Interpreting Zohran Mamdani's Style Statement: The Garment He Wears Reveals About Contemporary Masculinity and a Shifting Society.

Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers hurrying through the financial district. They were worn by dads in the city's great park, kicking footballs in the evening light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a costume of seriousness, projecting authority and performance—traits I was expected to embrace to become a "man". Yet, until lately, my generation appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but disappeared from my consciousness.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony dressed in a sober black overcoat, pristine white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination unlike any 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, modern with soft shoulders, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a generation that rarely chooses to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange position," notes 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 coming in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the most formal locations: marriages, funerals, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It is like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long retreated from everyday use." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am 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 attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're also living in a democratic society, politicians want to seem approachable, 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 infrequent times I need a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese retailer a few years ago. When I first picked it up, 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 parents come from somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the everyday suit has fallen out of fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through trends; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: looser-fitting suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic Armani in *American Gigolo*, might be trendy, but given the cost, it can feel like a significant investment for something likely to fall out of fashion within five years. Yet the appeal, at least in certain circles, endures: recently, department stores report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "shift from the suit being daily attire towards an desire 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 mid-market price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." To that end, his mid-level suit will appeal to the demographic most likely to support him: people in their 30s and 40s, college graduates earning professional incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's exactly the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—such as a rent freeze, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and was raised in that property development world. A status symbol fits naturally with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other national figures and their notably impeccable, custom-fit appearance. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to define them.

The Act of Banality and A Shield

Perhaps the key is what one academic refers to the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an unobtrusive suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's historical and imperial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; scholars have long noted that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "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.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a new phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously wore formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have started exchanging their usual military wear for a black suit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani chooses is highly symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," says one author, while simultaneously 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 suit-wearers and what is read into it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to adopt different personas to fit the situation, 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 "seek to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into something not built for me, 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 politics, image is never without meaning.