Interpreting the New York Mayor's Style Choice: What His Suit Reveals Regarding Modern Manhood and a Changing Society.

Growing up in the British capital during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. You saw them on City financiers rushing through the financial district. They were worn by fathers in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, signaling power and performance—traits I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". However, before recently, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Subsequently came the incoming 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 distinctive silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captured the world'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 largely constant: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, contemporary with soft shoulders, yet conventional, his is a typically professional millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a cohort that rarely chooses to wear one.

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

"Today it is only worn in the strictest locations: marriages, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long retreated from daily life." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has historically signaled this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of winning public trust. 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 nuanced form of drag, in that it performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. 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 imagine this sensation will be all too familiar for many of us in the global community whose families originate in somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus characterize 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 significant investment for something destined to fall out of fashion within a few seasons. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, 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 European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." To that end, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the group most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, university-educated earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits seamlessly with that elite, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "controversial" beige attire to other national figures and their suspiciously polished, tailored sheen. Like a certain UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

The Act of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one academic calls the "enactment of banality", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate understatement, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; historians have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures once wore three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, other world leaders have started exchanging their usual fatigues for a black suit, albeit one lacking the tie.

"Throughout the fabric of Mamdani's public persona, the struggle between insider and outsider is apparent."

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," notes one expert, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an elitist betraying his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is read into it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to adopt different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between cultures, traditions and attire is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can remain unremarked," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the tension between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is evident. 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 public life, appearance is not without meaning.