The day preordered Apple Vision Pros were being delivered, I texted my boyfriend about an hour after his messages abruptly stopped. We were both in our respective homes, working remotely, so I knew he had access to his phone. But I also knew he was waiting impatiently for the headset to arrive. “Oh no, have I lost you to the Vision Pro already?” I asked. Within 10 minutes, I received a text back. “Yes, you did,” he replied.
I didn't think much of it when he purchased the Vision Pro in February. I jokingly refer to him as an Apple fanboy, since he's always acquiring the latest Apple products as soon as they drop. He uses the iPhone 15 Pro as his primary smartphone, the Apple Watch Ultra for keeping track of his fitness metrics, the 24-inch iMac for getting work done at his apartment (he reserves the 14-inch Space Black MacBook Pro for on-the-go), the iPad Pro for sketching, and the Apple TV for streaming content. It was inevitable that he'd snag what's considered Apple's most anticipated product in years. But I never thought it would make much of a difference in our lives—virtually and in person.
After all, these gadgets have never negatively impacted how we spend time together or communicate. If anything, they've enhanced it. As someone who also uses an iPhone and a MacBook daily, it's easy to stay connected. We communicate through iMessage and FaceTime, watch TV together using SharePlay on our iPads when we're apart, and keep up with each other's workouts via our Apple Watches; I even have my profile on his iMac and Apple TV. These devices have adapted to us and blended seamlessly into our lifestyles. The Vision Pro, on the other hand, has felt like the opposite.
Communication Curve
It didn't take long for the headset to become an essential item in my boyfriend's everyday carry. Whenever he leaves the house, he'll cram the clunky headset and battery pack into his tote bag alongside his MacBook Pro. I'm shocked whenever he decides to keep it at home. But even when I know he has it on him, I can't exactly pick up on when he will use it.
In person, the Vision Pro appears in my peripheral when I least expect it. When it's not plugged into a charger on the desk, it's on the coffee table or the dresser. When we recently visited his parents for the weekend, and he'd made it there before me, I walked into the house to find the Vision Pro cover on the kitchen table and the headset in the guest bedroom. It's never too far away.
It's somewhat stealthy, too. It doesn't make any noise when he puts it on, and since the speakers are close to the ears, I can't hear when he's listening to anything. On a day we were both working remotely, I sat at my desk while he sat on the couch. At one point, I turned around to ask him a question while he was working off his laptop. A short while later, I turned back around to see him with the Vision Pro on—fingers poking at nothing but air, hands waving. He was editing a YouTube Short in Final Cut Pro. This was particularly entertaining to watch because his laptop screen was blank.
Slightly shocked that I had no idea he even put it on, I stared at him for what felt like a solid 10 seconds until he finally said, “What?” It turns out we were both staring at each other the whole time. EyeSight, a feature that replicates your eye's movements so that you know if someone is talking to you while wearing the headset, isn't the most obvious, depending on the environment.
My colleague Julian Chokkattu talked about having a similar experience with his wife. In his review of the Apple Vision Pro, he wrote that his partner said it was “difficult to notice” EyeSight, and that it felt like she was “looking at [his] eyes through a screensaver.” For me, it's easy to spot the pair of virtual eyes staring back only when there's a lot of natural light in the room. But most of the time, it takes me a few (awkward) seconds to figure out if my boyfriend is looking at me or if he's focused on the content in front of him.
This has become a pattern: One minute he's not wearing the headset, and the next he is. The transition would always happen unexpectedly—when I'd leave the room to jump in the shower, do my makeup in the bathroom, or get ready to go out.
One time, after I finished brushing my teeth before bed, I walked out to the living room to find him sitting on the edge of the couch, staring into the distance with the Vision Pro firmly on his head. He was playing chess. I sat down next to him and watched in silence as he pinched his fingers and moved imaginary chess pieces through the air in multiple directions—left, right, diagonal—slowly pulling back to observe his opponent's (a computer) next move.
During similar interactions, I'd always ask, "Can I try?” In an attempt to persuade me to love the Vision Pro as much as he does, he'd always oblige. It's not that I'm totally against owning my own headset, but I struggle to understand the need for it in its current form. Aside from the outrageous $3,500 price and heavy frame, I know that I'll never reach for it as much as I do my iPhone, MacBook, or iPad. I'm content with my setup. Besides, shouldn't that mean one per household is enough if you spend that much? Unfortunately, sharing the experience feels more like a hassle than fun.
For starters, you have to log in to Guest Mode each time, so I'm forced to go through the 90-second calibration test every time. I also wear glasses. Technically, I'm supposed to buy the prescription Zeiss Optical Inserts. But I refuse to give Apple $150 because of something completely out of my control. It's also annoying to think that you'd have to spend even more money if you live in a household with multiple people wearing glasses.
I've also never had a problem using other headsets, like the Meta Quest 2, with glasses. And so, out of pure spite, I continue calibrating the Vision Pro with my glasses on anyway. It's not foolproof—the internal eye-tracking cameras sometimes struggle to pinpoint where my eyes are looking. Some things, like spending time in virtual Mount Hood, watching Spiderman: No Way Home in 3D, and browsing the web on Safari, are easy. But anything that requires more precise eye-tracking, such as navigating visionOS or attempting to play a game, is a struggle.
A Problem Shared
When my boyfriend and I wanted to share the experience in any way, shape, or form, we'd try casting content on the TV using AirPlay. Unfortunately, a simple task like watching a movie wasn't very successful. We tried watching Mean Girls, but because it's on a streaming service, the content was blacked out on both the Vision Pro and the TV because of copyright.
Meanwhile, playing a game like Fruit Ninja on the big screen is fun for only so long. Every time we wanted to switch players, we'd have to go back and forth between his profile and Guest Mode. I couldn't help but think back to how easy this process was with a headset like the Quest 2. A few years back, when my dad, brother, and I played The Walking Dead: Saints & Sinners for a few hours together, we simply passed the headset around between the three of us and jumped into the game without having to switch profiles or tinker with the settings. On the Vision Pro, however, my boyfriend and I must've played for a total of 10 minutes before the whole experience started to get boring.
I had to get used to it virtually, too. There's nothing that prepares you for entering a FaceTime call with your boyfriend as his “persona”—Apple's digital avatar—when you're presented as your human self. I know it's in beta, but it's creepy to stare at and talk to. It doesn't fully capture the quickness when switching between facial expressions, making it hard to decipher when my boyfriend is laughing, smiling, or frowning.
And it isn't as simple to communicate with. I'll often stare at his avatar for a while, trying to figure out whether the FaceTime call froze or if his avatar is slow to process a reaction. It also can't detect physical items like water bottles or food. Whenever he would take a sip of his drink or a bite of food, it looked like he was holding on to and/or chewing air—forcing me to do multiple double takes. Similar to the in-person experience, the conversation isn't as free-flowing.
It's worth noting that I wrote this before Apple rolled out visionOS 1.1, which includes the ability to start SharePlay sessions via FaceTime with up to five other Vision Pro owners. You can play games, watch movies, and work together on apps like Freeform. I think it's great that Apple is expanding the ability to collaborate with others (a feature that should be available on such an expensive device), but it still doesn't make it easier for those who don't own a headset—virtually and in-person.
When I told my boyfriend the news about the latest update, he excitedly turned to me and said, “Oh! We have to get you a Vision Pro now.” With zero hesitation, I turned to him and said, “Absolutely not.” The only thing worse than one Vision Pro in a relationship is two.
Isolation Station
I knew having a mixed-reality headset around would be a unique experience. Still, incorporating it into my daily life has also been an unexpected learning curve—and I'm not even the one using the Vision Pro. It's impossible to ignore, requires a specific type of communication, and truly impacts how my partner and I interact. I'm slowly getting used to it—growing less startled by its existence. But I'm still shocked by the fact that it's taken even the slightest amount of work to incorporate it into my life.
There's no denying that it's an isolating experience for both the person inside the headset and outside of it. He'll often comment “This isn't as fun” when he's using the Vision Pro to watch a YouTube video while I'm on the couch reading a book.
As a couple who sometimes spends quality time together in the same room while partaking in our hobbies, it's always fun to check in on each other here and there—I'll often peek over his shoulder to check out what he's watching or working on and vice versa. So it feels like we're still including each other to some extent. The Vision Pro, however, feels like a massive wall between us.
Regardless of the ability to control how immersed someone is within the Vision Pro (by rotating the knob on top of the headset), it's impossible to be grounded in reality and visionOS simultaneously. As I was writing this story, I couldn't help but think of two points made by both my colleagues when the Vision Pro first launched. As Lauren Goode put it, “the Vision Pro is also unlike almost every other modern Apple product in one crucial way: It doesn’t disappear. In fact, it does the opposite.” Kate Knibbs also said, “It drives home the reality that an Apple headset, no matter how nifty its specs, is still a big honking gizmo plonked between its wearer and the rest of the world, inherently a barrier more than a conduit.”
Whether the headset is staring right at you, or present through only a FaceTime call—in the form of an avatar—it feels like an awkward elephant in the room.
The Vision Pro demands that you acknowledge its presence, regardless of whether you're used to it—ultimately forcing any sense of genuine communication out the window. Try having a serious conversation with someone using either EyeSight or Persona. Speaking from experience, I guarantee you'll ask them to take the Vision Pro off or call you back as their authentic self—to keep from feeling distracted by two pixelated eyes staring into your soul.
Finally, I've slowly but surely watched the novelty wear off for my boyfriend. On a recent trip to Florida, I prepared myself for a three-hour flight on which he'd surely be wearing the Vision Pro the entire time. But I didn't see it in his bag. “I didn’t have any room for it,” he said. So, instead of sitting next to him and this gawky headset on the plane, we watched a movie, napped, and even stared out the window together.
It reminded me of life before the Vision Pro: free of distraction and awkward communication. I don't think either of us felt regretful to leave the headset behind.
