When the Pacific bluefin does gain significant attention, it is often, paradoxically, as a commodity fetish.
I listened to her first non-academic book, "Who Is Mr. Waxman?," an audio novel "about intimacy, loneliness, household cleaning products, e-mail, cunnilingualism and the commodity fetish," which was released in 2007 and is read, intentionally, a bit too close to the mike.
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If you have been bedazzled and enraptured by the latest sneakers off the production line, well there's Marx, with his theory of the commodity fetish.
The point is the rather regrettable wholesale reduction of art to pure commodity fetish, and the abandonment of all convictions and principles in favor of creating a privileged elite accountable to no one but their own overblown egos.
In her constellation of influences, Karl Marx, who proposed the theory of the "commodity fetish," shares space with Drake, whose upbringing she both relates to and finds in comic contrast with his expected image as a rapper ("He's a Jewish Canadian nerd. My parents would love if I dated him!").
Catching brief glimpses of ancient pottery, artifacts and stone and gilded sculptures creates the sensation of moving through a crypt: a museum-mausoleum in which artworks loom like ghosts or apparitions rather than what Ms. Fraser would frame as postmodern commodity fetishes.
And as the mannequin makes clearer as a fetish, a thing, a commodity, a possession, and an obsession, so it highlights how its magic might act upon us, how it might become for us an object for adoration and devotion, and even one of desire, lust, and sex.
My argument, then, is that Bond, as the gentleman consumer of the late middle 20th century, offers a model of masculine consumption that depends upon a conception of desire not fully accounted for by Marxian theories of commodity fetishism, but dependent more upon the psychoanalytic conceptions of the fetish.
