Over the past year, I've been experimenting with augmented reality (AR), trying to explore what happens when everyday objects become tiny portals to the internet.
My initial dive into AR started with no clear goal beyond curiosity. I wanted to see how physical spaces could seamlessly connect to the digital world. To begin, I used 8th Wall, a web-based AR platform that works right from the browser, eliminating the need for app downloads. For 3D modeling, I turned to Blender, and for hosting, I used a static site on Cloudflare Pages.
This basic setup allowed me to prototype quickly. I placed QR codes on objects and linked them to small AR experiences. You'd scan the QR code, and suddenly, the object in front of you would reveal an extra layer of digital information—like a simple animation or an interactive element hovering in space.
The idea that kept pulling me in was simple: What if the physical world could quietly carry more meaning? I wasn't interested in flashy AR filters or gimmicks. I wanted subtle, almost invisible enhancements. Imagine holding a ticket, a notebook, or even a regular product package that unlocks a tiny bit of the internet when you point your phone at it.
Part of what excites me about AR is its potential to treat the web as a material that can "stick" to objects. This isn't about replacing the real world but about softly layering context onto it—letting physical things whisper extra stories when you pay close attention.
Most of my experiments were lightweight and playful:
None of these were groundbreaking, but they felt magical in a small way. They showed me how low the bar is to make the real world feel interactive. With just a QR code and a bit of lightweight code, everyday objects became tiny websites.
After these experiments, I started thinking more broadly about why AR hasn't fully clicked—and why it might not.
Friction kills magic.
AR still asks too much from people. Whether it's downloading an app, scanning a QR code, or waiting for something to load, the extra steps drain the magic. For AR to work, it has to feel as effortless as glancing at something.
Hardware isn't invisible.
For AR to feel ambient, it probably needs to live in everyday glasses. But the hardware just isn't there yet—today's devices are bulky, expensive, and limited.
There's no shared language.
QR codes are universal. AR doesn't have that. There's no common marker or cue that signals, "Hey, there's something here." Without that, most AR stays hidden.
Because of these gaps, I'm not sure AR will ever become as seamless or essential as people once imagined. But I still love the idea of small, intentional uses—quiet moments of digital context, stitched softly into the physical world.