Decoding the New York Mayor's Style Statement: What His Suit Tells Us Regarding Contemporary Masculinity and a Shifting Society.

Coming of age in the British capital during the 2000s, I was always immersed in a world of suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on dads in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the golden light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has served as a uniform of gravitas, projecting power and professionalism—traits I was expected to aspire to to become a "man". Yet, until recently, people my age appeared to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished from my consciousness.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony dressed in a subdued black overcoat, crisp 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 remained largely constant: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—well, as typical as it can be for a generation that rarely chooses to wear one.

"This garment is in this weird place," says men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death since the end of the second world war," with the real dip arriving in the 1990s alongside "the advent of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal locations: marriages, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a tradition that has long retreated from daily life." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have legitimacy.'" But while the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of gaining public confidence. As Guy clarifies: "Since we're 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 masculinity, authority and even closeness to power.

This analysis stayed with me. On the infrequent times I need a suit—for a ceremony or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Tokyo retailer 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 suspect this feeling will be all too recognizable for many of us in the diaspora whose parents come from other places, especially global south countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Similar to a pair of jeans, a suit's silhouette goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, echoing 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 be 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 daily attire towards an desire to invest in something exceptional."

The Politics of a Mid-Market Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "Mamdani is very much a reflection of his background," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the demographic most inclined 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 extravagant, Mamdani's suits plausibly align with his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing this brand; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "As an immensely wealthy and grew up in that New York real-estate world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The history of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably polished, custom-fit appearance. As one UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the potential to define them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Perhaps the key is what one academic calls the "performance of banality", invoking the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's particular choice taps into a studied modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"conforming to norms" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "This attire isn't neutral; historians have long pointed out that its modern roots lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen 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 asserting credibility, perhaps especially to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a recent phenomenon. Even iconic figures previously wore 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 lacking the tie.

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

The attire Mamdani selects is deeply significant. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to conform to what many American voters expect as a sign of leadership," notes one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "not looking like an establishment figure selling out his non-mainstream roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the different rules applied to who wears suits and what is interpreted from it. "That may come in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to adopt different personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where code-switching between languages, customs and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the codes associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's public persona, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is visible. I know well the discomfort of trying to conform to 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 style decisions make clear, however, is that in public life, image is never neutral.