Interpreting Zohran Mamdani's Sartorial Choice: The Garment He Wears Tells Us About Contemporary Masculinity and a Shifting Society.

Coming of age in London during the noughties, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the Square Mile. You could spot them on fathers in Hyde Park, kicking footballs in the evening light. Even school, a cheap grey suit was our required uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a uniform of seriousness, signaling power and performance—traits I was told to aspire to to become a "adult". However, until recently, people my age seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had largely vanished from my mind.

Then came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a private ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a distinctive silk tie. Riding high by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent contender for city hall. Yet whether he was cheering in a hip-hop club or attending a film premiere, one thing was largely unchanged: he was almost always in a suit. Relaxed in fit, modern with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a typically middle-class millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a generation that seldom bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this weird place," says style commentator Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a gradual fade since the end of the Second World War," with the significant drop arriving in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest settings: marriages, funerals, and sometimes, legal proceedings," Guy states. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "fundamentally represents a custom that has long ceded from everyday use." Many politicians "don this attire to say: 'I am a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have authority.'" Although the suit has historically signaled this, today it performs authority in the attempt of winning public confidence. 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." To a large extent, a suit is just a nuanced form of performance, in that it enacts manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a wedding or formal occasion—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese department store a few years ago. When I first selected it, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I imagine this feeling will be all too recognizable for many of us in the diaspora whose families come from other places, especially developing countries.

It's no surprise, the working man's suit has lost fashion. Like a pair of jeans, a suit's shape goes through cycles; a particular cut can therefore characterize an era—and feel rapidly outdated. Take now: more relaxed suits, echoing Richard Gere's 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 five years. Yet the appeal, at least in some quarters, endures: recently, department stores 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 Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from Suitsupply, a Dutch label that retails 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 exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will resonate with the demographic 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 precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not extravagant, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—which include a capping rents, constructing 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. "As an immensely wealthy and was raised in that New York real-estate world. A power suit fits naturally with that elite, just as attainable brands fit well with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is long and storied: from a well-known leader's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their suspiciously impeccable, custom-fit sheen. Like a certain UK leader learned, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the potential to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and A Shield

Maybe the point is what one scholar refers to the "enactment of banality", summoning the suit's long career as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection leverages a studied modesty, not too casual nor too flashy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him appeal to as many voters as possible. However, experts think Mamdani would be aware of the suit's military and colonial legacy: "The suit isn't neutral; scholars have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in military or colonial administration." It is also seen as a form of defensive shield: "I think if you're a person of color, you might not get taken as seriously in these white spaces." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.

This kind of sartorial "code-switching" is not a recent phenomenon. Indeed historical leaders previously donned formal Western attire during their early years. These days, certain world leaders have begun swapping their typical fatigues for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

"In every seam and stitch of Mamdani's image, the tension between belonging and otherness is apparent."

The suit Mamdani selects is deeply significant. "Being the son of immigrants of South Asian heritage and a progressive politician, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters look for as a marker of leadership," says one author, while at the same time needing to walk a tightrope by "not looking like an elitist selling out his distinctive roots and values."

Yet there is an sharp awareness of the double standards applied to suit-wearers and what is read into it. "This could stem in part from Mamdani being a younger leader, skilled to assume different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his diverse background, where adapting between cultures, traditions and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "White males can go unnoticed," but when women and ethnic minorities "attempt to gain the power that suits represent," they must carefully navigate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the tension between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. 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 style decisions make evident, however, is that in public life, appearance is not without meaning.