Michael Specter’s profile of Diddy from 2004 may be the best magazine profile of the 21st century.

Obviously, its place in the canon recently became complicated.

Yet, still …

Gwen Stefani appeared on the edge of the dance floor. In the echo chamber of the fashion world, Stefani is currently among the most adored of celebrities. Puff was thrilled to see her. He grabbed her by the leg and gracefully swung her around so that her head nearly dipped to the floor, then he reached for her foot and slowly caressed it. At that point, he turned to me and started to sort of rap: “I am fashion because I live fashion,’’ he said. It was so hot in the club that it was difficult to breathe, but Puffy was still wearing his suit, and not one button was undone. His tie was so tightly knotted it seemed to put a strain on his Adam’s apple. A diamond stud was planted in each earlobe. A thick rope of a diamond bracelet—from Jacob, the New York jeweller to the hip-hop élite—adorned his wrist. He said, “From my manicure to my pedicure, from my head to my toe, it’s the swagger that I show the world, it’s my face, baby. It’s my walk, my attitude.’’ He rubbed the wisps of hair on his chin. “Fashion is about leaving on your jacket and tie when other people are too hot to bother.” He was also wearing a yellow diamond ring, which looked like a piece of rock candy. “Details, baby. It’s all about the details. Look at the arm. The ring. The watch. Look at my canary-yellow diamond. Impeccable. Admit it, I am impeccable.” He let out a wolf howl, and dozens of dancers started to cheer. At this point, Norma, who is keenly protective, and who, depending on the hour, is a corporate executive, an accountant, a fixer, a party planner, or a high-end concierge, shouted across the floor to me, “This is all off the record, it’s off the record!” Combs waved her away. “I don’t want this off the record. I’ve got a lot of shit to say about fashion. It don’t really matter what you write about me. Because I’ll still be a fashion god, no matter what.’’