To the Beautiful Failed AR

Oh, you wild, wayward rebel of technology—this one’s for you. You stormed into our lives like a guitar solo wailing over a wall of distortion, promising to change the world with a swagger that made the rest of the tech scene look like a band of tambourine players. And we fell for it, didn’t we? All of us. Hook, line, and hologram.

You weren’t perfect, but perfection isn’t what we loved about you. It was your vision, your daring to dream bigger than anyone else, that made you unforgettable.?

Take the Magic Leap 1, for instance. Oh, how I loved you. You weren’t just a device; you were a promise in shiny, lightweight packaging. You had that dreamy field of view, showing not too much but just enough to seduce. Your spatial computing potential felt like a glimpse into the future, and your name dared us to believe in magic. Sure, you had quirks—a tethered puck and a steep price tag—but those weren’t flaws; they were the growing pains of a pioneer. Your weirdness, like eschewing common wisdom for your own custom OS and zany UI, was exactly the charm we fell in love with. What I’ll miss so much.

You weren’t just hardware. You were hope. You didn’t play it safe, and in doing so, you gave us a glimpse of a future we all still chase.

And Dr. Grordbort’s Invaders. You didn’t just give us games; you gave us experiences. Nights turned into early mornings defending my living room from ray gun-wielding robots. The tactile joy of blasting those invaders, the immersive storytelling, and the sheer fun of it all made it feel like AR’s true potential realized. It wasn’t just peak AR—it was peak gaming. You showed us that AR wasn’t just a gimmick; it could be art, entertainment, and pure adrenaline all at once.?

Your wayward progeny, the Magic Leap 2, tried to refine rather than dream. It played it safe—smaller, enterprise-focused, and practical to a fault. But where’s the wonder in practicality? A great device, but without inspiration. While its predecessor dared to conjure magic, the Magic Leap 2 delivered efficiency. And maybe that’s why it struggled to ignite the same spark. Topping the charts takes being bold enough to breakthrough, and not just try to ride past hits.

Then there was the Lenovo Mirage and its Jedi Challenges. A lightsaber in your hand, battling Sith right in your living room? That was magic of a different kind. It wasn’t perfect—the headset was clunky, and the experience had limits—but for a moment, it turned us all into Jedi. It reminded us that AR didn’t have to be flawless to be fun. Big and awkward could still give us a chance to dream. Finding it in a Best Buy bargain bin for 50% just made the magic that much more special, a true discovery for those willing to take a chance. My biggest regret? It was a one-hit-wonder, with no opening for developers to tinker and build our own ideas. Oh how I would have loved to take that headset into other galaxies.

And how could we forget the Zappar Zapbox and MagiMask? Affordable, accessible, and wildly imaginative. Zapbox turned cardboard into a portal to another world. MagiMask gave us lens-powered pass-through AR before most knew what that even was, all the insane nausea included. They proved that AR could exist without breaking the bank. These devices didn’t pretend to be revolutionary; they just quietly expanded the possibilities, showing that AR could fit into everyday life without fanfare. You both still evolve today, much to the shock of many. You haven’t broken through yet, but like a good opener don’t give up the dream.

But it took more than hardware. It was the apps and experiments that made us fall in love with AR’s potential. Niantic's Ingress, and predecessors like it, laid the groundwork for the phenomenon that was AR integrated in our cities and towns – even with questionable safety. Though not as widely celebrated as its successor Pokémon Go, Ingress turned real-world locations into portals for a global battle of strategy, blurring the lines between physical and digital spaces and giving many their first exposure to what the blend of the cyber and the physical. It wasn’t just a game; it was a glimpse of what AR could do when it worked its magic – when the combination of users willing to suspend disbelief in favor of imagination and clever ease of use meet.

You gave us tools to dream with. Developers explored the mundane to the overly ambitious to create experiences that were as imaginative as they were innovative, even though never profitable. Museums embraced you to bring history to life, letting visitors see ancient ruins reconstructed in their prime. Artists used you as a new medium, crafting immersive stories and installations that captivated audiences. Remember Tonandi? We all got to touch music in a brand new way.

You may not have conquered the mainstream, but you inspired a generation of creators and innovators. And look at what’s happening now. Apple Vision Pro, with its spatial computing ambitions, is picking up where you left off, refining and elevating the dreams you started. But it is failing to dream beyond the obvious ground you already trod.. Our only request, and our only hope, is those that carry the torch remember it takes bold dreamers to make the next leap. Recent failures? Those are well-deserved when they just try to cover the hits like a sad solo project of a washed up bandmate. Formulaic, and never as good as the original.

So here’s to you, Ghost of AR Past. For being the dreamer, the pioneer, the rockstar who didn’t play it safe. You didn’t just try to change the game; you tried to change the world. You may not have gotten everything right, but you gave us something better: the courage to dream, to experiment, and to believe in a future where the line between the real and the virtual is as thin as a hologram.

And for that, we’ll always love you.

Forever yours,