Tori Spelling recently shared her excitement about joining *Dancing with the Stars*, but her foxtrot performance has sparked mixed reactions online. Public criticism is something the actress is familiar with, and this time was no different.
At 51, Spelling took to the *Dancing with the Stars* stage with grace and confidence, performing a foxtrot with her dance partner, Pasha Pashkov. The duo impressed many in the audience with their elegant routine. Her debut was especially meaningful as she had the support of her former *90210* castmates.
Despite the positive reactions, some viewers voiced concerns and critiques on social media, sharing mixed opinions about her performance.

For her ballroom debut on September 17, Tori Spelling wore a gorgeous, sparkly dress that featured sheer fabric around her midriff. She paired the flowing gown with glittery heels and styled her blonde hair with two braids on the sides, letting the rest fall in soft curls.
Together with her dance partner, Pasha Pashkov, the pair performed their routine to P!nk’s song “Trustfall.” Throughout the performance, Spelling smiled brightly as she spun, swayed, waltzed, dipped, kicked, and shimmied across the stage, following Pashkov’s lead and sticking to their choreography.
After the performance, social media users shared their thoughts. Instead of focusing on her dance skills, some expressed concern for Spelling’s health and wellbeing.

On the other hand, many viewers focused on Tori Spelling’s dancing. One observer criticized, “Awful performance.” Another commenter mentioned her enthusiastic facial expressions, saying, “Her face and voice don’t match she needs more practice .”
Some also questioned the difficulty of her routine. A YouTube commenter remarked, “Her choreography was way easier than most other dancers, not really fair to the other dancers.” Another added, “That was tough! Bless her heart, at least she looks happy?
Despite the criticism, some fans thought Spelling did a great job. One viewer, unhappy with the scores, commented, “She deserved better scores! Why was she undercut? Such beauty to her routine!!”

Among those showing support for Tori Spelling are her former *Beverly Hills, 90210* co-stars: Brian Austin Green, Gabrielle Carteris, Jennie Garth, and Ian Ziering.
Before her *Dancing with the Stars* debut, her co-stars shared how excited they were for her to compete for the Mirrorball Trophy on season 33. At the *90210* panel during 90s Con on September 14, they offered words of encouragement. While they all agreed that the show is challenging, they wished Spelling the best. Green, who had competed on *DWTS* himself, advised, “Keep your head on, enjoy the experience.”

On the night of her foxtrot performance, Spelling gave a brief interview with *Extra* where she explained why she finally decided to join the show. She shared that while she had turned down the offer in the past, it wasn’t because she wasn’t a fan—she confirmed that she’s always been a big fan of the show.
This acknowledgment in her book contrasts with a 2013 interview with *Us Magazine*, where Tori Spelling highlighted her bikini body and discussed her weight loss journey. In that interview, she stated, “I feel like I took off the weight safely, and I’m totally happy here,” reflecting the complex pressures celebrities often face in presenting an idealized image of health and fitness. This shows how public figures can feel torn between personal struggles and the need to maintain a perfect image.
My Husband Went on Vacation..

I thought my husband would be there for me when my mom passed away, but instead, he chose a vacation to Hawaii over my grief. Devastated, I faced the funeral alone. But when he returned, he walked into a situation he never expected—a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget. I was at work when the doctor’s number flashed on my phone, and somehow, I knew what was coming. My heart sank even before I answered. Mom was gone. Just like that. One minute she was fighting a minor lung infection, and the next… nothing. My world stopped making sense.
I don’t remember much after that. One moment I was sitting in my cubicle, and the next I was home, fumbling with my keys, eyes blurred with tears. John’s car was in the driveway, another one of his “work-from-home” days, which usually meant ESPN muted in the background while he pretended to answer emails.“John?” My voice echoed through the house. “I need you.” He stepped into the kitchen, holding a coffee mug, looking mildly annoyed. “What’s wrong? You look terrible.” I tried to speak, but the words got tangled in my throat. I reached out to him, desperate for comfort. He sighed and gave me a quick, awkward pat on the back, like he was consoling a distant acquaintance. “My mom… she died, John. Mom’s gone.” His grip tightened for a moment. “Oh, wow. That’s… I’m sorry.” Then, just as quickly, he pulled away. “Do you want me to order takeout?
Maybe Thai?” I nodded, numb. The next day, reality hit hard. There was so much to handle—planning the funeral, notifying family, and dealing with a lifetime of memories. As I sat at the kitchen table, buried in lists, I remembered our planned vacation. “John, we’ll need to cancel Hawaii,” I said, looking up from my phone. “The funeral will probably be next week, and—” “Cancel?”
He lowered his newspaper, frowning. “Edith, those tickets were non-refundable. We’d lose a lot of money. Besides, I’ve already booked my golf games.” I stared at him, stunned. “John, my mother just died.” He folded the newspaper with the kind of precision that told me he was more irritated than concerned. “I get that you’re upset, but funerals are for family. I’m just your husband—your cousins won’t even notice I’m not there. You can handle things here, and you know I’m not great with emotional stuff.” It felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “Just my husband?” “You know what I mean,” he muttered, avoiding my gaze and adjusting his tie. “Besides, someone should use those tickets. You can text me if you need anything.” I felt like I was seeing him clearly for the first time in 15 years of marriage. The week that followed was a blur. John occasionally offered a stiff pat on the shoulder or suggested I watch a comedy to lift my mood. But when the day of the funeral came, he was on a plane to Hawaii, posting Instagram stories of sunsets and cocktails. “#LivingMyBestLife,” one caption read. Meanwhile, I buried my mother alone on a rainy Thursday. That night, sitting in an empty house, surrounded by untouched sympathy casseroles, something snapped inside me. I had spent years making excuses for John’s emotional absence. “He’s just not a feelings person,” I would say. “He shows his love in other ways.” But I was done pretending.I called my friend Sarah, a realtor. “Can you list the house for me? Oh, and include John’s Porsche in the deal.” “His Porsche? Eddie, he’ll lose it!” “That’s the point.” The next morning, “potential buyers” started showing up. I sat in the kitchen, sipping coffee, watching as they circled John’s beloved car. When his Uber finally pulled into the driveway, I couldn’t help but smile. It was showtime. John stormed in, face flushed. “Edith, what the hell? People are asking about my car!” “Oh, that. I’m selling the house. The Porsche is a great bonus, don’t you think?”He sputtered, pulling out his phone. “This is insane! I’ll call Sarah right now!” “Go ahead,” I said sweetly. “Maybe you can tell her about your fabulous vacation. How was the beach?” Realization slowly dawned across his face. “This… is this some kind of payback? Did I do something wrong?” I stood, letting my anger finally surface. “You abandoned me when I needed you most. I’m just doing what you do: looking out for myself. After all, I’m just your wife, right?” John spent the next hour frantically trying to shoo away buyers, while begging me to reconsider. By the time Sarah texted that her friends had run out of patience, I let him off the hook—sort of. “Fine. I won’t sell the house or the car.” I paused. “This time.” He sagged with relief. “Thank you, Edith. I—” I held up my hand. “But things are going to change. I needed my husband, and you weren’t there. You’re going to start acting like a partner, or next time, the For Sale sign will be real.” He looked ashamed, finally understanding the gravity of his actions. “What can I do to make this right?” “You can start by showing up. Be a partner, not a roommate. I lost my mother, John. That kind of grief isn’t something you can fix with a vacation or a fancy dinner.” He nodded. “I don’t know how to be the man you need, but I love you, and I want to try.” It’s not perfect now. John still struggles with emotions, but he’s going to therapy, and last week, for the first time, he asked me how I was feeling about Mom. He listened while I talked about how much I missed her calls and how I sometimes still reach for the phone, only to remember she’s not there. He even opened up a little about his own feelings. It’s progress. Baby steps. I often wonder what Mom would say about all this. I can almost hear her chuckling, shaking her head. “That’s my girl,” she’d say. “Never let them see you sweat. Just show them the ‘For Sale’ sign instead.” Because if there’s one thing she taught me, it’s that strength comes in many forms. Sometimes it’s pushing through the pain, and sometimes it’s knowing when to push back.
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