
Nestled in a bustling downtown Manhattan side street, where celebrities and aspiring hopefuls vied for entry to the late-night bash that echoed into the early hours of 3 a.m., I found myself welcomed as the editor-in-chief of Honey, a prestigious urban women’s magazine. The crowd, an eclectic blend of artists, industry leaders, fashion designers, actors, athletes, entrepreneurs, and models, lounged comfortably in their luxurious red leather booths. Intermittent bursts of shimmering light accentuated the corners of this dimly lit, seductive space as waitresses in sleek black uniforms ignited sparklers and served Cristal to the many VIPs scattered around. The DJ spun hit after hit of hip-hop, keeping me glued to the dance floor for hours. Then, unexpectedly, the music softened, and our host, Puff Daddy (or Diddy or Love or Sean Combs, take your pick), climbed onto a table with a microphone.