Where It All Began
It was the start of 2015, the period when I had to decide on the topic for my bachelor’s thesis. A few months earlier, I had attended thesis presentations by students from the year ahead of me to understand what would be expected. Among the theses I saw, one in particular left a mark.
The student discussed the color blue in cinema, its usage, symbolism, and techniques. The presentation was well-executed, and the work seemed thorough, but something deeply unsettled me.
As someone who avidly read film criticism, I knew that the study of color in cinema had been around since the medium's inception. It was a topic exhaustively explored by scholars far more capable than that student. I couldn’t help but question the value of such a thesis on a subject so overdone. What new insights could a young student offer when figures like André Bazin had already written extensively on the subject?
Today, with a more mature perspective, I see things differently. The student was simply exploring a personal passion, and there's nothing wrong with that.
Back then, however, I was determined to choose a topic that felt groundbreaking, something that could add real value to the world. I wanted to explore uncharted territory, not something obvious or derivative. I wanted to pioneer, to tread where no one else had. In hindsight, this was an arrogant, proud, even megalomaniacal outlook, but it gave me drive and determination.
Spring 2015
Around this time, I stumbled upon news of a rising technological trend. Online, I discovered a young man named Palmer Luckey, who was making waves in the world of virtual reality (VR). VR was an entirely new concept to me. I began researching and was immediately fascinated.
What struck me was how futuristic it felt yet how niche it was. Beyond a handful of American tech articles, information was scarce. There was a small Facebook group of around 1,000 members, which became my primary (and invaluable) source of updates and discussions on this emerging field.
The Early VR Community
The Facebook group was a melting pot of enthusiasts from around the world, all connected by an invisible thread of curiosity and passion for VR. It was a genuinely inclusive space. Backgrounds didn’t matter—a historian could contribute as much as a game developer. This openness to multidisciplinary collaboration fostered a tight-knit community.
One pivotal moment came the following year when I attended the World VR Forum in Crans-Montana. There, I met many of the people I had only known through Facebook profiles. Conversations flowed effortlessly; it was as if we were united by the excitement of being pioneers in this new technological frontier. For the first time, I felt part of a community that shared my identity. I wasn’t alone in what many had seen as an eccentric pursuit.
A Thesis Takes Shape
Returning to my thesis, I realized VR was the perfect subject: pioneering, unfolding in real-time, and largely unexplored academically. This was my chance to contribute something truly original. But how could I approach it?
I didn’t want to write a detached study based solely on secondary or tertiary sources. I needed firsthand experience. I needed to engage directly with the people developing this technology.
The Internship Hunt
I began searching for internships. At the time, VR was virtually nonexistent in Italy and sparse in Europe. The U.S. seemed like the only viable destination. However, landing an internship there was a formidable challenge. U.S. startups were flush with investor money, prioritizing senior talent who could deliver tangible results. What value could a student from overseas, with limited English, possibly offer?
Despite the odds, I sent out hundreds of emails. Rejections and silence piled up, but I persisted until one email changed everything.
“Always leave room for the improbable.” – Me
The email read:
“Hi Aimone, Thanks for reaching out. We may have a pretty interesting VR project coming up in the near future and can always use some extra hands—even if virtual.”
I was ecstatic. This wasn’t just a job offer; it was an opportunity to invest in myself and enter a groundbreaking field. Soon after receiving the green light, I booked a flight to Baltimore, a city I had never even heard of before.
Baltimore: Sink or Swim
At 21, excitement overpowered fear. This was my first time living alone, in a country where I didn’t speak the language, pursuing a role I didn’t fully understand. My English was so basic that during my first days, I struggled even to order food. At a burger place, when asked if I wanted mayonnaise or ketchup, I repeatedly answered, “Yes.”
The language barrier was isolating. Without the ability to communicate effectively, social interactions were limited. But as they say, the only way out is through.
A colleague summed it up best with a typically American phrase: “Sink or swim.”
Lessons from an American Studio
I was quickly immersed in meetings and mentored by the company’s founder, C. His pragmatic approach left a lasting impression on me. He would always punctuate discussions with, “What’s next?” and “How do we do it?” These phrases encapsulated an ethic of action and accountability—a stark contrast to the often vague and noncommittal approach I’d observed in Italy.
At my workstation, I was given access to cutting-edge tools, including an Oculus DK2, the most advanced VR headset at the time. Before this, I had only tried rudimentary VR experiences with Google Cardboard. Now, I could explore every experience available for the DK2.
The Thesis in Focus
The focus of my thesis wasn’t VR as a standalone technology but as a new medium of communication. I saw its potential beyond gaming, as a storytelling tool akin to cinema. My goal was to bridge the two disciplines while highlighting VR’s unique characteristics.
This led me to analyze elements that today might fall under UX design, though I didn’t have the terminology for it back then. I critiqued how early adopters often applied cinematic rules to 360° videos, which frequently fell short. My unique position as a student allowed me to critically evaluate the work being done by those with far greater resources.
Looking Back
The experience profoundly shaped me. Writing about it now, I’m struck by how much clarity and determination I had despite my limited knowledge. It’s also a reminder of how far the field has come—what was once a niche interest is now a sprawling industry.
While there’s much more to say about the personal side of this journey, perhaps that’s a story for another time—or another book, decades down the line. For now, I’m grateful to have preserved these memories before they fade entirely.