... In Which Diddy Tries To Be Sinatra



(image via thesun)

It's like a bad operetta. Diddy -- or whatever his name is presently -- has come a long way. This blog has followed Diddy's career with a surgical detachment and the jeweler's eye, examining the warts and welts that he body impolitic has gained along the way to faboo wealth and aggressively obnoxious YouTube fucking videos (The Corsair sips a Chateaux D'Yquem). And while we have been greatly amused by his psychotic episode in Ibiza a while back (Averted Gaze), it is his oily "business arrangements" that are most arresting of our omnivorous attentions. It's like he's an addict. Diddy cannot stop making cheddar by diluting his brand -- in this case, unfortunately, himself -- with shitty companies no doubt run by people who wear pinkie rings and probably play the ponies. Oily.

This CIROC thing has us intrigued. You know Diddy isn't drinking some shitty little "offbrand." Diddy's drinking the gaudiest, most tastless shit imaginable. Fucking Crystal or something (Averted Gaze). Diddy's doing it for the free cashmonies. Diddy's so louche and thumotic that Chateaux D'Yquem would probably burn his tongue like silver to a vampyr. From the press release:

"Diddy is bringing the art of 'sophisticated celebration' to life on the small screen for the only ultra-premium vodka that truly embodies that spirit -- CIROC.

"CIROC, one of the world's only vodkas made from grapes, will debut a brand new advertising campaign this week featuring Sean 'Diddy' Combs demonstrating the art of sophisticated celebration in a contemporary yet classic manner. Entitled 'The Art of Celebration,' the campaign stars Combs with his modern interpretation of the 'Rat Pack' celebrating with CIROC as Frank Sinatra's renowned 'Come Fly With Me' plays throughout."

Originality is like Kryptonite to Diddy; creativity is his bete noir. He is entirely derivative, even jumping onto the reality show craze when it had already lost its luster. Just as he pimped himself with the tenacity of a tick onto the ass of far more talented musicians, he is now a fearless follower of trends, struggling, always, to be the second one at the party to make his cut. Is it just The Corsair or does the idea of Diddy reprising The Rat Pack suggest the same "sophistication" of pornography trying to reprise the latest box office smash using smarmy double entendres? The Rat Pack was a stylistic peak. Leave it alone to settle into the minds of American men and women and create your own -- oh yeah, he can't.