Decoding the New York Mayor's Sartorial Choice: The Garment He Wears Reveals About Modern Manhood and a Shifting Culture.

Growing up in London during the 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on fathers in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a uniform of gravitas, projecting power and performance—traits I was told to embrace to become a "man". Yet, until recently, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Then came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captivated 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 was mostly unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a generation that seldom bothers to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird place," says style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a slow death since the end of the second world war," with the real dip arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal locations: marriages, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long ceded from everyday use." Many 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 conveyed this, today it performs authority in the hope of winning public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Because we are also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem relatable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a subtle form of performance, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I need a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I dust off the one I bought from a Tokyo department store a few years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel sophisticated and expensive, but its slim cut now feels passé. I imagine this feeling will be only too recognizable for many of us in the global community whose families come from somewhere else, especially developing countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: looser-fitting suits, echoing Richard Gere's Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. But the attraction, at least in certain circles, persists: in the past year, department stores report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire 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. "Mamdani is very much a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic most inclined to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his stated policies—such as a rent freeze, constructing affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits naturally 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 world leaders and their notably impeccable, custom-fit sheen. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one scholar refers to the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a studied understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" 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: "The suit isn't apolitical; historians 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 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 question it.

This kind of sartorial "changing styles" is hardly a new phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously donned three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, certain world leaders have begun swapping their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani chooses is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," says one author, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an elitist betraying his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, able to assume different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and attire is common," commentators note. "White males can go unremarked," but when others "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the codes 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 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 sartorial choices make clear, however, is that in public life, image is not neutral.