Dear Banana Republic, You and I have been the bosom-est of buddies for more than two decades. Back in the 1980′s when I was maybe 15, and my Denim Crises were relatively minor, it was a treat to visit your safari-themed store in downtown Boston. I loved that the decor included steamer trunks, and typewriters that appeared to hail from British colonial East Africa (yes, it romanticized British colonial East Africa, which is extremely problematic, I realize). It was like being on a safari– except you were shopping instead of dodging wild animals.

Not long after you ditched the safari theme in favor of sleek and modern fare, I graduated from college and became a working girl — in New York City!–and found myself regularly trolling the racks at your Lexingon Avenue store for proper working girl duds. Yes, Banana. For years, you have diligently and patiently solved many of my crises– denim and otherwise.

That’s why I felt so very betrayed this weekend when Continue reading →