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

Coming of age in London during the 2000s, I was constantly surrounded by suits. They adorned City financiers rushing through the financial district. They were worn by dads in Hyde Park, playing with footballs in the golden light. Even school, a inexpensive grey suit was our mandatory uniform. Traditionally, the suit has functioned as a costume of gravitas, projecting power and performance—traits I was expected to aspire to to become a "adult". Yet, before lately, my generation seemed to wear them infrequently, and they had all but disappeared from my mind.

Subsequently came the incoming New York City mayor, Zohran Mamdani. He was sworn in at a private ceremony wearing a subdued black overcoat, crisp white shirt, and a notable silk tie. Propelled by an innovative campaign, he captivated the world's imagination like no other recent mayoral candidate. But whether he was celebrating in a music venue or attending a film premiere, one thing was mostly unchanged: he was frequently in a suit. Loosely tailored, modern with unstructured lines, yet conventional, his is a quintessentially middle-class millennial suit—that is, as typical as it can be for a generation that seldom chooses 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 rise of business casual."

"Today it is only worn in the strictest locations: weddings, funerals, to some extent, legal proceedings," Guy explains. "It's sort of like the kimono in Japan," in that it "essentially represents a custom that has long ceded from daily life." Many politicians "wear a suit to say: 'I represent a politician, you can trust me. You should support me. I have authority.'" But while the suit has historically signaled this, today it enacts authority in the attempt of gaining public trust. As Guy elaborates: "Because we are also living in a liberal democracy, politicians want to seem relatable, because they're trying to get your votes." To a large extent, a suit is just a subtle form of performance, in that it performs manliness, authority and even proximity to power.

This analysis resonated deeply. 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 high-end, but its tailored fit now feels outdated. I imagine this sensation will be only too recognizable for many of us in the global community whose families come from somewhere else, particularly 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 shape goes through cycles; a specific cut can thus define an era—and feel quickly outdated. Consider the present: more relaxed suits, reminiscent of a famous cinematic 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. But the appeal, at least in certain circles, persists: recently, major retailers report suit sales rising more than 20% as customers "move away from the suit being daily attire towards an appetite to invest in something special."

The Symbolism of a Accessible Suit

Mamdani's preferred suit is from a contemporary brand, a European label that sells in a mid-market price bracket. "He is precisely a reflection of his upbringing," says Guy. "In his thirties, he's neither poor nor extremely wealthy." Therefore, his moderately-priced suit will appeal to the group most inclined to support him: people in their thirties and forties, college graduates earning middle-class incomes, often frustrated by the expense of housing. It's precisely the kind of suit they might wear themselves. Affordable but not lavish, Mamdani's suits plausibly don't contradict his proposed policies—such as a capping rents, building affordable homes, and free public buses.

"You could never imagine Donald Trump wearing Suitsupply; he's a luxury Italian suit person," says Guy. "He's extremely wealthy and grew up in that property development world. A status symbol fits seamlessly with that tycoon class, just as more accessible brands fit well with Mamdani's constituency."

The history of suits in politics is long and storied: from a former president's "controversial" beige attire to other world leaders and their notably polished, tailored sheen. As one British politician discovered, the suit doesn't just dress the politician; it has the power to define them.

Performance of Banality and A Shield

Perhaps the point is what one academic refers to the "performance of ordinariness", summoning the suit's historical role as a standard attire of political power. Mamdani's specific selection taps into a deliberate modesty, neither shabby nor showy—"respectability politics" in an inconspicuous suit—to help him connect with as many voters as possible. But, experts think Mamdani would be cognizant 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." Some also view it as a form of defensive shield: "It is argued that if you're from a minority background, you aren't going to get taken as seriously in these traditional institutions." The suit becomes a way of signaling credibility, particularly to those who might question it.

Such sartorial "changing styles" is not a new phenomenon. Indeed iconic figures previously wore formal Western attire during their early years. Currently, other world leaders have started swapping their typical military wear for a black suit, 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 symbolic. "As a Muslim child of immigrants of Indian descent and a democratic socialist, he is under pressure to conform to what many American voters expect as a marker of leadership," says one expert, while simultaneously needing to navigate carefully by "avoiding the appearance of an establishment figure betraying his non-mainstream 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 assume different identities to fit the situation, but it may also be part of his multicultural background, where code-switching between languages, traditions and clothing styles is common," it is said. "White males can remain unnoticed," but when others "seek to gain the authority that suits represent," they must carefully negotiate the expectations associated with them.

Throughout the presentation of Mamdani's official image, the dynamic between somewhere and nowhere, insider and outsider, is evident. I know well the discomfort 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 style decisions make evident, however, is that in politics, appearance is not neutral.