Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the financial district. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the evening light. At school, a inexpensive grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of seriousness, signaling authority and professionalism—qualities I was told to embrace to become a "man". However, until lately, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely 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, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captured the public's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. But whether he was celebrating in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that seldom bothers to wear one.
"This garment is in this weird position," says men's fashion writer 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."
"Today it is only worn in the most formal locations: weddings, funerals, to some extent, court appearances," Guy explains. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long ceded from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has traditionally 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." In many ways, a suit is just a nuanced form of drag, in that it performs manliness, authority and even closeness to power.
Guy's words resonated deeply. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be all too familiar for numerous people in the global community whose parents originate in somewhere else, particularly global south 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, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be in vogue, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. Yet the attraction, at least in some quarters, endures: in the past year, major retailers report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear 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 moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the group most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.
"You could never imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits naturally with that elite, just as attainable brands fit well 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 world leaders and their notably polished, tailored appearance. Like a certain UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power 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—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; scholars have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "I think if you're from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.
Such sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders once donned three-piece suits during their formative years. Currently, certain world leaders have started exchanging their usual fatigues for a dark formal outfit, 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 chooses is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," says one author, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an elitist selling out his distinctive roots and values."
But there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to assume different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is typical," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate 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 discomfort 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, appearance is never neutral.
