I remember vividly the day I officially became a feminist. It was in 1971, in England, after two years of travel during which not a breath of what had been happening among women in North America had reached me. But in London a woman friend shoved into my hands a stack of papers that had been mailed to her from a feminist friend in California, and said: read this.By Myrna Costars5 min
Elvis. Elvis is coming. Elvis Presley is going to be singing, live, in person, in the flesh, not in Nashville or Vegas or Hollywood but just across the border in Niagara Falls, New York, and I, a humble adorer since I saw him sing Blue Suede Shoes on the Dorsey show 20 years ago, I am being offered a ticket.By Heather Robertson5 min
I have a friend who spent three successive weekends washing out her jeans. Not that they were dirty, you understand. They were brand new, with the $22 price tag still attached. But as anybody with the slightest sense of radical chic these days knows, there is only one thing more gauche than spiffy, stiff-as-board, unfaded, unlived-in and generally unadulterated blue denim and that is being caught out at the wrong time wearing no blue denim at all.By Marci McDonald5 min
The story you want is part of the Maclean’s Archives. To access it, log in here or sign up for your free 30-day trial.
Experience anything and everything Maclean's has ever published — over 3,500 issues and 150,000 articles, images and advertisements — since 1905. Browse on your own, or explore our curated collections and timely recommendations.WATCH THIS VIDEO for highlights of everything the Maclean's Archives has to offer.