Understanding the New York Mayor's Style Choice: The Garment He Wears Reveals Regarding Modern Manhood and a Shifting Culture.

Coming of age in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. They adorned businessmen rushing through the financial district. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory 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 "man". Yet, before lately, my generation seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Riding high by an innovative campaign, he captured the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially 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," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "It's been dying 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 most formal settings: marriages, funerals, to some extent, court appearances," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long retreated from everyday use." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public trust. 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 subtle form of drag, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even closeness to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—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 imagine this feeling will be all too familiar for many of us in the global community whose parents come from somewhere else, especially global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a significant investment for something destined to be out of fashion within five years. Yet the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, department stores report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away 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 Dutch label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning professional incomes, often discontented by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his stated policies—such as a capping rents, constructing 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 status symbol fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, 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 "shocking" tan suit to other national figures and their suspiciously polished, custom-fit appearance. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to define them.

The Act of Normality and A Shield

Maybe the point is what one scholar refers to the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; scholars have long noted that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that if you're a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, particularly to those who might question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures once donned three-piece suits during their formative years. Currently, other world leaders have begun exchanging their typical military wear for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani chooses is deeply symbolic. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to meet what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," notes one author, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to assume different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is common," it is said. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make evident, however, is that in politics, appearance is not without meaning.