Here's hoping the activewear Beyonce sports on the new, beautiful Elle cover image doubles as battlefield fatigues.

Yesterday (March 31), after the unveiling of Bey's Ivy Park line via Elle's May 2016 issue, Lululemon declared implicit war on the superstar's fan base by implying she'd *borrowed* the company's designs. In a screenshot of a since-deleted exchange captured by Cosmopolitanone Lulu Twitter follower asked — seemingly innocuously — "is ivy park supposed to be like lululemon?"

The response: "They do say imitation is the best form of flattery. Maybe Beyonce is so Crazy in Love with our brand, she made it our own."




"you realize the mistake you've made right? the beyhive never forgets" one voluntary BeyHive spokeswoman warned. And she definitely wasn't kidding.

Soon, the Bey-faithful flooded Lululemon's social channels, urging the company's Twitter rep to verrrrrrrry carefully consider a retraction.

"Y'ALL GONE LERAN [sic] TODAY," an additional fan insisted, while another wrote "Lululemon is just going to mute the words 'bey, beyonce, queen' and keep right on selling their product to well off soccer moms." Don't try to fight shade-masters with shade...

Lululemon did issue a series of apologies, ultimately deleting the war-inciting tweet. But the attempted ceasefire seems to have fallen on deaf ears — just like it did with me one fateful day three years ago.

Back 2013 I was minding my own business, observing the day's goings-on from a quiet coffee shop when Lululemon's local Seattle affiliate began to pressure my sister into stopping by a warehouse sale during her visit to the Pacific Northwest. I didn't take too kindly to this, and let Lululemon WHUS know my patience was as fleeting as an after-Christmas sales rack.

Lululemon, as part of a familiar battlefield tactic, tried to mitigate my irritation, pacify me as if I were an insolent child. Do you believe those clowns tried to convince me to also go to Seattle for "tons of great men's products to choose from"? Maybe their chafe-eliminating headbands were strapped on too tightly that day, but I wasn't about to book a spontaneous cross-country flight for running pants with sweat-wick technology, or gloves that say they keep your hands warm during long runs but keep them tepid, at best.

What is sweat-wick? Why does everything there sweat-wick?

The fiery exchange ultimately sparked this admonition, at which point I conceded.

I hear Reebok has some nice separates.

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