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 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the golden light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has served as a costume of gravitas, signaling power and professionalism—traits I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". Yet, before recently, people my age appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had largely disappeared from my mind.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a closed ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captured the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or appearing at a film premiere, one thing was mostly unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that seldom bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird 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 coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest settings: marriages, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a tradition that has long retreated from daily life." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I represent a politician, you can have faith in me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has historically conveyed this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of winning public trust. As Guy elaborates: "Since we're also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." In many ways, a suit is just a subtle form of performance, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

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

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has fallen out of fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel quickly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic 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 some quarters, persists: in the past year, major retailers report suit sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being everyday wear towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from Suitsupply, a European label that retails in a mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a product of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's not poor but not exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the group most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates 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 extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably align with his proposed policies—which include a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and fare-free public buses.

"You could never imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," observes Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A power suit fits naturally 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 "controversial" tan suit to other national figures and their suspiciously impeccable, custom-fit appearance. Like a certain British politician learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

The Act of Banality and Protective Armor

Maybe the point is what one academic calls the "enactment of ordinariness", invoking the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a studied understatement, not too casual nor too flashy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. However, some think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't apolitical; scholars have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in imperial administration." Some also view it as a form of protective armor: "I think 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 doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a new phenomenon. Even historical leaders previously wore three-piece suits during their formative years. Currently, certain world leaders have begun exchanging their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani chooses is deeply significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under pressure to conform to 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 distinctive roots and values."

But there is an acute awareness of the different rules applied to suit-wearers and what is interpreted from it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a millennial, skilled to assume different personas to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between languages, customs and attire is common," it is said. "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 somewhere and nowhere, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to conform to something not built for me, be it an cultural expectation, the culture I was born into, or even a suit. What Mamdani's sartorial choices make clear, however, is that in politics, image is never neutral.