The Flywheel of Bad Behavior

An audio version of this essay is available on Substack here.

Inertia (noun): The property of a body that resists any change to its uniform motion; equivalent to its mass. - Encyclopedia Britannica

Sean Combs is giving a masterclass in the art of total brand destruction. What took 30 years to carefully assemble has suffered a rapid unscheduled disassembly in just a few weeks of testimony. The alpha silverback who was swimming with women turns out to be voyeuristic cuck ogling from the corner, … with severe anger issues. Shakespearean in its tragedy.

The Diddy Circus was built on three rings of over-indulgence, unaccountability, and a fatally-inflated sense of self. It took just one errant spark – the infamous hotel hallway beatdown – to set the that big tent aflame. Still, none of us are saints, at least none in my crowd. Where some see a morality play, I see a cautionary tale. Be humble and play small ball with one’s peccadillos.

Flywheels operate on the principles of inertial energy and Combs got caught in a big flywheel of bad behavior. The more mass they carry and faster they spin, the greater energy is required to slow them down. His was a truly mighty mass at hypersonic velocity. Too much money paired with too little introspection can be a lethal cocktail. The Brooklyn Jail is a poor place to ponder the physics of life. But I’m guessing he’s quickly up to speed on the laws of personal inertial energy.

Flywheels and the gyroscopic moment: MITCalc

We’ve all been on that wheel, just not with P mass at Diddy spin. Some of our flywheels can be as innocuous as a bowl of M&Ms with Netflix. Once you get started; damn, where did all those go? Some can be more destructive, like a bad gambling habit or substance issues. Okay, just an hour at the slots or a single pint of beer, then I’m out of here. Good luck with that.

I’ve stopped kidding myself with the one-and-I’m-done fantasy when out with good friends. If I really need to avoid that flywheel, then I really need to avoid those friends, at least for that evening. This works, mostly. Depends on the time of day and month of year. It’s summer in Provence. You try staying indoors.

I have no sympathy for Combs, but neither do I delight in his demise. Mostly I wonder why a man of his stature didn’t have better friends or minders. Dude, just wind it back a bit. A few years ago I was suffering through an unhealthy relationship and embarrassing myself badly. My inner circle lured me to O’Sullivan’s Pub one evening, sat me down and suggested, gently but firmly, that I pull my shit together. I did. God bless them.

Combs will be pardoned by our Grifter in Chief. With an estimated net worth of $1 billion, he has more than enough for the presidential pay-to-play. But he’s done. That bad boy alpha is a masturbating beta. The confident ladies’ man is just another jealous wife beater. The golden glow has turned to coal dust. Combs may again vacation on Turks & Caicos or Saint Tropez in a mega-yacht, but every stroll through town will draw the stares of disgust he’ll understand well: fucking loser. Money can buy extravagance and Cristal champagne, but not respect, and definitely not self-respect. Spin your flywheels with care.