I’ve been to the metaverse and it’s like being stuck at a really boring party
ONE of the biggest challenges of being a parent these days is having to keep up to speed with an ever-changing digital landscape.
My children were part of the first generation that not only had widespread access to social media, but also – crucially – smartphones.
My daughter was just starting secondary school when apps such as Instagram, Snapchat and musical.ly – the precursor to TikTok – came on the scene.
Mobile phones went from being practical objects to portals into worlds many of us could neither imagine nor comprehend.
As a child of the analogue age, it took me a while to realise what was happening – by which time it was too late. The Pied Pipers of Palo Alto had already led an entire generation into the digital abyss.
My daughter suffered the consequences of this through horrendous online bullying, and her experience was by no means unique.
I failed to protect her for the simple reason that I didn’t really understand what was going on.
My only consolation is that by witnessing what she went through, her younger brother adopted a far more cautious approach. But still.
Consequently, I’m now quite au fait with the online world, albeit more out of duty than desire. Friends with younger children often consult me on how to manage their own issues, and my advice is always the same: don’t bury your head in the sand.
It goes without saying that we would all rather our children were reading Milton and Chaucer than obsessing about some viral lipbalm promoted by a 12-year-old with half a million followers or mouthing along to Doja Cat in a crop-top. But that ship has sailed.
There’s no choice but to engage with it, even if you find it banal. Make it your business to know what your child is up to in cyberspace – only then can you protect them.
All of which is why, last week, I decided to take a trip to the frontline of the next digital revolution: the metaverse.
Following an alarming report that the police were investigating a case of ‘virtual sexual assault’ on a 16-year-old, I thought I had better experience for myself this new(ish) online world which, its creators never tire of telling us, is the future of the human race.
The metaverse is loosely defined as a three-dimensional digital space that uses virtual reality to allow people to have lifelike experiences online.
If you believe the hype, soon we will all abandon our dreary analogue lives to lead far more glamorous digital ones as avatars in a universe of infinite possibilities.
It’s the new frontier, the next step in our evolution – not to mention an opportunity for lots of people to make lots of money.
According to management consultants McKinsey & Co, the metaverse ‘could be worth $5trillion by 2030, and is potentially the biggest new growth opportunity for several sectors in the coming decade that include consumer packaged goods, retail, financial services, technology, manufacturing and healthcare’.
On this basis, I was expecting something truly spectacular when I donned my Meta Quest 2 headset, gateway to this new Nirvana. Sleek and white, it resembles a pair of giant binoculars, only the goggles are on the inside.
SETTING it all up was straightforward, including creating an avatar which bore no resemblance to the real me (being young, slim and blonde). I had visions of myself gadding about the metaverse like some sort of Hollywood superhero, doing all kinds of exciting things (backflips, mainly) that would be impossible in real life.
But when I embarked on my adventure, the (virtual) reality could not have been more different. I had imagined inhabiting a sophisticated video game: but it was, in fact, like being stuck in a pixelated version of the Lego movie, all primary colours and unnavigable shapes.
The main problem, I quickly realised, was that no amount of man-made technology is a substitute for the sleek, sophisticated, effortless functioning of the human body as devised by nature. It was like learning to walk all over again.
I spent most of my time bumping into virtual walls or getting stuck in digital corners.
Eventually, I got a bit more comfortable with the controllers, and wandered around a few places where other avatars were hanging out. But, honestly, I could find very little going on. It was like being at a very boring party with a bunch of people you’ve never met.
It also had the disconcerting effect of making me feel distinctly seasick, even though I was sitting still. And I was acutely aware of the fact that, to any casual realworld onlooker, I looked utterly absurd, sitting there contorting myself on the sofa as my avatar stumbled around in cyberspace.
Thinking perhaps it was just me, I asked my daughter to have a go. Within half an hour she’d declared herself bored and went back to playing Anagrams on her phone.
Even her friend, whose eyes had lit up at the sight of the headset, discarded it after a few minutes.
I gave it a few more goes but, eventually, gave up after I developed a splitting headache that lasted a day and a half.
But it was worth it. Because now I know that, however much the likes of Mark Zuckerberg and others may wish to tell us otherwise, the metaverse is a long way off being any kind of substitute for the real world.
One day, perhaps, we’ll all be living our lives like digital moles, blindly strapped to our devices. But not for now, at least.