But despite the years washing over him, eroding his edges like a beach-lodged plate of brass, we continue in our adoration of Bond even though he shills for luxury cars, expensive watches, and that goddamn beer. We adore him as a self-controlled, classy lone wolf trying to save a chaotic world from itself. His sacrifices and thankless derring-do prevent him from having a real life and real relationships, and we admire that. He is still, despite sociopolitical and cultural changes, an exorbitant ideal — our hero.
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