Decoding Zohran Mamdani's Sartorial Statement: What His Suit Reveals About Contemporary Masculinity and a Shifting Society.

Growing up in London during the 2000s, I was constantly immersed in a world of suits. You saw them on businessmen rushing through the financial district. You could spot them on fathers in the city's great park, playing with footballs in the evening light. At school, a cheap grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Historically, the suit has functioned as a uniform of seriousness, signaling authority and performance—qualities I was expected to embrace to become a "man". However, before recently, people my age appeared to wear them less and less, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Subsequently came the newly elected New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Taking his oath of office at a closed ceremony wearing a sober black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an ingenious campaign, he captivated the public's imagination unlike any recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was celebrating in a music venue or appearing at a film premiere, one thing remained mostly constant: he was frequently in a suit. Relaxed in fit, contemporary with unstructured lines, yet traditional, his is a quintessentially professional millennial suit—that is, as common as it can be for a cohort that rarely bothers to wear one.

"The suit is in this strange position," notes men's fashion writer Derek Guy. "Its decline has been a slow death since the end of the second world war," with the significant drop coming in the 1990s alongside "the rise of business casual."

"It's basically only worn in the most formal settings: marriages, funerals, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the traditional Japanese robe in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long retreated from daily life." Numerous politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should vote for me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has traditionally signaled this, today it enacts authority in the hope of gaining public trust. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem approachable, because they're trying to get your votes." To a large extent, a suit is just a subtle form of drag, in that it enacts masculinity, authority and even proximity to power.

Guy's words stayed with me. On the rare occasions I require a suit—for a ceremony or black-tie event—I retrieve the one I bought from a Japanese department store several years ago. When I first picked it up, it made me feel refined and high-end, but its slim cut now feels outdated. I suspect this feeling will be only too familiar for many of us in the global community whose parents originate in somewhere else, particularly developing countries.

Unsurprisingly, the working man's suit has lost 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 price, it can feel like a considerable investment for something likely to be out of fashion within a few seasons. But the attraction, at least in some quarters, persists: in the past year, major retailers report tailoring sales increasing more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an desire to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

The mayor's go-to suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that sells in a moderate price bracket. "He is precisely a product of his background," says Guy. "A relatively young person, he's neither poor nor exceptionally wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the demographic most likely to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often discontented by the cost of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Not cheap but not lavish, Mamdani's suits arguably don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, constructing affordable homes, and free public buses.

"It's impossible to imagine a former president wearing Suitsupply; he's a Brioni person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A status symbol fits naturally with that elite, just as more accessible brands fit naturally with Mamdani's cohort."

The legacy of suits in politics is extensive and rich: from a former president's "shocking" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably polished, tailored sheen. As one UK leader discovered, the suit doesn't just clothe the politician; it has the power to characterize them.

Performance of Normality and Protective Armor

Maybe the key is what one academic calls the "enactment of ordinariness", invoking the suit's historical role as a uniform of political power. Mamdani's particular choice leverages a deliberate understatement, 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: "The suit isn't apolitical; historians have long pointed out that its contemporary origins lie in imperial administration." It is also seen as a form of protective armor: "I think if you're from a minority background, you might not get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of asserting credibility, particularly to those who might doubt it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a new phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures once donned three-piece suits during their formative years. These days, certain world leaders have started exchanging their usual military wear for a dark formal outfit, albeit one without the tie.

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

The suit Mamdani selects is deeply symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under scrutiny to meet what many American voters look for as a sign of leadership," notes one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an elitist betraying his distinctive roots and values."

But there is an sharp 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 personas to fit the occasion, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where adapting between cultures, customs and clothing styles is common," commentators note. "Some individuals can go unremarked," but when women and ethnic minorities "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must meticulously navigate the codes associated with them.

In every seam of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between belonging and displacement, inclusion and exclusion, is visible. I know well the awkwardness of trying to fit into 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 politics, image is not without meaning.