In a realm beyond the vapidity of cool hunting and the curiosity hunting of historical research lies a taxonomist’s nightmare: the impossible achievement that is The Encyclopædia of Sublime Things. A collection of the beauty we do to each other and the beauty that is, the encyclopedia is highly personal, surprising and concise (what inspires trust in love), and decidedly apolitical, asexual, and amoral. Sublimity is assessed intuitively, with special attention given to gigantic egos, conceptual value and the physical properties of objects. As a result, its sympathies lie with confidence men, fashion designers, overachievers, 17th century explorers, dogs, Romantics and Arabian polymaths. The encyclopedia is edited by a misanthropic bon vivant with a melancholic soul, no tolerance for bullshit, and the aesthetic sensibility of a French craftsman (according to legend, he collapses at the sight of ugly).