My Time as a Celebrity Publicist
I spent several years in the early 2000s working as a publicist for some of the biggest names in the entertainment industry, including Sean "Diddy" Combs, Jennifer Lopez, and Naomi Campbell. My job was to create a perfect image for my clients, handling any crises that arose and polishing their public personas. I was essentially a packaging expert, and fame was the product I was selling.
The Diddy Era
No client defined my time as a publicist more than Diddy. At the time, he was one of the most visible men on the planet, with a music empire, fashion label, and constant tabloid presence. I took his calls at 1 a.m., traveled on his private jets, and crafted statements that bore his name but never revealed the truth. I thought I was managing a persona, but in reality, I was helping to protect a system.
Allegations and Accountability
Now, with Diddy facing a cascade of allegations, including rape, sexual assault, and physical abuse, I’m forced to confront a question I can no longer avoid: what’s worse, not knowing or not wanting to know? There’s a difference between ignorance and complicity, and I’m not sure which one is more troubling.
The Power of Fame
Fame is a powerful and intoxicating force. It warps reality, making bad behavior seem eccentric and complaints seem like a small price to pay for access. When you’re close to fame, you start to breathe in its mythology, and it fills the empty rooms of your own sense of value. I was convinced I was doing a good job, launching brands and placing magazine covers, but what I was actually doing was managing a mirage.
Looking Away
Looking away is part of the job. You rationalize, you divide, and you focus on the next campaign or crisis to manage. And in those moments, you become what the system needs to survive: silent. I was in many celebrity homes, but at Diddy’s, it was like going through airport security. There were weapons everywhere, and an army of expressionless bodyguards followed him everywhere. I ignored the little voice in my head that whispered, "This is not normal."
Signs and Silence
There were signs, of course. The mysterious girl in the photo, the cash counting machine in his house, the staged moments of generosity. But I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t want to know. That was the deal we all made to work for him: don’t look too closely, and you can stay in the room.
Cultural Illness
There’s a cultural illness at the heart of our obsession with celebrities. We confuse charisma with character, closeness with integrity, and success with security. We put celebrities on pedestals and then act surprised when the foundations crack. But the rot was there all along, hidden beneath years of brand-building, PR campaigns, and glossy features. We just didn’t want to look.
Regret and Accountability
It’s not just about Diddy; it’s about the systems that enable people like him to thrive unchallenged. It’s about fame, managers, publicists, and fans who forgive too quickly when the soundtrack is good. When I say I regret my role, I mean it. But regret is not enough. Accountability means naming the system and naming our part in it.
The Moral Imperative
There’s a moral imperative in this business, a way to justify silence as professionalism. But what’s become clear to me is that neutrality is not professionalism in the face of abuse; it’s surrender. I thought I built stars, but in some cases, I built shields – obstacles that contributed to keeping questions out and facilitating abuse. And I hope I’m not the only one struggling with this truth.
Breaking the System
Because if we helped to build it, we can help to break it. It’s time to confront the reality of our complicity and take responsibility for our actions. We can’t just look away anymore; we have to look inward and ask ourselves what we’re willing to tolerate in the name of fame and success. The silence will no longer be armor; it will be a surrender to a system that enables abuse and exploitation.
