Dykes R Us?

For me, just the idea of walking into a mall makes me gasp a little for air. I breathe harder, gulping air in mild to moderate panic when I actually do step into a mall. But sometimes, sometimes it's necessary. I need some nicer clothes. Most of my
clothes come from Upper Playground, which is fine if you're an environmental activist working for a nonprofit in San Francisco, but not so fine if you're a professional who needs to be pretty blank-slatey in terms of wardrobe. These are
the worlds I will be milling between for the next few years.

So this time, I didn't tell myself I was going clothes shopping. This time, I told myself "You are going to J Crew and Banana Republic" which is far, far easier to swallow. I was on the search for thin sweaters. That's all. Some V-necks, some crewnecks, whatever. Just thinnish, maybe merino wool sweaters. Mostly darker colors, but maybe I'd throw in a lime green for those days I'm feeling extra spunky. Certainly it wouldn't be a problem to find thin sweaters. Afterall, they
are sort of season-less, especially in San Francisco. They are perfect for layering, maybe with a shirt underneath and then a jacket over it for the chillier december-march days and from april-nov, they are great just by themselves.

I started with J Crew which had absolutely nothing that looked like it vaguely represented something I normally wear. Usually I get really frustrated really quickly and I won't take the time to really look through the racks, so I convinced
myself to paw through some racks and try really hard to find something professional, not too girly (trust me, frills and pleated shirts and light, summery materials look absolutely silly on me, plus I get the distinct feeling that I am giving up a
piece of myself when I put them on). And I found nothing. I couldn't believe it. J Crew? Really? They had truly let me down. I almost always find at least one thing when I enter a J Crew store, and usually that one thing quickly becomes my favorite fancy-ish item of clothing. Fuck the crew, on to the Banana.

As I approached Banana, I had the distinct impression that the two strores had obviously talked. I walked in, directly to the back room - the petites room! - and sighed. Surrounded by girly clothes, again. No thin sweaters to be found. Only
flowy, shapeless bright bits of cloth barely clinging to their hangers. O! Where have all the normal button-ups gone? Once again, I decided to try on things I usually don't try on. I found the perfect short-sleeved button up. Really nicely made, great color, totally hugs that professional-but-can-be-dressed-down line, and it actually fit my short but chesty body pretty perfectly. And then a deeper sigh. Fucking pleated fucking sleeves. FUCK! I just couldn't. It makes me feel like
I'm lying to myself when I see myself in clothes like that.

So am I missing something? Are there really and truly so few women (in San Francisco, I remind you), who can't shop in the men's department because it's too big, but who really don't fit in the women's department because it's too... womany?
Is there any shop that sells clothes for those who are in the middle? There has to be! I refuse to believe that I am that much of anomoly. I refuse to believe I am the only woman whose chest gets tight, who gasps for air at hearing the words "let's go clothes shopping!"