conform to 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 elitist betraying his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to assume different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between languages, customs and clothing styles is common," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into 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 sartorial choices make clear, however, is that in public life, image is never neutral.