It was the telltale tag.
Crossing the stage at a rally on Monday in Nebraska, President Trump flapped open his sport coat, giving a clear look at the Jos A. Bank tag sewn into the glossy blue lining.
Bank, a 121-year-old company based in California, is not a luxury label, nor one that produces most of its suits in America. It’s a tailoring chain that seems to always be running some sort of sale. Bank’s suits retail for $600 on the higher end (slashed from $700 on its website).
But many suits, including those in solid navy like the president’s, sell for less than $500, placing them on the more affordable side of the suiting market.
Until as recently as the mid-2010s, Trump was known to favor suits from Martin Greenfield, a custom tailor in Brooklyn whose suits were also worn by President Barack Obama (including the infamous tan suit), as well as those from Brioni, an upscale Italian label owned by the Kering luxury conglomerate. A handmade navy wool Brioni today sells for more than $6,000. If Brioni is a two-Michelin-star meal, Jos A. Bank is fast food.
(Tailored Brands, the parent company of Jos A. Bank, did not immediately return a request for comment.)
Trump flashed the label of this comparatively cheaper suit as his party is expected to suffer steep losses in next month’s midterm elections, where affordability is a central concern for voters.
It’s rare to know what brand a president or politician wears while in office, unless a company is willing to publicly promote that connection.
And while Trump claimed for years to wear Brioni, there is not a similar, easy-to-find image of him brandishing that suit tag. In flashing the tag of his more conspicuously affordable suit, Trump shares something in common with Mayor Zohran Mamdani of New York, who peeled off his $600-ish suit on the campaign trail, revealing its white Suitsupply label.
Much the way Trump’s oversize suit delineates him as a product of ’80s New York, the slim-cut fit of Mamdani’s suit reflects the mayor’s millennial style.
Based on the tag, Trump’s suit is part of the Traveler line. On Bank’s website, suits from this collection promise “ultimate stretch performance” and “antimicrobial properties” that reduce odor. They are made from wool and polyester, with a touch of spandex. The website describes the suits as imported.
The Bank suit is an example of how Trump’s clothing choices have grown budget in his second term. For himself — and for the members of his cabinet for whom he has purchased shoes — Trump prefers Florsheim’s prosaic black dress shoes, which sell for around $145.
Up until the late 20th century, both labels sold everyday business wear to the corporate class. Yet as America’s apparel industry consolidated, labels sought cheaper production in foreign countries. Today, a majority of Bank’s suits and Florsheim’s shoes are made overseas, and their products are seen more as serviceable than brag-worthy.
While Trump peppers his speeches with calls to revitalize American manufacturing, in his own wardrobe, aesthetics appear to outweigh provenance. With glossy materials and basic shapes, both Florsheim and Jos A. Bank deliver on an image of executive attire popularized in the 1980s, when Trump first made his name in the real estate world.
“The clothes are basically the bare minimum version of traditional men’s wear,” said Nico Lazaro, a men’s style writer. “It represents a very particular kind of watered-down American men’s wear.”
It’s a cardboard-cutout approach to getting dressed, guided by how an outfit will look head-on in a photo, or beamed out from behind a dais. A decade ago, Trump was photographed with his long red tie taped together, a kind of TV anchor trick for holding one’s clothes in place.
There is a certain bargain, deal-making logic to how he dresses now. The boxy, almost cavernous cut of Trump’s Bank suit appears close enough to how his Brioni suits fit in the 2000s. Why pay more for the same look?
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