Over the course of summer reruns, I have developed a love for the television show How I Met Your Mother. An affable, well-written ensemble show, the cast features Alyson Hannigan (read: reason I started watching it in the first place) and Neil Patrick Harris as its “big name” cast members. Although not the character that I identify with the most, NPH’s “Barney” might be the funniest fellow on the show, taking a page from the John “Dan Fielding” Larroquette book of smooth, calculated humor. Barney’s big thing is his obsession with “the suit” concept -- which is to say you never see him without being dressed in a trim and stylish ensemble. To Barney, the suit makes the man.

This has sparked some envy on my part -- not so much of Barney, but of his suit concept. It’s been years since I’ve had to regularly dress up, let alone make it an everyday habit. The occasional wedding or funeral is cause for me to only own one complete suit (which is also the first matching one I’ve ever owned, having made it through college with an array of sport coats and black pants). But thanks to the suit concept, I have now developed suit lust.

This suit lust has taken on the personality of a stalker. The weakest excuse is enough to take me to Macys, Kaufmanns, or Nordstrom. Once there, I will lurk through the racks, becoming familiar with designers named Perry Ellis, Ralph Lauren, and a whole bunch of other fellows that are either Italian or pretty good poseurs. I’ve also become great at skirting the sales people, keeping to the shadows of the racks. My mission isn’t to buy -- there’s simply not enough justification for making that kind of a purchase. But in the mean time, I will keep trying on jackets with gray pinstripes, and talking to myself while giving my mirror image critical examination.

Some day… some day… I will have reason to grow my suit inventory. And when it comes, my suit lust is going to be ready to strike.