It’s no secret that reveling in the fetish - or, for that matter, the prospect thereof - takes time and preparation. Depending on how the fetishist’s flotation device of choice is rocked, said preparation roughly ranges between simply nudging an every day object out of context to fastidious and time-consuming stagings a/o (re-)enactments. Fetishism can hardly be considered a democratic pastime. Some fetishists have it easier than others.
Given the often elaborate nature of the preparation, the fetishist can’t help but be prone to distraction. At any given point in the preparation, he is confronted with the countless objects and gimmicks pertaining to the execution of his task, one even more alluring than the other.
Boots need to be spotless and thus polished in advance. Does the fetishist lack dedication to his original vocation if he gets sidetracked by the polish? Does he betray his libidinal program if he becomes totally absorbed by the fingernails attached to - and of course detached from - the limb handing him the polish? Etc.
The same goes for the interior of a car rigged to (re)stage the perfect crash.