Scooter Braun and Todrick Hall Just Followed Each Other Again—Seven Years After the Taylor Swift Blowup
The former manager-client relationship went spectacularly sour in 2019. Now Braun is publicly cheering Hall’s new Off-Broadway musical, and Hall is amplifying the love.
Instagram has delivered a reunion nobody had on the celebrity reconciliation calendar: Scooter Braun and Todrick Hall are following each other again, seven years after their professional relationship detonated in the middle of Braun’s very public feud with Taylor Swift.
The renewed digital connection might have stayed in the realm of quiet social-media housekeeping if Braun hadn’t immediately added a public gesture with excellent timing. Over the weekend, the music executive shared a video of Ayana George, a cast member in Hall’s new Off-Broadway musical, “Midnight,” singing during rehearsals. “Must watch and must listen Off broadway now @midnight,” Braun wrote over the clip.
Hall then reshared Braun’s post to his own Instagram Story. No grand statement, no matching black-and-white selfie, no suspiciously poetic caption about healing. Just a mutual follow, a public plug and the unmistakable message that the old professional rupture may no longer be the controlling narrative.
The feud that made this more than a follow
Hall and Braun were not casual acquaintances. Braun managed Hall for six years, and their split became tangled up with one of pop’s defining industry battles: Swift’s fight with Braun over the sale of her music catalog in 2019.
When Swift publicly objected to the sale, Hall came to her defense and directed his anger at his former manager. In a June 2019 social-media post, Hall wrote that he was “saddened by this news, but not shocked,” before calling Braun “an evil person” whose concern was “his wealth and feeding his disgusting ego.” Hall also wrote that he believed Braun was homophobic and said Braun had told him he was not a Swift fan.
Those were not exactly bridge-building words. Braun did not publicly respond to Hall’s accusations at the time, while Allison Kaye, then an executive at Braun’s SB Projects, defended him and called Hall’s allegations “disgusting and defamatory.” The relationship appeared to land in the category of former collaborators whose names only resurfaced when the old feud was being revisited.
That is why the current Instagram activity has a little more voltage than the usual celebrity follow-back. These are two people with a documented history, a highly visible falling-out and a pop-culture backdrop that still makes the Braun-Swift conflict instantly legible. A follow can be meaningless. A follow plus a public endorsement of the other person’s major creative project feels considerably less random.
Hall’s new chapter comes with a full production attached
“Midnight” is not a side quest or a vanity cameo. Hall wrote, directed and produced the musical, and stars in it. The Off-Broadway production is set in the American South during the 19th century and follows 12 interconnected characters while exploring race, class, identity and relationships.
Its score pulls from gospel, R&B, pop, rock, folk, opera and musical theater, which is an extremely Todrick Hall combination: maximalist, genre-hopping and built for a performer who has never shown much interest in picking only one lane. Braun’s post focused on George’s powerhouse rehearsal vocal, but the larger message was clear enough. He was not merely nodding at an old client; he was directing attention toward Hall’s current work.
The show has also been picking up enthusiastic audience reactions. One theatergoer described it as “beautiful and fun and emotional and intentional and lovely and clever and heartbreaking and joyous.” Another called it “incredible,” while a third declared Hall “a genius” and said the production would leave audiences “speechless in the best way.” The musical currently holds a 4.8 out of 5 rating from verified customers on Broadway.com.
That context matters. Braun’s support arrived while Hall is trying to build momentum around a project that is written, staged and performed under his own name. It makes the gesture read less like random nostalgia and more like a public acknowledgment of where Hall is now.
Call it a soft launch of peace
Neither Hall nor Braun has publicly explained what changed, and representatives for both did not immediately respond to Page Six’s requests for comment. So there is no official reunion speech, no announced business partnership and no evidence that the old 2019 conflict has been rewritten into a happy-ending screenplay.
But celebrity relationships rarely return with a neat press release. Sometimes the first sign is simply that two people start appearing in each other’s digital orbit again. Then comes the public support, carefully casual but visible enough to be noticed. In this case, Braun’s endorsement landed on Hall’s musical, Hall amplified it, and the internet was handed a very easy story: former manager and former client, once separated by a pop-industry firestorm, now boosting one another’s work.
There is something especially modern about the choreography. The reconciliation is not being announced; it is being performed through platform behavior. Following each other says the door is open. Sharing the rehearsal clip says the support is active. Hall’s resharing says the gesture is welcome. It is the celebrity equivalent of sitting at adjacent tables and eventually deciding nobody needs to keep pretending the restaurant is divided into enemy territory.
Whether this becomes a real friendship revival or remains a cordial professional reset, the timing is undeniably good for Hall. “Midnight” is already generating audience praise, and now its publicity comes with a little extra history attached. Seven years after the Taylor Swift feud turned a former working relationship into a public fracture, Braun and Hall appear to be choosing the much less dramatic option: follow each other, promote the show and let the old mess stay in the archive—at least for now.
Constance Zimmer Went From Hospital Gowns to Emmy Glamour While Quietly Fighting Breast Cancer
The Love Story actress has opened up about a private diagnosis, three surgeries, radiation and the surreal pressure of keeping it together during a very public career moment.
Constance Zimmer has always understood the choreography of a public life: show up polished, hit the press line, answer the questions, keep the machinery moving. This year, while promoting FX’s Love Story and celebrating an Emmy nomination, she was performing that familiar celebrity ritual with a secret nobody in the room could see.
On Instagram, Zimmer revealed that she had been privately navigating breast cancer, beginning with a diagnosis delivered over Zoom on March 13. “You have DCIS, also referred to as Stage 0 breast cancer,” her doctor told her, according to the actress. “The silence was deafening.”
That sentence lands because it captures the strange split-screen quality of celebrity life: the glamorous version is happening in public while the frightening, deeply personal version is unfolding somewhere off-camera. Zimmer, 55, was doing interviews and appearing at industry events while processing the diagnosis, consulting doctors and figuring out what treatment would mean for her body and her future.
The secret behind the press tour
Zimmer said she first had to get home and tell her husband, Russ Lamoureux, and their daughter, Colette, in person. Then came what she described as an overwhelming mental toll and a parade of medical appointments. The most immediate question was also the most personal: how much of her body would she have to give up to get through this?
According to Zimmer, several doctors initially presented a mastectomy as the quickest way to remove the mass. But that was not what she wanted. She wanted to try to save her breast, a preference she said was not being meaningfully centered until she spoke with breast surgeon Dr. Kristi Funk.
“I think we can try a lumpectomy, I feel confident I can get it out,” Zimmer quoted Funk as saying. The actress wrote that Funk was the first doctor who made her feel that what she wanted mattered, a moment that moved her to tears.
The route was not simple. Zimmer said she underwent three surgeries over three consecutive weeks, followed by radiation. She described the experience as seven months of “pure shock and fear alongside pure joy and gratitude,” a phrase that sounds less like a tidy inspirational caption than an honest description of how messy recovery can be.
Hospital gowns, Emmy glamour, same woman
Zimmer accompanied the announcement with images from the hospital as well as photographs of herself fully glammed up. That contrast is the visual hook of the post, but it is not a transformation story in the usual celebrity sense. There is no before-and-after fantasy here, no suggestion that the red carpet erases the hard part. The hospital gown and the polished event look belong to the same timeline, and to the same person.
She also shared a video marking the completion of one week of radiation. In it, she called the moment “super surreal” and said she was breathing through it, literally and figuratively. It is an unusually unvarnished glimpse from someone who had spent months maintaining a professional schedule while privately managing fear, procedures and recovery.
Zimmer’s timing is especially striking because Love Story placed her inside one of the most scrutinized romantic stories in American culture. She plays Ann Marie Messina, the mother of Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy, in FX’s series about John F. Kennedy Jr. and Bessette-Kennedy. The role arrived with built-in attention, nostalgia and the kind of press cycle that demands endless conversation about appearances, performances and the public mythology surrounding a famous couple.
While the show was being discussed, Zimmer was also undergoing treatment. The publicity machine kept moving. So did her life. She said she followed her surgeries with radiation while celebrating her Emmy nomination, a juxtaposition that feels almost too on-the-nose for Hollywood: one day hospital logistics, the next day professional glamour, with no clean break between them.
Why she is talking now
Zimmer’s decision to share the story during Breast Cancer Awareness Month was not simply a celebrity announcement. She said she wanted to remind women not to wait until they have symptoms to get checked, and planned to discuss the experience in full on her podcast, Talk Fifty to Me, with her breast surgeon.
That choice gives the post a purpose beyond the familiar celebrity cycle of reveal, sympathy and disappearance. Zimmer is using the attention around her diagnosis to talk about screening, medical choice and the emotional cost of being told that the fastest option may not be the option that feels right for you. She is also being candid about the exhaustion of making those decisions while continuing to appear normal in public.
The internet tends to flatten celebrity health stories into one of two moods: inspirational triumph or devastating tragedy. Zimmer’s post resists both. She is grateful to be cancer-free, but she does not pretend the road there was graceful. She writes about fear, shock, difficult choices and the relief of finding a doctor willing to listen. The glamour is present, but so is the panic underneath it.
And then there is that final image: Zimmer celebrating what her body got her through. Not punishing it for changing. Not hiding the evidence of the months she spent in treatment. Just allowing the public version of herself to exist alongside the private one at last.
For an actress who has spent much of her career playing women with immaculate composure—from Entourage to UnREAL and now Love Story—the most affecting performance here may be the refusal to pretend composure was the whole story. Zimmer had a press tour to finish, an Emmy nomination to celebrate and a family to protect. She also had three surgeries, radiation and a diagnosis she was not ready to share until she was ready.
Now she is sharing it on her own terms: hospital gowns included, Emmy glamour intact, and with a reminder that sometimes the most revealing celebrity image is not the red-carpet shot. It is the one that shows what happened before anyone started taking pictures.
Janelle Brown’s Final Word on Kody’s Apology Tour? “So, F–k Him.”
The Sister Wives ex is not interested in a redemption arc—especially one that ends with her being blamed for the Coyote Pass chaos.
Kody Brown wanted a farewell tour. Janelle Brown wanted the microphone back.
As Sister Wives opened its 21st season, Janelle delivered the kind of line that does not require a dramatic score, a slow zoom or a producer asking, “How does that make you feel?” Reflecting on Kody’s season 20 apology tour, she said she believed he was trying to redeem himself—but not necessarily because he had found religion, accountability or even a particularly convincing relationship with the truth.
“I don’t think it was necessarily that sincere, because there’s been no contact since,” Janelle said in the episode’s opening minutes.
Then she got to the part that still clearly irritates her: Kody’s public claims about her role in the sale of the family’s Coyote Pass property in Arizona. “He very publicly torpedoed my character,” Janelle said. “So, f–k him.”
The apology tour has officially left the building
For years, Kody’s preferred mode of communication has been television: explain the family on television, defend the family on television, process the family’s collapse on television. Now that he and Robyn Brown have officially exited the series after 20 seasons, Janelle is making it clear that the cameras did not magically turn his version of events into a shared reality.
Her issue is not simply that Kody said she had engineered some kind of “backdoor deal” designed to keep Meri Brown from receiving her share of the Coyote Pass sale. It is that the accusation landed publicly, lingered publicly and apparently found an audience among people who were ready to believe it.
“It would be one thing if he just said it, but everybody’s believing him and Meri’s even like, ‘I don’t know,’” Janelle explained while speaking with former sister wife Christine Brown.
That is the particular sting of a reality-TV breakup: the argument does not stay in the house. It gets edited, broadcast, debated and absorbed by viewers who may know the family’s history better than they know their own group chat. A private disagreement becomes a character reference written in prime time.
Coyote Pass, explained with maximum family-chaos energy
Janelle’s account of the property dispute is less “mastermind plot” and more “please can everyone just finish the paperwork.” She said the only conversation she had about the sale was repeatedly pushing to get things moving. “Let’s get this going,” was, in her telling, the entire strategy.
Her response to the idea that she had been quietly scheming was blunt: “Trust me, if I had been scheming, you would not have known.” It is a very Janelle line—dry, practical and devastatingly unimpressed by the notion that she would need an elaborate secret operation when a direct conversation would do.
She also disputed the idea that Kody was simply protecting Meri’s financial interests. According to Janelle, Kody had discussed going to a lawyer and hearing that he could sell the property without necessarily giving the other women anything, since his name was on the title. She said he also talked about holding money for Meri in reserve and releasing it when she did what he wanted.
That detail is doing a lot of work in the episode. Janelle is not presenting herself as the person who controlled every dollar or document. She is describing a family business arrangement already soaked in distrust, shifting leverage and old emotional debts. The Coyote Pass argument is not just about land. It is the financial afterparty of a plural marriage that has been breaking up in installments for years.
Meri is the person Janelle says hurts most
There is a twist in Janelle’s frustration: she seems less upset that Kody accused her than that Meri gave the accusation room to breathe.
Janelle and Meri spent decades as sister wives in a family structure that asked them to share a husband, a home life and, at various points, an entire public identity. Their relationship has never been portrayed as effortlessly close. But the Coyote Pass dispute forces them into a strange new alliance, one in which the ex-wives are left comparing notes after the marriage—and the television franchise—has moved into its next era.
Janelle said Meri “believed him,” or at least “sort of believed him.” That hesitation appears to be the real betrayal in her eyes. Kody’s accusation is expected; Meri’s uncertainty is personal.
It also gives the season an immediate hook. Kody and Robyn may be gone, but the emotional debris is still producing episodes. The show’s original premise was an unconventional family trying to make plural marriage work. Its current appeal is much more recognizable: exes untangling money, loyalty and the stories they were told about one another.
The Brown family has entered its post-Kody era
Janelle is now settled in North Carolina near her eldest daughter, Madison Brush, while Christine remains part of the on-camera family orbit. Meri is also navigating life after Kody, and the younger Browns continue to exist as the generation that grew up inside the franchise’s most dramatic storyline.
That shift matters. When Sister Wives premiered in 2010, the family’s story was framed around expansion: more wives, more children, more logistics, more optimism that everyone could find a place in the arrangement. Season 21 begins from the opposite direction. The family is still enormous, but the central marriage is over, Kody and Robyn have left the series, and the women who once had to negotiate around him are now telling their own versions of what happened.
Janelle’s “So, f–k him” is not just a spicy sound bite, though it is certainly that. It is a declaration that Kody does not get the final edit simply because he spent years narrating the family’s story. His apology tour can exist. His explanation can exist. His version of Coyote Pass can exist. Janelle’s refusal to accept it exists too.
And, naturally, it is all happening on television—because in this family, closure is less a private conversation than a season premiere.