8 Weeks Reporting From the Sean 'Diddy' Combs Trial: What It Was Really Like

“It’s not a f***ing game!”

A woman erupts in the middle of the courtroom and points to Sean “Diddy” Combs, the besmirched hip-hop mogul at the center of the sprawling sex trafficking and racketeering case that ran for eight weeks.

“Diddy, these motherf***ers are laughing at you!” the woman shouted before court marshals forcibly escorted her outside. “Pull your gun out, ninja. I dare you!”

In that moment, I suddenly felt compelled to pop outside to check on her. It was my 15th day covering the Diddy trial, and I was no stranger to chatting up every recurring face that appeared at the courthouse. I had met this woman, known as the “MTA Lady” — a nickname adopted by reporters and court marshals alike — on the first day of jury selection. In the early weeks, she showed up every day in the same uniform — navy cardigan, burgundy tie and her signature MTA cap — like a cartoon character who never changes outfits.

But outside, I walked into the storm of something even more chaotic. Two influencers were verbally sparring, teetering on the line of a fistfight, as a sea of media junkies swarmed them with phones and cameras.

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“Who the f*** is the clout chaser?” shouted a woman in a black cowboy hat and slouchy sage green utility pants. As the man lifted his phone attached to an elongated selfie stick, she sneered, “Oh, I see! Clock that! Let’s go viral!”

He shot back, “Back away before you get smacked.” (It’s worth noting that this same influencer was later spotted dousing himself in baby oil after the verdict was read.)

Meanwhile, a Diddy trial “regular” began pacing back and forth. He waved his hands up in the air and proclaimed, “This is the start of a war!”

At this moment, what was happening outside the courthouse became more interesting than the testimony unfolding on the stand.

I rode the elevator back up with the bug-eyed male influencer, still buzzing on about the fight. And in an ironic twist, the female influencer he was screaming at ended up sitting directly in front of me. I couldn’t help but peer over the civil complaint form resting in her lap. She was conjuring up a suit against Jay-Z, Beyoncé, Ciara and Russell Wilson and, for reasons I still don’t fully understand, the National Football League.

Sean “Diddy” Combs Paras Griffin/Getty Images

I’ve always been fascinated by characters. We all have our own quirks — and watching those eccentricities meld together and coexist in the wild is one of the great joys of being human.

Diddy’s alleged “quirks” — his freaky, baby-oil-dependent pastimes — are now more than well-documented. Reporters from dozens of media outlets, plus a barrage of self-assigned content creators and public informants, were on the ground covering the trial in lower Manhattan.

But what most reporters weren’t interested in all too much were the surrounding everyday folks attending the trial. What motivated a random person to sit in federal court at 2 p.m. on a random Wednesday afternoon?

To many legacy reporters, these folks were nuisances (and, to be fair, many were). But as the trial marched on, I found myself more intrigued by the cast of barnacles clinging to its hull. The wide variety of characters — and the bizarre motivations that connected them — started to become my favorite unraveling storyline.

The witty court marshals, mostly retired cops and veterans, ramped up surveillance fast as chaos festered inside. No talking is allowed while court is in session, but reactions always accompanied the show.

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After the defense grilled psychologist Dawn Hughes on how she coordinated with the government, a prosecutor asked for a sidebar — and the overflow room erupted.

“Ooooooh!” Jabs flew. “They got her good!” “That’s a red flag!” “I’m talking about this on the podcast today.”

I scribbled in my notes, “The characters are clapping.” I felt like I was living through a sitcom.

When I studied abroad in London, my friend Joe handed out empty notebooks to the unhoused people he interacted with on our daily commute to class. He’d tell them that if they filled out every page, they’d receive a crisp £20 note. Most lost the notebook, others scribbled nonsense, but a few returned some fascinating material.

In that same vein, I handed out a survey to dozens of public patrons attending the trial. I didn’t have the budget to hand out $20 like Joe, so to incentivize them, the top of the survey read: “You are currently witnessing one of the most important trials of the century. Help me paint the picture.”

I asked them about the case, the atmosphere in the courtroom, and how their own experiences with abuse shaped their lens.

The first person I spoke to claimed he was Diddy’s college roommate. He reminisced about the big house parties they’d use to throw, and how they’d pass out invites around campus. Others with alleged ties to Diddy wore them like a badge of honor.

Sean “Diddy” Combs Paras Griffin/Getty Images

The tapestry of humanity on display never ceased to amaze me, with pupils of the law absorbing the unconventional strategies of attorneys on both sides. One mother who traveled from Las Vegas wrote in her survey, “My son is a criminal justice major at Michigan State University and I wanted him to experience the trial in the courtroom!”

A former sex worker who described himself as a “victim of Hollywood elites” came looking for closure. He wrote, “My sister was murdered by her husband who is a broke version of Diddy.”

One woman who’s worked with the White House on anti-trafficking initiatives attended all four days of Cassie Ventura’s testimony, the 8 ½-months pregnant star witness who dated Diddy for 11 years. Calm, confident, and composed, she told me she was there to support survivors of sexual assault. And as we continued to chat, she opened up about the 15+ years she was trapped in a sex trafficking ring.

Artie, an 86-year-old from Pennsylvania with a walker, said he’s observed more than 200 trials since retiring. His character read on Diddy? “He should never get out of jail cause he’s such a bad guy.”

During closing arguments, a teacher led a single-file line of middle schoolers into the back pews of the overflow room. I lost count of how many parents showed up with their children. But it was the strollers that perplexed me the most.

One couple from L.A., who both worked for Disney, were joined by their 8-month-old baby who started crying in the courtroom at one point. The couple described the trial as a must-see event akin to the other tourist attractions that New York has to offer.

“I guess we’re just here to get out of the rain,” the husband told me. “We’re here to see Times Square, the Statue of Liberty, and — of course — the Diddy trial. This is something we’ll be able to tell our daughter when she grows up.”

So, beyond the allure of fame, what exactly compelled spectators from every corner of the country to watch this trial unfold in person? Was it moral gratification for enduring hours of harrowing testimony that most outsiders couldn’t stomach? The act of exercising their First Amendment rights to shout their version of the truth into the public square? Or maybe something simpler: the aching human need to have a voice.

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Interconnectedness, or the evolutionary desire to be a part of something larger than yourself, is the driving force here. In one way or another, all of us who attended the trial fulfilled some level of purpose.

That sense of meaning is something Diddy lost — and what might’ve fueled his drug-and-sex-induced dopamine craze.

On his 45th birthday, one of his closest assistants gifted him a scrapbook that cataloged magazine articles from the ‘90s. “Mia,” the pseudonym she testified under, explained that the gift was meant to re-spark the sense of wonder Diddy’s younger self felt as he quickly climbed the ladder of the music industry.

By the early 2000s, Diddy had it all: Grammy wins, platinum records, a fashion empire, his own vodka deal and a king-like reputation as the hip-hop mogul. But by his 45th birthday in 2014, that spark was gone.

“I used to look at the world the way that you did,” Diddy lamented to Mia, “but now that I’ve done everything, life doesn’t have the same meaning.”

For all the repulsive behavior laid bare on the witness stand, those closest to Diddy described being drawn in by his charisma and ability to unite people. And, inadvertently, his trial brought together a ragtag ensemble of misfits to bear witness to what’ll ultimately be judged by history as his extraordinary fall from public grace.