A Day in The Life: Diamond Foxx
THERE’S NO BETTER TIME TO OBSERVE DIAMOND FOXXX in her private habitat than right after Mother’s Day, all rested up after me-time with the fam. Standing on the sidewalk outside her apartment building in Southern California’s San Fernando Valley, she waves to both dry her nail polish and catch my attention. Barely grazing 5 feet, the Southern belle might be easy to miss were it not for her massive bosom, phosphorescent spray tan and diamond-studded piercing.
I follow Diamond inside—her two Maltese dogs, Jack and Jill, protesting my arrival— as she returns to her breakfast of Gouda cheese and crackers. There’s a reassuring, homey feel to the apartment’s interior, where leather sofas face a widescreen TV, and a popcorn cart sits just outside the kitchen. Nothing about the rigorously domestic ambiance suggests this is a porn-financed residence. That’s probably the point.
As if on cue, husband Ben emerges from the master bedroom, issuing a polite greeting in a thick Dixie drawl. He shows Diamond a few tank tops. She favors a leopardskin print that somehow crept into the collection. Ben disagrees, “It’s so cougary!” “But I like it,” Diamond asserts. “I think it boxes you into a category,” Ben counters. Diamond smirks. “I’m already in that category!”
It’s a cute exchange, although something about it feels staged. As Diamond compromises on a black-silk, button-down shirt, Ben explains his role as personal assistant, which he assumed when his wife got into the adult industry. It’s a business, he tells me, with only one product: Diamond Foxxx. And the couple know they can’t market her image and body forever.
Ben opens an immense plastic suitcase with every single bauble, earring and bracelet squared away in its corresponding bin. “When Diamond shows up on set,” he declares, “everything, just like this case, is categorized. Every single thing is labeled. When she goes out, all of her clothes are fully pressed and laundered. When she shows up on set, she always has more than what she needs. We take it really seriously. We don’t want to miss any opportunities, and that’s because we know we don’t have 15 more years left in the business. So we’ve got to make sure that everything we do, we do 110%.”
I note a picture of Diamond’s 19-year-old daughter on the wall. She’s in the Navy. Practically all of Diamond’s family have enlisted in the Armed Forces at one point or another, herself included. Her mother, a Marine drill instructor, handled her household the way she handled a crew of raw recruits. “If we even breathed wrong, we went and stood in the corner for a while,” Diamond recalls, slinking penitently over to a wall for effect.
Not surprisingly, Diamond left home as soon as she could, enlisting in the Navy at 19 after giving birth to the first of her children. (Don’t bother asking Diamond for details on the father. Occasionally the guy sends a child support check, but he’s out of the picture, which is how she likes it.) Her enlistment, Diamond reveals, lasted for all of 11 months and 11 days. Single people can’t have sex in the Navy. Following a court martial, the sailor was “other than honorably” discharged, meaning she lost her benefits and can never reenlist. Extremely patriotic, Diamond actually tried to get back into uniform after 9/11 but was denied.
Having envisioned a military career, Diamond still grouses over the lousy deal she got. “Bill Clinton fucked that bitch [Monica Lewinsky] with a cigar and committed adultery, which in the military will put you away for 20 years,” she fumes. “And they did nothing [to him]. That drove me nuts.”
Back in the civilian world, Diamond sold cars for several years: used cars, BMWs, Chevrolets. She was pretty good at it too. Then she met Ben in 1999 at an Albertson’s grocery store he managed. Marriage followed, and after a few years as a stay-athome mom, Diamond and her husband decided to get in on the real estate boom.
Ben had an interesting idea for raising the necessary capital to flip houses. “He was the one that actually suggested porn just because he knew that there was money there,” Diamond remembers. “I was like, ‘Are you crazy? Do you know what they do?’ Because at the time, we weren’t having a whole bunch of sex.” It took a year for Diamond to get enough nerve to shoot her first scene.
Diamond shows me a portrait from her Navy days. It depicts a pale, flat-chested brunette who’s virtually unrecognizable from today’s processed platinum-blond, glamourdoll persona. The transformation she’s made for porn has occasionally caused psychological confusion. During the production of her first self-produced feature, she found it helpful to create an alter ego: Annie Dickado.
Normally Diamond would shy away from performing anal creampies or threeways, but as Annie, for some reason, her inhibitions fell away. In fact, they fell away so easily she became concerned enough to see a shrink. “He says that Diamond and Annie are the same person, and I have to differentiate the two,” she reports. But make no mistake— whether as Annie or Diamond, the lady loves what she does.
“I’m gonna do it until the cameras say, ‘Okay, you need to stop,’” she insists. She credits porn with saving her marriage, and she’s even figured out how to make the Dickado complex work for her. “So [my shrink] says, ‘Why don’t you make Diamond become Annie Dickado with the blond wig on?’ It’s been a good thing ’cause my performance has gone through the roof.”
Diamond glances at the clock on her iPhone: 11:46 a.m. She, Ben and I pile into her BMW 328i convertible to go house-hunting. Diamond turns on her phone’s police scanner app to find out about three cop helicopters hovering a few blocks away. It’s a redneck thing, Ben assures me: “They sit at the kitchen table and listen to police scanners to see what their neighbors are doing.”
Once we arrive at the first property, Diamond and Ben reveal why they haven’t found a new home in 11 months of searching. The couple notice all sorts of faults: The wood floors are fake; the refrigerator is cheap. Worst of all are the sightlines the neighbors have into the dwelling. Apparently it’s okay for Diamond to spy on people with a police scanner, but God help them if they return the favor by peeping in on her, which has happened before. Neither Diamond nor Ben feel this place is worth the $1 million pricetag anyway. So we’re off to the next house.
This one, just a few doors down the street, is wood-paneled and perched atop a steep driveway. Diamond likes it a great deal. There’s a large bathtub, which Diamond insists is all hers. Ben assents to this, admitting to me, “She’s a little spoiled.” Plus, the house has fewer sightlines pointing into it, and the smaller room adjacent to the master bedroom would be perfect for a stripper pole. “I hope to find more clients that look at small rooms and think stripper pole rather than office,” the real estate agent confides. “That would be a life goal for me.”
The backing of one of Diamond’s earrings comes off, falling to the floor. The porn actress takes this as an omen of sorts. Hopefully after months of searching and false starts, this may be the dream house, so they discuss making an offer before leaving. Of course, neighbors are a concern, but Diamond knows just how to handle them should they get too close: “I’m gonna open my front door butt-ass naked and tell them, ‘Get the fuck off my property!’” “Are you sure that’s an effective deterrent?” the real estate agent asks.
Diamond replies, “Yes, especially if it’s a married man.”
Los Angeles-based Justin Hampton is a veteran freelance writer who has covered sex, music and vice for Spin, Penthouse Forum, High Times and “other fine and not-so-fine publications.”
Click to browse new and back issues of HUSTLER Magazine.
Click to view subscription offers for HUSTLER Magazine.