Aubrey O’Day Has Entered Her ‘Diddy’s Prison Has Thai Massages’ Era
The former Danity Kane singer took aim at reports of Sean Combs’ alleged high-roller jail setup — and delivered one extremely online punchline about whiskey, pizza, Instagram and baby oil.
Aubrey O’Day is not letting Sean “Diddy” Combs enjoy a quiet prison era — or, at least, she is not letting the alleged amenities go unmocked.
During an interview with TMZ on Monday, October 5, the former Danity Kane singer was asked about reports that Combs had been living unusually comfortably behind bars. Her response arrived with the polished timing of someone who has spent years watching the music industry turn chaos into content.
“He is enjoying it, huh,” O’Day quipped.
Then she offered her imagined room-service menu: “He’s got whiskey, pizza, pasta, and Thai massages. He’s got Instagram.”
And because this is the Diddy news cycle, no joke was going to exit the building without a baby-oil reference. O’Day added that Combs was involved in “freak-offs” behind bars and said, “I’m sure they’re giving him plenty of baby oil.”
The alleged prison lifestyle is now its own celebrity subplot
O’Day’s comments came after an NBC News report alleged that Combs had spent thousands of dollars a month maintaining a high-roller lifestyle while incarcerated. According to the report, people were allegedly cooking and cleaning for him, making his bed, doing his laundry and providing Chinese-style massages.
That is a spectacularly glossy image to attach to prison, which is precisely why the story has taken on a life of its own. The question of Combs’ day-to-day conditions has become a strange side plot to the much larger criminal case: part celebrity scandal, part luxury-service exposé, part internet improv exercise.
Combs’ spokesperson pushed back on the framing, telling Us Weekly that the rapper is focused on serving his sentence and awaiting the court’s decision on his appeal. The spokesperson also said the media’s fascination with the “mundane detail” of Combs’ prison life had become its own spectacle, adding that the team would not respond to every sarcastic remark or treat jokes and recycled allegations as news.
That statement did not exactly lower the temperature. TMZ later reported that Combs was returning to solitary confinement at FCI Fort Dix in New Jersey after the alleged pampered stay drew attention.
O’Day and Diddy have a long, complicated pop-culture history
O’Day is not a random commentator parachuting into the story for a viral sound bite. Combs brought her into Danity Kane during the third season of Making the Band, the reality competition series that turned the construction of a girl group into a full-contact spectator sport.
Danity Kane became one of the most recognizable acts to emerge from the show, with O’Day, Dawn Richard, Shannon Bex, Aundrea Fimbres and D. Woods forming the group’s best-known lineup. The band’s relationship with Combs was never exactly a tranquil workplace sitcom. O’Day was eventually fired from Danity Kane in 2008, and years later she continued to speak publicly about her experience under his leadership.
In the 2025 Netflix documentary Sean Combs: The Reckoning, O’Day alleged that Combs sent her sexually explicit emails, including images of his penis. She said she “absolutely felt” that she had been fired for not participating sexually. Combs has denied those allegations.
That history gives her latest comments a particular edge. O’Day is not simply making a joke about a celebrity in the news; she is taking a public swipe at a former boss whose influence helped launch her career and whose behavior she has described as deeply troubling. The result is less “random celebrity reaction” and more “former employee has thoughts about the executive’s unexpected resort package.”
The joke lands because the whole saga is already surreal
Combs was arrested in September 2024 and charged with sex trafficking, racketeering conspiracy and transportation to engage in prostitution. He pleaded not guilty and denied the charges. The source reports that he was later convicted on two counts of transportation for prostitution and acquitted of other charges, receiving a four-year sentence in September 2025.
O’Day had already reacted publicly to the verdict, sharing an Instagram video of CNN journalists revealing the outcome. In the clip, she said the result made her “physically ill” and that she felt like she was going to vomit. After his sentencing, she issued a warning to aspiring artists, framing her experience as a cautionary reminder about the power imbalance between young performers and the people controlling their careers.
She has also addressed an allegation featured in the Netflix documentary that she was sexually assaulted in 2005. O’Day said she had no recollection of the alleged incident and told CBS Mornings that she wanted to understand whether the person making the claim had accurately identified her. Combs’ spokesperson categorically denied the allegation and said he had never sexually assaulted anyone.
So when O’Day jokes about whiskey, Thai massages and baby oil, the punchline arrives with years of context attached. It is funny in the sharp, bleak way celebrity commentary can be funny when the person speaking has already spent a long time trying to explain what it was like inside the machine.
There is also something unmistakably 2025 about the spectacle: a major criminal case, a prison-luxury report, a former reality-TV star turned outspoken critic, and Instagram somehow appearing on the alleged amenities list. The internet has spent months turning every new detail of the Combs saga into a new episode. O’Day simply supplied the most meme-ready episode title yet.
Whether the alleged perks were as extravagant as reported remains contested by Combs’ team. But the cultural image is already locked in: Diddy behind bars, apparently surrounded by pasta, massages and social media access, while Aubrey O’Day stands outside the frame asking the only question the group chat was always going to ask.
Martha Stewart Was Making $65 Million a Year From Kmart, Which Is the Most Martha Stewart Sentence Ever
Before influencer gifting, there was Martha Stewart turning dish towels, cookware and home goods into a royalty empire big enough to bankroll an entire media universe.
Martha Stewart did not merely have a Kmart collaboration. She had a Kmart empire.
During an appearance on the Other People’s Business MasterClass podcast, Stewart casually revealed that her Martha Stewart Everyday deal with the retailer once generated $65 million a year in royalties. Not $65 million in sales. Not $65 million in one especially blessed holiday quarter. Royalties. Her cut.
“I was clearing $65 million a year in royalties,” Stewart said, explaining that the brand was selling close to $2 billion worth of merchandise. “That’s a lot of money.” It is also a lot of money to say in the same tone one might use to discuss a successful batch of lemon bars.
The Kmart deal was not a side hustle. It was the engine.
The revelation rewrites the mental picture of Stewart’s 1990s business life. This was not a lifestyle celebrity attaching her name to a few tasteful products and collecting a check. The Kmart arrangement became the financial machinery behind everything else: her magazine, her broader business development and the polished domestic universe she was building piece by piece.
Stewart described the royalties as funding “my whole development of my magazine and the whole business.” In other words, the beige-and-sage Martha Stewart world was not just aesthetically coherent. It was exceptionally well capitalized.
That is the part of the story that feels especially delicious now. Before creators were turning link-in-bio recommendations into affiliate revenue, Stewart had already figured out the most powerful version of personal branding: make people want your taste, then give them an affordable way to buy it.
Martha Stewart Everyday translated her authority into the mass market. The woman who could make a table setting feel like a moral achievement was suddenly selling the components at Kmart. The strategy was simple, but the scale was enormous: if shoppers could not live like Martha, they could at least buy the Martha-approved towels, sheets, cookware and seasonal decorations.
She went from physically exhausted caterer to royalty machine.
Stewart was also candid about the less glamorous chapter before the big retail money. Before Kmart, she said, she was grossing a little more than $1 million from her catering business. That sounds enormous until she adds the crucial detail: she was “killing myself physically,” while also carrying the cost of a large staff.
That distinction is the difference between being famous for working hard and building a business that works without requiring your body to be everywhere at once. Catering paid her. Licensing scaled her.
Stewart’s career has always depended on making labor look effortless: the perfect pie crust, the immaculate garden, the party that appears to have assembled itself while everyone else was asleep. Her financial story follows the same blueprint. First came the punishing hands-on work. Then came the system that allowed her name, taste and standards to travel without her personally chopping every onion.
There is something almost comically on-brand about her describing a massive royalty haul as “an amazing thing” and then immediately using it to explain business infrastructure. Even her money story arrives arranged on a serving platter.
The royalty era is apparently over. Long live the fashion-show wardrobe.
Stewart also offered a blunt assessment of the current celebrity economy: the royalty rates are not what they used to be. She said deals now can pay around 3 percent of wholesale, with companies offering smaller and smaller percentages.
That is a particularly Martha way to describe the modern creator economy. The old model was: build a brand, license the brand, collect a percentage of everything sold. The new model is often: attend the event, post the product, accept a gift bag large enough to require its own luggage.
Stewart knows this because she participates in it. She said she can be invited to a fashion show and receive $40,000 worth of clothes simply for showing up. “That’s a lot of money,” she noted. “Just to show up.” Then came the line that tells you she has no intention of pretending this is a hardship: “I love that gig.”
Honestly, same. If a fashion house wants to send Martha Stewart $40,000 worth of clothes, the correct response is not a think piece. It is a tasteful thank-you note and perhaps a very well-lit Instagram carousel.
The contrast is striking. In the 1990s, Stewart’s name could generate tens of millions in direct royalties through a mass retail deal. Today, even a celebrity of her stature may be compensated through clothes, access and visibility rather than a giant percentage of product sales. The money has not vanished; it has become more diffuse, more performative and much easier to disguise as a glamorous afternoon.
Martha’s real flex is that she made domesticity look like an asset class.
Celebrity pay stories usually focus on actors’ movie salaries, television contracts or reality-show checks. Stewart’s number is more revealing because it comes from something less traditionally flashy: household goods.
She built an empire around the idea that domestic life could be elevated, monetized and made aspirational without losing its practical edge. Then she attached that idea to products people could actually put in their homes. The genius was not simply getting paid to endorse a lifestyle. It was turning the lifestyle itself into an enormous shelf of merchandise.
That $65 million annual figure is therefore more than a wild celebrity payday. It is a snapshot of the moment when a personality became a retail ecosystem. Martha was not just selling a brand. She was selling the feeling that your home, your dinner party and your holiday table could be brought under control with the right purchase.
And now, decades later, she is explaining the whole mechanism with the calm confidence of someone who has already done the math, paid the staff and found a better way to arrange the flowers.
Michael Douglas’ Golden Globes Blowup With Julia Roberts Was Peak Old Hollywood Chaos
In his new memoir, the Wall Street star revisits the night a drunken bar-side confrontation nearly derailed Flatliners — then admits Julia Roberts forgave him just enough to finish the movie.
There are tense celebrity encounters, and then there is Michael Douglas telling Julia Roberts to take her Golden Globe and put it somewhere anatomically unprintable.
In his new memoir, One Hell of a Ride, the actor and producer revisits a Golden Globes party in the early 1990s where a supposedly innocent moment involving Roberts and his then-13-year-old son, Cameron, spiraled into one of those very Hollywood arguments that begins beside a bar and ends with an entire movie hanging in the balance.
Douglas says he was working as a producer on Flatliners, the 1990 supernatural thriller starring Roberts and Kiefer Sutherland, when he saw Roberts with his son. According to the passage quoted by E! News, Roberts had her arm around Cameron and was “kind of nuzzling him.” Douglas, who shares Cameron with ex-wife Diandra Luker, wrote that his son looked “stunned” in the moment — while also acknowledging the crucial detail that he was “pretty drunk.”
What followed was less a carefully calibrated parental intervention than a full-volume Hollywood detonation. “Take your hands off my son and take that Golden Globe and stick it where the sun don’t shine,” Douglas recalled saying.
The Morning After Was Worse Than the Party
The bar-side confrontation might have remained a fuzzy awards-season anecdote if Douglas’ producing partner had not called him the next morning. That was when, he says, the consequences arrived with daylight and a hangover: Douglas realized he had potentially picked a fight with one of the most in-demand young actresses in the business while actively making a film with her.
Roberts had won her first Golden Globe in 1990 for her supporting role in Steel Magnolias. By the time of the incident, she was already Hollywood’s reigning combination of megawatt smile, box-office pull and apparently very little patience for anyone making a dinner-party scene around her trophy.
Douglas writes that he sent roses, then apologized to Roberts in person — with Sutherland, her fiancé at the time, also present. The apology apparently did enough to keep the production moving, but not enough to restore the friendship. “Luckily, they forgave me enough to get through that and finish the picture,” Douglas writes. “I remained friends with Kiefer. Julia, not so much.”
That final sentence has the immaculate sting of a man who knows exactly where the story lands. Not “we laughed about it later.” Not “all was forgiven.” Just: the movie got made, Sutherland stayed in his orbit, and Roberts apparently filed the evening under people I can work with but do not need at brunch.
Flatliners Was Already a Pressure Cooker
The timing makes the story especially juicy. Flatliners was not some disposable weekend shoot. The film put Roberts alongside Sutherland, Kevin Bacon, William Baldwin and Oliver Platt in a glossy, high-concept thriller about medical students experimenting with near-death experiences. It was exactly the kind of star-packed project where everyone’s professional relationships mattered — and where one ugly party moment could follow a production back to set.
Roberts and Sutherland were also one of the era’s most visible young Hollywood couples. Their engagement ended before their planned 1991 wedding, but at the time of Douglas’ confrontation, Sutherland was still Roberts’ fiancé and her co-star. Douglas’ account places the apology in front of him, turning an already awkward exchange into something with the social geometry of a particularly brutal dinner party: offended producer, famous actress, protective fiancé, flowers on the way.
The memoir version is also pure Douglas: candid, self-incriminating and extremely aware that the anecdote sounds worse when recited sober. He does not present himself as the hero of the story. He presents himself as a successful older Hollywood figure who got drunk, misread a moment and then had to repair the damage before an expensive film collapsed into personal fallout.
Then There’s the Kathleen Turner Chapter
The Roberts story is only one of the memoir’s major Hollywood confessions. Douglas also writes about his affair with Kathleen Turner during the making of 1984’s Romancing the Stone, while he was still married to Luker.
According to E! News’ account of the book, the relationship ended after Luker visited the set with their son. Douglas says the sight of his family changed his priorities, though he also admits that returning to his marriage did not repair what had already broken. “I did it for Cameron, but we shouldn’t have gotten back together,” he writes. “After that first split it was never the same between us ever again.”
That confession gives the Roberts episode a larger place in Douglas’ memoir. These are not polished stories about a career spent gliding from one glamorous room to the next. They are stories about famous people behaving badly, making choices under pressure and then discovering that charm is not always a universal solvent.
Douglas and Turner eventually worked together again on 1985’s The Jewel of the Nile, the sequel to Romancing the Stone. He says they rebuilt their professional relationship by revising the script together, trading pages, negotiating lines and laughing at scenes. In his telling, the collaboration helped them reach “solid ground” again — a much tidier ending than the Roberts situation, where the professional bridge survived but the personal one apparently never fully reopened.
And that may be the most revealing detail in the whole Golden Globes story. Hollywood loves a comeback, a reconciliation and a glamorous forgiveness arc. But sometimes the final act is simply two stars finishing the movie, collecting the paycheck and never becoming friends again. Julia Roberts did not need to turn the incident into a public feud for it to become legendary. Michael Douglas has now done that part for her, decades later, with a memoir, a memorable insult and one very expensive bouquet of roses.