Crossing the threshold of Sean Combs’s Los Angeles home is an immersive experience. The first level is almost entirely glass on two sides; you can see the Pacific from every corner. As you stand at the center of the great room with all the glass doors open to the temperate climate, an infinity pool in front of you bleeds into the edges of the ocean and the sky. There is a curated Cîroc collection to the right and artfully framed family photos to the left. Within moments of entering, a member of his staff offers you a drink and sets out a lovely spread of hors d’oeuvres. A chef waits for you to appear hungry. Music streams overhead, first from Nigeria’s Afrobeat pioneer Fela Kuti, then Michael Jackson’s Off the Wall album. I dub the playlist “Global Black Dopeness” in my mind for how it broadcasts the man who lives here. As I wait for Combs to join us, a steady flow of casually dressed people attend to my comfort. The hospitality is both overt and inconspicuous. You will enjoy yourself here or someone will die trying.