Understanding Zohran Mamdani's Sartorial Statement: What His Suit Tells Us Regarding Contemporary Masculinity and a Shifting Society.

Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers hurrying through the financial district. You could spot them on dads in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the golden light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a uniform of seriousness, signaling power and performance—traits I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". However, until lately, my generation seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was cheering in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing was largely constant: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a generation that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird position," notes style commentator Derek Guy. "It's been dying a gradual fade 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 strictest settings: weddings, funerals, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It is like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Numerous politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it enacts authority in the hope of winning public confidence. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are 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 performance, in that it performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis 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 retailer a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel sophisticated and high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I suspect this sensation will be all too recognizable for many of us in the global community whose families originate in other places, especially developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through trends; a specific cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, echoing a famous cinematic 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 a few seasons. Yet the attraction, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, major retailers report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Symbolism of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that retails in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not extremely wealthy." Therefore, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his stated policies—which include a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; 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 elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" tan suit to other world leaders and their notably impeccable, custom-fit sheen. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one scholar calls the "enactment of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; scholars have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in imperial 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 credibility, perhaps especially to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously wore three-piece suits during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have started exchanging their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one lacking the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani chooses is deeply significant. "Being the son of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," says one expert, while at the same time needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure betraying his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an acute awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a millennial, able to adopt different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between cultures, customs and attire is common," it is said. "Some individuals can remain unnoticed," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not designed with me in mind, be it an cultural expectation, the society I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make clear, however, is that in politics, image is never without meaning.