Shania Twain catches heat for blonde look at awards show

Shania Twain stepped back into the spotlight last week to host the 2024 People’s Choice Country Music Awards 2024, and the reaction was… well, mixed.

At this stage Shania’s an icon of her genre, a songstress who’s popularity has spread worldwide and lasted for decades.

The Man! I Feel Like A Woman! hitmaker has earned her stripes, that much can’t be denied, so it shouldn’t really have come as a surprise that she was given the honor of hosting the People’s Choice Country Music Awards.

The gala, which took place at the Grand Ole Opry House in Nashville, Tennessee last Thursday, September 26, garnered plenty of attention.

As it happened, a good deal of it was focused on Shania, though likely not for the reasons she might have wanted.

As is often the case at such grand, glitzy events, Shania didn’t have one outfit the evening, but several. They ranged from a white fringe suit paired with a matching cowboy hat to a strapless corset top and a satin miniskirt beneath a black cape.

She later appeared in a shimmering red gown that the People’s Choice Country Awards official Twitter account decided was worthy of homage. Suffice to say she stunned in all of her outfits… but what else can we expect from a woman with the poise and panache of the now-59-year-old Twain?

Unfortunately, not everyone agrees. No, after the awards had ended there were people online criticizing Twain’s performance as host, while her fashion choices became another subject of debate.

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Nobody expected fifty bikers at my son\’s funeral. Least of all the four teenagers who put him there. I\’m not a crier. Twenty-six years as a high school janitor taught me to keep my emotions locked down tight. But when that first Harley rumbled into the cemetery parking lot, followed by another, then another, until the whole place vibrated with thunder—that\’s when I finally broke. My fourteen-year-old boy, Mikey, had hanged himself in our garage. The note he left mentioned four classmates by name. \”I can\’t take it anymore, Dad,\” he\’d written. \”They won\’t stop. Every day they say I should kill myself. Now they\’ll be happy.\” The police called it \”unfortunate but not criminal.\” The school principal offered \”thoughts and prayers\” then suggested we have the funeral during school hours to \”avoid potential incidents.\” I\’d never felt so powerless. Couldn\’t protect my boy while he was alive. Couldn\’t get justice after he was gone. Then Sam showed up at our door. Six-foot-three, leather vest, gray beard down to his chest. I recognized him—he pumped gas at the station where Mikey and I would stop for slushies after his therapy appointments. \”Heard about your boy,\” he said, standing awkward on our porch. \”My nephew did the same thing three years back. Different school, same reason.\” I didn\’t know what to say, so I just nodded. \”Thing is,\” Sam continued, looking past me like the words hurt to say, \”nobody stood up for my nephew. Not at the end, not after. Nobody made those kids face what they did.\” He handed me a folded paper with a phone number. \”You call if you want us there. No trouble, just… presence.\” I didn\’t call. Not at first. But the night before the funeral, I found Mikey\’s journal. Pages of torment. Screenshots of text messages telling my gentle, struggling son to \”do everyone a favor and end it.\” My hands shook as I dialed the number. \”How many people you expecting at this funeral?\” Sam asked after I explained. \”Maybe thirty. Family, some teachers. None of his classmates.\” \”The ones who bullied him—they coming?\” \”Principal said they\’re planning to, with their parents. To \’show support.\’\” The words tasted like acid. Sam was quiet for a moment. \”We\’ll be there at nine. You won\’t have to worry about a thing.\” I didn\’t understand what he meant until I saw them the next morning—a sea of leather vests, weathered faces, and solemn eyes. The Hell\’s Angels patches visible as they formed two lines leading to the small chapel, creating a corridor of protection. The funeral director approached me, panic in his eyes. \”Sir, there are… numerous motorcycle enthusiasts arriving. Should I call the police?\” \”They\’re invited guests,\” I said. When the four boys arrived with their parents, confused expressions turned to fear as they saw the bikers. Sam stepped forward and…. Check out the first comment to read the full story

Nobody expected fifty bikers at my son’s funeral. Least of all the four teenagers who put him there. I’m not a crier. Twenty-six years as a high…