Editor’s note: This story was originally published on July 1, 2025. On July 2, a jury convicted Sean “Diddy” Combs of transporting people for prostitution. In a mixed verdict, jurors also acquitted Combs on more serious charges of sex-trafficking and racketeering conspiracy.
On a humid Saturday evening, a small audience gathered at the Public Theater to watch D. Woods, a former member of the late-aughts girl group Danity Kane, stage a one-woman show. The venue wasn’t sold out, but among the women, couples, and two men seated around the stage’s perimeter were diehard fans of the artist, whose real name is Wanita Denise Woodgett; one woman proudly boasted that she bought ten tickets for her friends.
The day before, just over a mile away at the federal courthouse in Manhattan, a lawyer for Sean “Diddy” Combs, who’d discovered D. Woods and the rest of the group on the MTV reality show Making the Band, had given his closing argument to defend the hip-hop mogul against sex-trafficking charges — including accusations that he drugged multiple women and forced them into marathon sex parties he called “Freak Offs.” “I wonder, did anything transpire?” one woman sitting at a candlelit table with three friends asked me before showtime. “Is there something she would like to share?”
Anyone who bought a ticket hoping for an account of what went down between Combs and Danity Kane would have been disappointed. The show, titled My Living Room Self, was more of a general coming-of-age-in-the-industry story: Woods sang and danced as her childhood self playing the role of Pinocchio in a school recital before transforming into a hard-partying adult. She carried an empty bottle of Don Julio through the audience shouting “shots!” and shook her ass in see-through booty shorts, an audience of masked men projected onto a screen behind her. Later, she danced as if fighting an invisible opponent, then fell still while audio played of Combs’s former bodyguard claiming that his boss said he planned to drug and pimp out the Danity Kane girls. The show’s devices weren’t always subtle, like when an “inner voice” on the screen told Woods to “face some of those ugly truths” and look inward. The audience, clearly moved, gave her a standing ovation.
A few days before the show, I met D. Woods in a New Jersey hotel room, where she opened up about the painful experiences with Combs and Danity Kane that she processed through her performance. (Lawyers for Combs, who’s denied all criminal and civil allegations against him, did not respond to a request for comment). Tears streamed down her face as she spoke about feeling suicidal after Combs fired her from the group in 2008 and she struggled to make music. Woods has not been following her former boss’s criminal trial, but no matter the outcome, she’s not likely to celebrate. As she put it: “I’m not sure a guilty verdict would heal me.”
On auditioning for Making the Band:
I had danced for different artists like Bow Wow, Snoop Dogg, and LeToya Luckett from Destiny’s Child. I was at NYU and I would just go to auditions when I wasn’t in class. A producer I was working with persuaded me to try out for Making the Band. I didn’t think I was going to be chosen for the group. I didn’t think Puff liked my type. I’m curvy and I have a very eclectic kind of style. I didn’t look like the girls that I saw him with: J.Lo, Naomi Campbell, Cassie, caramel complexions and straight hair parted down the middle. I wasn’t like, God, I hope I get it, but I wasn’t going to be made a fool of. Who wouldn’t want the approval of somebody like him? I grew up on his music. I told him, “You’re like a father figure.” He said, “Don’t say that, baby girl. I could be more of a big brother.” There was already enough out there about his reputation. I knew about the so-called “Bad Boy curse,” where an artist might be hot for a minute, but once Puff was through with you, it’s over. I just thought, It can’t be that bad. It’s not going to happen to me.
On filming the show:
The producers would never tell us what we were walking into. We didn’t know who we’d be seeing or the songs we’d be singing until we got to the studio and they handed us a lyric sheet. We didn’t know if we were going to be yelled at or if they were going to say, “Here are gifts.” We had no input, at least on the first album. Diddy only really came around when the cameras were rolling or when it was some big, bad, scary moment. He would constantly tell us things like, “Y’all ain’t nothing but a tax write-off to me.” “Y’all ain’t worth the shit in the bottom of my shoes.” I had to get in between him and Aubrey O’Day a couple of times during screaming matches when he was threatening to kick her out of the group. He wanted us to call him “Daddy” at one point, and I said, “Absolutely not.”
On being body-shamed by Diddy:
In 2006, during week one of the show, he called me out in front of everyone about my body. We were doing a performance for NBA All-Star weekend and the stylists didn’t have my size. All the clothes were zeroes, maybe twos. They bring us in front of this little camera on Skype, and Puff is looking at us. [Editor’s note: In this episode, Diddy tells Woods, “What’s your stomach looking like? You feeling a little thick? You’re like a burger away.”] Afterwards, the producers were like, “You don’t really have a struggle with anything else, so we just want the audience to relate to you.” I was like, “You don’t have to create a body issue with me.”
From that point on, Puff would just make little throwaway comments, like, “Maybe lose five, ten more pounds.” I would have to do extra workouts by myself outside of the ones with the other girls. One time he pulled me into the office to evaluate me and was like, “Damn, what are you doing? Running on the treadmill with weights?” I’m muscular. I remember trying to explain to him, “If you really want me to slim down, I probably shouldn’t run. That’s just going to build my legs up.”
On the time Diddy allegedly threatened her:
We were promoting our first album and had a week off. My phone rang and it was Harve Pierre, who I had kind of a cool relationship with. I’m like, “Hey, what’s up, Harve?” and he’s like, “I got Puff on the line.” Click. Then he just starts screaming at me. He’s in his irate mode, saying, “Don’t say ‘No’ to me!” I didn’t know what he was talking about. I tried to use calm, soothing tones. It turns out he wanted us to perform at an NFL kickoff while we were off, and the other girls had said no. “This ain’t what you want to do, baby girl,” he said. “I shelve people for less than this. I know where you live.” I was at my mama’s house in Austell, Georgia. I was like, Does he have surveillance? When I got off the phone, I immediately called a lawyer I knew and said, “Get me out of this contract, please.” He had already told me, “This is the worst contract I’ve ever seen in my life.” I just didn’t see things getting any better. But the lawyer said, “If he doesn’t initiate, it’s going to be really hard.”
On being fired from Danity Kane:
I was genuinely gut-punched. He kicked Aubrey out first, and then he turned to me and said, “I hear you ain’t so happy here either. Matter of fact, you can go too.” I called my lawyer, who said that now, Puff had verbally terminated the terms of our agreement on-camera. At first, I felt like people were mad at me because they thought I broke up their favorite band. The way it was depicted on MTV, Aubrey and I were doing these extracurricular, self-indulgent things and not caring about the group effort. A lot of people were like, “You just walked out. You looked like it didn’t even matter to you.”
I didn’t know who I could trust. Mase called and said, “So I heard you got off your contract. How’d you do that?” I didn’t have his number saved and I didn’t know who I was really talking to. I’ve had meetings with powerful and influential people where they ask, “What’s your relationship like with Puff now?” I was looking for management and after having a good conversation with someone, they stopped answering me. I worried about Puff’s affiliations with producers and directors. I’ve been about to do a monologue, and a casting director would say, “What was it like working with P. Diddy?”
On struggling with her mental health:
By 2012, I was suicidal. By 2017, I had planned it out. My show was originally called Trouble in Paradise, because I had images of me on these beaches. I bought a one-way ticket to Cuba and didn’t intend to return. I still have some of my suicide notes. I want to remember exactly what I was thinking and feeling. One of my letters was something like, “It seems no matter what I give, nobody’s interested. They just want Danity Kane or they’ve written me off. I’m a has-been. I’m a one-hit wonder.”
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I perform my song “Feel Good” in the show. “I know the shit I’ve been into lately / It ain’t right, but how can you blame me? / That’s how I get by / And you never stop to ask me how I’m doing / You never look me in my eyes.” I was trying to have a brave face. Music and performing were the only things I looked forward to, but even that was getting hard because there were so many roadblocks. Seeing Puff on TV and hearing his voice was triggering. I can’t look at his face. He was part of another competition show in 2018 called The Four. A friend of mine was on it. I wanted to support her, but I couldn’t watch it. I couldn’t hear him talk to her the way I heard him talk to me.
On living in the shadow of Danity Kane:
I’ll post something about an artistic project and the comments are like, “Y’all need to just let bygones be bygones and give the fans that third album that we deserve.” I’m like, “Do you think I want to be in the same room with them?” I was doing Kandi Burruss’s show A Mother’s Love in 2013, right around the time that Danity Kane attempted to do a reunion. They were all in L.A. and I was not, so it became a story of, “Why isn’t D. Woods there?” I was just like, “I’m doing my own thing. I’m not going to stop other projects to go and eat at P.F. Chang’s with y’all.”
The only person I really talk to is Aubrey. We go in and out of being in contact with each other, but it is painful. There’s too much between us. I’ve done so much more since Danity Kane that should be celebrated and recognized. I was recently on tour with Teddy Riley, and people say, “You’re just a backup dancer now.” I was having the time of my life. But in some people’s mind, Danity Kane is the best thing that I’m ever going to do.
On not being paid fairly for her work:
Our first album was No. 1 and it hit certified platinum. But we never saw that money. How would you feel if you went into your job at Verizon Wireless and you didn’t get paid for 19 years? In 2021, I got paperwork from Bad Boy that would give me back the publishing rights to Danity Kane songs. I thought, Maybe Puff is turning over a new leaf. When I read the agreement, there was also an NDA. It was silencing in every way, shape, and form. I had already started working on my show and thought, This is my story. This is my experience. It’s my understanding that Aubrey and I were the only two Danity Kane members who did not sign. Right before Cassie’s lawsuit dropped, in 2023, we received our first royalty check. I didn’t even want to ask why. It was for $8,000. That’s nothing compared to what we might’ve been making had we been getting paid from 2006–08. People walk up to me on the street and talk about how they’re still playing our music when they’re in the gym. I have tried to get my money for years. At a certain point, I have to accept the fact that I made a very expensive mixtape that I gave away for free.
On hearing about Cassie’s lawsuit:
When the New York Times published Cassie’s lawsuit, I was getting so many phone calls. My management at the time were getting calls from ABC News and TMZ. My sister was getting phone calls. I was having physical reactions to things resurfacing. I had knots in my stomach and paranoia. I was having muscle spasms in my neck, my lower back, and legs. I was in my apartment and André 3000’s flute album had come out. I said, I’m just going to turn my phone off and listen to the music. The guy I was dating couldn’t deal with it. He ghosted me. I’m over here in my apartment, not sure if someone’s going to come knocking on my door.
On Dawn Richard’s sexual-assault allegations against Diddy:
I had no idea. I thought Dawn turned on me — it felt like she was trying to eliminate me and put herself front and center. I didn’t understand why. I pulled her to the side one time and said, “If you need to tell me, ‘I hate your guts,’ get it off your chest. As the two Black women, they want us to be against each other. It’s us against them. They’re going to chew us up and spit us out.” Looking back, she was probably in survival mode. I was surprised she spoke out, but I wasn’t surprised to hear the allegations. Even with Cassie, I wasn’t surprised. I believe he’s capable of that. I’ve seen how he’s intimidated a room. I’ve seen him throw chairs at people.
On how My Living Room Self came together:
In 2012, I was trying to make an album that was introspective. I was like, This is how I really feel, but I don’t know if anybody wants to hear it. Most people thought, What do you have to complain about? You’re D. Woods. You had it good. And I got stuck. I decided to focus on acting gigs instead. In 2018, I moved back to New York, and the next year, I landed a role in the Off Broadway play for colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf. The process of being so vulnerable onstage gave me the courage to write this show. So during the pandemic, when everybody had time, I worked on creating. I knew it was bigger than just an album. I had visuals and monologues that I had been sitting on since 2012. I’ve performed a few versions of it since 2021. I was trying to make the show a bit more universal, for anyone going through high-functioning depression. When that news came out about Cassie’s lawsuit, I was like, “I’ve been trying to tell y’all, but you didn’t want to believe me.” Now, maybe my experience can be accepted.
On working through painful memories:
One song in the show is called “Goldmine,” about how Black men in the industry deal with Black women. It was a double entendre. I’m sitting on a gold mine, but they don’t want me to know my own worth. I’m also sitting on a gold mine, literally. They’re just staring at my ass. As women, we have to leave the possibility open. I cannot tell you that there’s no chance in hell that you are going to sleep with me, because I actually want us to do business. You need to have the illusion.
I came up with this video concept of one single shot that pans out to show me standing on an auction block, painted in gold, surrounded by men with masks on. At the end, I wake up in my bed, confused. I have other projects with a character who has amnesia and keeps waking up. I’ve been wondering, is there something that I don’t remember? What was my subconscious trying to communicate to me? I declined an invitation to a white party, but my body is reacting to hearing stories of women being drugged. I was around those same people. I don’t know if I was always safe. We had sleep deprivation. We were in a lot of hotels. I had bad, gut feelings. As women, we’re taught to second-guess ourselves for the sake of seeming polite and not bruising a man’s ego. A former bodyguard did an interview about how Puff’s intention was to get us strung out on drugs and pimp us out. It’s a very difficult thing to consider.
On performing during Diddy’s trial:
On the one hand, I feel like it’s God’s timing. On the other hand, I don’t want people thinking I’m being opportunistic. I’ve been working on this for ten-ish years. I’ve been using my art to process my experience without even knowing what I’m processing. My subconscious has been telling me to write a song about it. I’m not intentionally saying, “I’m going to talk about him.” In a perfect world, I would be doing a whole other show that would showcase me.
I can’t wait until I am on the other side of all this. Maybe this is what I need to do to write a new experience. I just don’t want to be in fear of his retaliation. We’re talking in this hotel instead of my home because I don’t know what he’s capable of. I haven’t even been following the trial. I don’t want to be disappointed. I’m not sure a guilty verdict will heal me. That will happen when I sit down to talk about a project I’m doing, and there isn’t a question about Puff.
This interview has been condensed and lightly edited for clarity.
