Incense lit to mask dog shit-Budden owns three mammoth canines-makes the house smell like an outer-borough lime green cab. “I didn’t want to leave the house,” Budden says welcoming me in.
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His trademark beard, so full it almost looks painted on, needs a shape-up. Budden answers the door wearing grey sweats, a camouflage skull cap, and black leather slippers with fuzzy insulation. Newspapers from who knows when litter the front yard near bushels of daisies. It’s a quiet fall day, Ray-Bans and hoodie weather. Joe Budden lives on a verdant block in Edgewater, an affluent borough near the George Washington Bridge. “Something,” he says, “has to be held sacred.” I hold them sacred, it’s how I feel, it’s my opinion, not up for debate, and not meant to be shared.” “I have a few theories and trains of thought that I wouldn’t expose because they are not anyone’s business. You’ll never get me to speak politics,” Budden says in his pronounced, nasally tone. It’s always at least a 5:1 ratio of women to men.”) He’s even cagey about the hookah spot in Queens where he goes “to be a fake THOT.” (“I’m not telling you. We are signed to Shady, and you know we are secretive.”). But where does Joe Budden draw the line?ĭuring two visits to his Edgewater, N.J., home last month, Budden deflects questions about his legal issues, the whereabouts of the engagement ring he used to propose to his ex, Tahiry Jose (“I’m not telling you.”), and the future of Slaughterhouse, the rap supergroup consisting of Budden, Royce Da 5’9", Joell Ortiz, and Crooked I (“None of your business. In passage there was his father’s absence, his parents’ drug addictions (both are now sober), an addiction to angel dust, a flirtation with pyromania, a spell as a juvenile delinquent with a taste for sticking up gas stations and bodegas and the occasional B&E, rehab, sobriety, a relapse, sobriety again, a destructive relationship with his child’s mother (his boy is now 13 years old), more girl trouble than a Kennedy, rhyme ciphers on The Hill where he cut his teeth and let everyone know who Mouse was as a rapper.
Nothing is taboo from a life that started in Spanish Harlem, took root in Jersey City, and was recently broadcast on VH1’s Love & Hip Hop New York. While he isn’t the first rapper to mine his fucked up personal life for material, no one documents their ups and downs as exhaustively as Budden.
That quick-witted, over-sharing narcissists happen to flourish in all three mediums is no coincidence.
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It’s one of the reasons the virtuoso rapper, Twitter God (he has over 890,000 followers), and reality TV bad boy is something of a star. Pussy is so easy to get, especially now.”īudden’s filter-less public life has been vital to his brand. A 34-year-old rapper who has been fucking since he was 14 years old to have fucked less than 80? That is less than all the men I know. Some people who don’t understand volume and numbers think that’s a high number. He brings up his number with the nonchalance of a man revealing how he takes his coffee. “I don’t fuck anywhere near what people think,” says Budden. But despite the perception that he’s a womanizing freak, his actual love life is much less dramatic. He’s sitting at the head of his dining room table explaining why he’ll never join Tinder, a hookup app that seems perfect for someone like him-a guy who once tweeted a picture of himself going down on his girlfriend, and waxes lyrical on social media about the virtues of rimming. “I would feel like the biggest creep on the planet,” says Joe Budden.
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