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Sunday, January 18, 2026

Mark Zuckerberg’s Helmet: A Love Letter to Vertigo

Sergey Brin's Google Glass Adventures In Steve Jobsism

 



Mark Zuckerberg’s Helmet: A Love Letter to Vertigo

Just like Mark Zuckerberg borrowed the Facebook idea, just like he borrowed—and then bought—Instagram, one fine day he decided to plunk a heroic amount of money into a helmet.

Not a metaphorical helmet.
Not a safety helmet.
A literal, face-hugging, soul-smothering, battery-powered helmet.

Just like Steve Jobs gave the world the iPhone, Mark Zuckerberg was going to gift the world… a helmet.

History, alas, had other plans.

From “Move Fast and Break Things” to “Move Slowly and Sit Down”

Zuckerberg envisioned the helmet as humanity’s next great leap. The printing press. Electricity. The internet. And now: strapping a toaster-sized computer to your skull so you can attend meetings as a cartoon.

The pitch was simple:

Reality is overrated. Let’s log out of it.

Why look at your coworkers through a screen when you can look at their floating torsos while their legs never load? Why experience joy naturally when you can purchase it for $1,499 plus tax and mild nausea?

This was not just a product.
This was the Metaverse—a place where anything was possible, except profitability.

The Dizziness Economy

Zuckerberg expected dizzying success.

Instead, he only got the dizzying.

Vertigo.

Motion sickness became Meta’s most consistent user engagement metric. People didn’t just use the headset—they endured it. VR was the first tech product that came with an unspoken instruction manual:

  1. Put on helmet

  2. Say “Wow”

  3. Say “Oh no”

  4. Sit down

  5. Question life choices

Never before had Silicon Valley created a device so effective at simulating both the future and a mild concussion.

A Helmet in Search of a Head

The fundamental problem was simple: humans have necks.

No focus group had apparently raised this inconvenient anatomical detail. Wearing the headset felt less like entering the future and more like being punished for crimes against ergonomics.

Early adopters discovered that VR workouts mostly exercised one muscle group: regret.

Parents used it once and said, “This is neat,” in the same tone they used for their children’s macaroni art. Gamers liked it—for about 45 minutes. Office workers were deeply unsure why their boss wanted them to wear scuba gear to attend a budget meeting.

And normal people—the largest demographic of all—looked at it and thought:

I already don’t like Zoom. Why would I want Zoom with nausea?

The Avatar Problem

In the Metaverse, everyone got a shiny avatar. Smooth skin. Empty eyes. Legs that were optional.

It was a bold aesthetic choice: Pixar characters designed by HR.

Nothing inspires confidence like being pitched the future of humanity by a floating torso with no feet, smiling vacantly in a digital conference room that looks like a Marriott lobby designed by aliens.

The promise was presence.
The reality was haunted Wii characters discussing quarterly earnings.

Billions Were Spent. Reality Refused to Care.

Meta spent tens of billions building the Metaverse. Entire forests were converted into PowerPoint decks explaining why this was definitely happening and you were definitely going to like it.

Reality, however, responded with brutal indifference.

People preferred phones.
People preferred couches.
People preferred not sweating inside a plastic helmet just to attend a birthday party hosted by a cartoon uncle.

The Metaverse wasn’t dead—it just never really lived.

Steve Jobs Made a Device You Could Forget You Were Using

Mark Zuckerberg made a device you could not forget for even three seconds.

The iPhone disappeared into your life.
The VR helmet announced itself like a needy parrot:

HELLO. I AM ON YOUR FACE.

Jobs removed friction.
Zuckerberg added straps.

Jobs said, “It just works.”
Zuckerberg said, “Adjust until comfortable,” which is corporate for good luck.

The Legacy of the Helmet

To be fair, the helmet did achieve something historic.

It proved that:

  • Money cannot force adoption

  • Vision cannot overcome neck strain

  • And no one wants to look stupid and nauseous at the same time

The VR helmet will live on—not as the gateway to the future, but as a cautionary tale taught in business schools:

Sometimes the next big thing is just a very expensive headache.

Epilogue: Somewhere, the Helmet Waits

Somewhere in a closet, right now, a VR headset is gathering dust. Its batteries are dead. Its owner has forgotten the password. Its foam padding smells faintly of ambition.

It waits patiently.

For the next demo.
For the next pitch.
For the next brave soul willing to believe that the future of humanity begins with strapping a brick to your face.

And spinning.

Slowly.

Very, very slowly. 😵‍💫




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