St Croix Shop

I have never been made to feel more uncomfortable in a designer shop. I went to check out the shop because I had not previously had the displeasure of experiencing St. Croix’s «brand» before.
The clothes were okay. Very shiny and flashy but clearly well-​made. Something to wear in your Tuscan villa making a statement with the fabric while wearing a boring cut. But the clerk working behind the counter must have graduated with high marks from the school of fashion profiling. She briefly glanced up from some electronic device or another when I entered, took a look at my Levis, and put her head right back down. Then as I browsed the wares, she quickly raced to every spot I’d been, making some little show about tidying up the area. For Christ’s sake, even Bloomingdales wouldn’t act this way toward me on laundry day.
No «hello,» no «can I help you find something» and no «goodbye.» I resisted the urge to spit on the way out.
Eager to determine if the brand was at least worth its weight in cow dung, I contacted the corporate customer service department via e-​mail to voice my (polite) complaint and see how the company would handle it. No response at all.