He shakes his head and fidgets in his seat during testimony, passes notes to his lawyers and blows kisses to his mother in the courtroom gallery. Sometimes Sean Combs pulls out chairs for the women on his legal team.
His federal trial has drawn worldwide attention, with minute-by-minute coverage from the press and social media influencers who broadcast live updates from the street outside U.S. District Court in Lower Manhattan.
But since federal courts bar cameras, Mr. Combs’s demeanor during the most critical eight weeks of his life — Does he smile? Does he seem mad, nervous, sad? — has been largely outside public view, captured only by the sketches of courtroom artists.
For weeks now, Mr. Combs, who is facing sex-trafficking and racketeering conspiracy charges that could put him in prison for the rest of his life, has been an attentive and largely easygoing presence in the courtroom. His expressions of disagreement with witnesses have been subdued, showing no inkling of the volcanic, violent temper often described in testimony.
When George Kaplan, a former assistant, described the pace of working for Mr. Combs as “almost like drinking from a fire hose,” the mogul nodded in approval. When another assistant, using the pseudonym Mia, said she would be punished if she did not do “everything that he told me to do,” he just scoffed and shook his head.
It is an understated posture for a man whose profile as a chart-topping producer, rapper, reality-TV star and gossip-page fixture was larger than life, giving rise to the multitude of nicknames — Puff Daddy, Diddy and Love — by which he has been known.
Mr. Combs has pleaded not guilty to the charges, and his lawyers have strongly denied the central allegations of the case, that he coerced at least two women into drug-fueled sex marathons with male prostitutes and used bodyguards and other employees as part of a “criminal enterprise” to facilitate and cover up the abuse.
On trial days, Mr. Combs, 55, arrives each morning from the Brooklyn detention facility where he has been held since his arrest in September. Officers from the U.S. Marshals Service bring him into the courtroom between 8:30 and 9 a.m., and he often hugs a few of his nine lawyers and gazes at the attendees in the hushed, high-ceilinged room.
His mother, sister and three adult sons are frequently, though not always, in attendance. They sit in benches near the front of the court gallery and Mr. Combs smiles at them from the defense table, at times flashing heart signs with his hands.
Without access to dye, Mr. Combs’s hair has been turning ashen white. He wears not the designer suits and Sean John-branded street gear familiar to his fans, but a rotating wardrobe of five sweaters, five button-down shirts, five pairs of pants, socks and two pairs of shoes without laces.
Laurie L. Levenson, a professor of criminal law at Loyola Law School in Los Angeles who has written about defendants’ demeanor and appearance at trial, said a dressed-down look might help him gain favor with the jury.
“The testimony is portraying him as somebody totally outside the norms,” she said. “So to the extent that even his dress or behavior keeps him within whatever we think the norms of behavior are, that might work to his advantage.”
At times, Mr. Combs makes eye contact with jurors. Once, while lawyers were conferring with the judge, Mr. Combs rubbed his hands together to keep warm in what can be a chilly courtroom. Then he looked to his right to see a male juror rubbing his arms. “Cold,” Mr. Combs mouthed with a grin; the juror nodded and smiled.
Some of his reactions appear more open to interpretation. He fidgets in his seat, stretches side to side. When the jury was shown images of the interior of a Porsche, charred by a Molotov cocktail in a 40-ounce malt-liquor bottle — which the rapper Kid Cudi said he believed Mr. Combs was responsible for — Mr. Combs yawned.
Vincent M. Southerland, an associate professor at New York University Law School, said that absent testimony from a defendant, jurors may pay attention to “any signal that they can, to get a sense of who they should believe, why they should believe them, what story, what narrative they should believe.”
But Professor Levenson, of Loyola, cautioned that stray reactions may not always be what they seem. “This could be all strategic,” she said. “But you’ve got to be careful,” she added, “because a yawn from a defendant who’s in custody could be they’re just getting them up really early to bring them to the court.”
A spokeswoman for Mr. Combs declined to comment.
Mr. Combs seems most engaged when communicating with his legal team, and he appears to be taking an active role in his defense. He is frequently seated near Marc Agnifilo and Teny Geragos, who have represented him on the case since early in the government’s investigation. He often confers with them, and writes dozens of sticky notes, which sometimes make their way to whichever of his lawyers is questioning a witness.
In fuchsias, teals, neon greens and yellows, the brightly colored notes contrast with the muted hues of his clothes.
After Emily A. Johnson, a prosecutor, completed her redirect questioning of Kid Cudi, whose real name is Scott Mescudi, the judge, Arun Subramanian, asked Brian Steel, another of the mogul’s lawyers, whether the defense had any further questions for that witness.
Mr. Steel turned and spoke quietly to Mr. Combs, who shook his head. “No,” the lawyer answered.
After Capricorn Clark, another aide, testified that she was forced to take a lie-detector test over stolen jewelry, and was told that if she failed she would be thrown “in the East River,” Mr. Combs and Mr. Agnifilo murmured briefly. Then the lawyer raised an objection. In a sidebar with the judge, out of the presence of the jury, Mr. Agnifilo said there was no indication Mr. Combs was involved. Judge Subramanian answered, “When we addressed this before the jury came in, why didn’t you mention any of this?”
Charlucci Finney, who has worked in the music industry for decades and calls himself Mr. Combs’s “godbrother,” has attended the trial every day, often arriving at the same time as members of Mr. Combs’s family. He can be seen speaking to Mr. Combs on breaks, and said he continues to keep in touch with the mogul both inside and outside the courtroom.
Mr. Finney fully endorsed the notion that Mr. Combs has been actively engaged in his defense.
“He’s always been a C.E.O.,” Mr. Finney said in a phone interview. “He’s a C.E.O. of his case as well.”
Ben Sisario, a reporter covering music and the music industry, has been writing for The Times for more than 20 years.
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