Sean “P. Diddy” Combs, the once-unstoppable hip-hop mogul whose empire of beats and Bad Boy swagger defined an era, is now navigating the stark realities of federal incarceration at FCI Fort Dix in New Jersey. Sentenced to 50 months behind bars after a high-profile conviction on two counts of transportation for prostitution purposes—following his acquittal on more serious sex trafficking and racketeering charges—Diddy’s new home is a low-security facility that promises rehabilitation but delivers a far grittier tale. Transferred from the infamous Metropolitan Detention Center in Brooklyn in late October 2025, the 56-year-old rapper is reportedly keeping a low profile, even landing a cushy gig as a chaplain’s assistant. But according to former inmates who’ve done time there, Fort Dix is anything but a sanctuary—it’s a chaotic “zoo” where violence simmers over petty disputes, facilities crumble, and the showers become the stage for shocking midnight escapades.
The facility, the largest single federal prison in the U.S. with over 4,100 inmates, was originally a military base established in 1917 as Camp Dix. Renamed Fort Dix in the 1990s after its conversion into a prison, it now operates as a dormitory-style camp for non-violent offenders, complete with bunk beds in retrofitted barracks and communal bathrooms. Diddy’s legal team lobbied hard for the placement, citing its Residential Drug Abuse Program (RDAP) as ideal for the rapper’s sobriety journey. But whispers from the inside paint a picture of neglect and unchecked debauchery that could test even a survivor like Combs, whose projected release date is June 4, 2028.
Enter Joe Giudice, the brash “Real Housewives of New Jersey” alum who served 41 months at Fort Dix from 2016 to 2019 for fraud and tax evasion. In a candid interview with Us Weekly this week, Giudice didn’t mince words about what awaits high-profile arrivals like Diddy. “It depends on how he carries himself,” Giudice said, emphasizing the need to blend in. “As long as he keeps a low profile and doesn’t try to act like a big shot, he’ll be fine.” But fine is relative in a place where, Giudice claims, stabbings erupt over something as trivial as an onion in the chow line. “You ain’t in there with the most stable people,” he added, recounting the volatile atmosphere among inmates battling mental health issues and gang affiliations.
Giudice’s most explosive revelation? The nocturnal rituals in the communal showers. “I got up at, like, three or four in the morning to go to the bathroom, and you would see the craziest things in there—people you would never imagine,” he told the outlet. According to Giudice, group sexual encounters—described by other ex-inmates as “mass orgies”—are a regular occurrence under the cover of night, with guards turning a deliberate blind eye. “They hear the shower going at night, and they just look the other way,” he alleged. It’s a claim echoed in multiple reports, with one anonymous former inmate likening the facility to an “insane asylum” overrun by unchecked impulses.
These accounts aren’t isolated. Another ex-inmate, who spent 17 months at Fort Dix between 2019 and 2020, described the living conditions as “horrible” in no uncertain terms. “There’s one bathroom per floor with toilets and showers, and everything is broken. A lot of the food is expired. It’s horrible. They don’t care,” the source told Page Six, painting a portrait of overcrowding and apathy that turns basic hygiene into a gamble. Meals, standardized by the Federal Bureau of Prisons, arrive lukewarm and suspect, while the single shower area per floor—shared by dozens—becomes a hotspot for both necessity and notoriety after lights out. “I was there a day and a half and told a kid, ‘This isn’t a jail, this is an insane asylum,'” the inmate recalled, capturing the sense of lawlessness that permeates the barracks.
For Diddy, the transition from luxury penthouses to these spartan dorms—six bunk beds per unit, a metal locker for belongings, and recreation time until 11 p.m.—has been jarring. Recent leaks show him sporting a graying beard and prison-issued orange beanie, bundled in a navy puffy jacket during yard time in chilly New Jersey weather. He’s already faced minor infractions, including a disciplinary review for an unauthorized three-way phone call that violated Bureau of Prisons rules on multi-party communications. Rumors of homemade hooch—fermented from Fanta, sugar, and apples—were swiftly debunked by his team, who insist he’s laser-focused on self-improvement: “His only focus is becoming the best version of himself and returning to his family.”
Yet, perks exist for those who can pay. Giudice noted that inmates with commissary funds can hire tailors for custom fits, shine services for kicks, and even personal chefs whipping up off-menu feasts. Diddy, assigned to chapel duty, enjoys a relatively prestigious role: assisting the chaplain in an air-conditioned office, complete with leftovers from religious ceremonies—a far cry from the shower chaos. He’s also enrolled in RDAP, teaching entrepreneurship classes to fellow inmates, channeling his mogul instincts into prison-yard seminars.
Not everyone sees Fort Dix as a hellscape. Bill Baroni, a Seton Hall Law School professor who served three months there for his role in the George Washington Bridge scandal, called it a step up from maximum-security joints. “Diddy’s life will be so much easier where he is now. He’s going from one of the most severe prisons in America to a low-security [one],” Baroni told outlets, highlighting the relative freedoms like family visits just 90 minutes from New York City.
The prison’s official response to the orgy allegations and violence claims is firm: “Any findings or accusations of sexual assault or physical assaults are not tolerated. Such matters are taken seriously and investigated thoroughly,” a spokesperson told Page Six. Specific details remain non-public, but the Bureau of Prisons maintains that Fort Dix prioritizes safety and rehabilitation.
As Diddy settles in—far from the “freak-off” headlines that dogged his trial—the ex-inmate chorus serves as a stark reminder: Fort Dix earned its name not just from military roots, but from the fortress-like survival it demands. For a man who built empires on rhythm and risk, blending into this “zoo” might be his toughest remix yet. Whether he emerges reformed or resentful, one thing’s clear: the showers run hot, but the spotlight never cools.
