underwater for a few moments, which I don’t think was supposed to
happen.
I couldn’t help but feel a little alarmed. Were there sharks? Were
there spiky urchins to step on? Is bad weather rolling in? It didn’t
really feel relaxing to me. I told Valtchanov.
“Not all nature is restorative,” he said. “Being in tall grasses is not
necessarily a nice thing. But can you hear the ocean? We’re going to
head toward a waterfall, and there’s a rainbow there.”
But I was not going to enjoy Valtchanov’s rainbow.
I felt like I was about to throw up.
Later, after I took a break to hyperventilate in the bathroom and
splash cold water on my face, Valtchanov told me what I already
knew. I didn’t do well at virtual relaxing.
“YOUR GSR DID not go down,” he said, disappointed. “It stayed where it
was. Maybe that was the motion sickness. I apologize. The technology
is getting better for that, so you don’t feel like you’re watching
through someone else’s eyeballs.” I wasn’t alone, he explained. He
had to throw out 30 percent of his data because of subjects
approaching the puke zone. This has been a major hang-up in the
development and marketing of consumer VR. “The motion sickness is
due to the technology being old,” he said. “It’s being solved by better
displays that don’t have that ghosting. When you turn your head
quickly, you’ll notice edges blur.”
Yes I did. Bummer. But I was also secretly a little proud. I was
one of those remaining holdouts for whom only the authentic
experience will do. My skepticism for the virtual approach carried
over to Valtchanov’s app, called EnviroPulse, which was still in beta
testing. A bit like a magic kettle, you put an image in, such as a
window view, and watch a number come out predicting your
emotions. Can’t we predict our own responses to a particular view?
Obviously not, responded Valtchanov, although politely. If so, why