Interpreting the New York Mayor's Sartorial Choice: What His Suit Tells Us About Contemporary Masculinity and a Shifting Culture.

Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was always surrounded by suits. They adorned businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on fathers in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a uniform of seriousness, signaling authority and performance—traits I was expected to aspire to to become a "adult". Yet, until lately, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had all but vanished from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing remained mostly unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a typically professional 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," notes 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 arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal locations: marriages, funerals, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" Although the suit has traditionally conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the hope of winning public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "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 performance, in that it performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a wedding or black-tie event—I dust off the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its tailored fit now feels passé. I imagine this feeling will be only too familiar for many of us in the diaspora whose families originate in somewhere else, especially global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; 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 trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a considerable investment for something destined to be out of fashion within five years. Yet the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, department stores 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 Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the group most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits naturally with that tycoon class, 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 "shocking" tan suit to other national figures and their notably impeccable, custom-fit appearance. Like a certain British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one academic calls the "enactment of ordinariness", summoning the suit's long career as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"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 historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; scholars have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it 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 signaling legitimacy, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously donned three-piece suits during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have started swapping their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the tension between insider and outsider is visible."

The attire Mamdani selects is highly symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," says one expert, while simultaneously needing to walk a tightrope by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the different rules 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 personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between cultures, traditions and attire is typical," commentators note. "White males can remain unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the tension between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, 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 culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in politics, image is never without meaning.