Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Dear Diddy,
I never wanted to write you this letter. I thought that our relationship was going to progress smoothly and fabulously and that we'd remain friends, dressed in white with moisturized situations. I'd laugh at your over-the-top opulence and you'd buy me things. It would be perfect.
But...I can't do it. Diddy, there's no easy way for me to say it-I'm over you.
What's sad is that I've stood by you for so long, and did so much for you (by "much" of course, I mean halfheartedly defending you to your many detractors before looking for a diversion), and what did I get in return? Nothing. No invitations to your white parties, no invitation to sit on the board at Bad Boy, not even a coupon to use to buy Sean John clothes. That's cold, Diddy, cold.
You were never an easy friend to love. The corpse of Notorious BIG was like the elephant in the corner that we could never talk about, yet who was always present. And you know what, Diddy? I always liked Tupac better, but I pretended that Biggie was the one for me. It took a lot out of me, constantly lying that a corpulent man with a lazy eye who looks like he smelled was my favorite rapper, but I did it for you because I knew how much his death affected you. I mean, you became the go-to guy for songs about dead celebrities, even eclipsing Elton John's success in that area. That takes real heart.
You gave Lil' Kim an ab roller for Christmas, sending her down the shame spiral that has ended with her resembling a burn victim and I said, "No, he wasn't doing it to be cruel, he's doing it out of genuine concern for her."
What about your music, huh, Diddy? You mumble intelligibly and grunt over old songs and expect the world to praise you. You told us all that you won't stop. You meant it, I think, as a glorious, sample backed rallying cry, but it really sounds like a threat. "I THOUGHT ::stab:: I TOLD YOU ::raise ax:: that we won't STOP ::chop::" But there I was, the foolish dreamer, saying, "But he's Diddy! Can't nobody hold him down! Sampling is great! Soylent Green is people!"
When Jennifer Lopez dumped you on Valentine's Day, I nearly sent you a care package because I was so heartbroken for you. Dumped! On Valentine's Day! While on trial! Sonny standing Brenda up at the altar on General Hospital wasn't even so cold. And then what did you do? You went and changed your name to P. Diddy. I understand wanting to get rid of the "Puff Daddy" moniker, as it inevitably conjures up images of the Stay-Puft marshmallow man from Ghostbusters, but what is so wrong with being known as Sean Combs, bro?
You went on your crazy "Vote or Die" spree last year, turning people away from the polls in droves since you were invariably joined by freaking Sway when you went to promote it. You dress like a reject from the Miami Vice set and you dance like you have spina bifida, and yet I defended you.
You unleashed Da Band and Dylan on an unsuspecting world. People are still experiencing PTSD over Dylan and his ever changing accent. You didn't learn your lesson after Dream, did you, Diddy? Remember Dream? Do you ever stop by the K-Mart Health and Beauty department to see how they're doing?
Your devotion to The Sexy and your kindness and benevolence in spreading the gospel of ProActiv were admirable. I repeatedly used the phrase "Moisturizing my situation and preserving my sexy" in your defense, as the poet who penned that sentence surely couldn't be bad.
And it worked. For a short time, Diddy, it worked. But not even moisturized situations and preserved sexy can make up for evil like your lackluster job hosting the VMA's this year, or the line from "Can't Nobody Hold Me Down" that will live in infamy--"Money hanging out my anus". People have been jailed for less than that.
Wendy Williams claimed to have a sex tape in her possession featuring you and Loon. That was the beginning of the end for us, Diddy. Not that I'm opposed to sex tapes, as they are the In thing these days, and I'm certainly not surprised or upset that you aren't entirely heterosexual (we all know that Farnsworth Bentley holds more than your umbrella. We're not blind), but Loon?! You stooped down to the Loon level? A man who penned "I Need A Girl" has no command of the English language or any idea of wrong and right. That's unacceptable.
The straws that broke the camel's back, as it were, are the VMAs and the trouble you had in Ibiza. First of all, Diddy, I thought that the rule of thumb was that once somewhere is profiled in Vanity Fair, it's just not cool anymore. And yet you were still there. This makes the rest of the world cooler than you. That's like wearing last season's fur coat. You attempted to crowd surf (sooooo 2002) and they dropped you. The people of Ibiza dropped you, Sean "Diddy" Combs. The people of Ibiza would gladly let anybody crowd surf there, they aren't picky, and yet they have no use for you.
And the VMAs. The VMAs. You were---you were boring. And cheesy. And worst of all...you don't even know. I can see you looking in the mirror after the show, listening to "Bad Boys For Life", telling yourself "You rocked it, Diddy, you rocked it. Your sexy was all the way right". I would be able to respect you if you embraced your cheesiness, and became an ironic icon, but as it stands now? I can't. I just can't.
I hope you know how hard this was for me to say. I really do cherish the good times we had together, like the walks down the beach you took in your luxurious bathrobe, Farnsworth holding an umbrella over your head to shade you from the sun and your adoring fans, or your cameo in Monster's Ball and your endearing nervousness as a presenter at the Oscars. For a brief moment, you convinced us all that Polar Express was a pinnacle of musical achievement. Not just anybody can do that, Diddy, and you did. And I was so proud! I prefer to remember you like that.
Stay gold, Diddy, stay gold.
Yours truly,
Mallory
Mallory at 9/06/2005 01:02:00 PM
1 Comments
-
at 6:44 PM
said... He truly was amazing. "So. Dis da Oscars." But alas, the VMAs were... sadly... sad. I mourn for the bling that could have been.