Meta Muse Everywhere: Glasses, Pendants and the Awkward Future of AI

Meta held Connect this week, and the message was simple. Muse, its new AI agent, should be with you at all times. On your face. In your ears. Hanging around your neck. And eventually, strapped to your head with a cable running to a battery pack in your pocket.

I like the product. I find it useful, and I think it will have broad adoption, especially for the fact that it is currently free.

Here’s the lineup.

The Ray-Ban Meta Gen 3 is out now at $449. It’s slimmer, the battery lasts 9 hours, and the camera is better.

The Ray-Ban Meta Audio costs $349 and ships October 13. It has no camera. The people around you no longer have to wonder if you’re recording them. They only have to wonder why you’re talking to your sunglasses.

There’s a $249 Adventurer for the budget-conscious. There’s also a Kylie Jenner edition with pet-inspired charms, because of course there is.

The Meta VR Glasses cost $1,299.99 and arrive next spring. They weigh about 100 grams, because all the heavy stuff lives in a separate compute pack connected by a tether. So it’s a headset with a leash.

Then there’s the Muse Charm. It’s a Tamagotchi-style pendant with a 2-inch screen, front and rear cameras, 5G, and a customizable AI character living inside it. It ships in December. Meta hasn’t set a price, but expect something around what a smartwatch costs.

The real story isn’t any single device. Zuckerberg said it himself: Meta used to think the metaverse would come first and AI would come later. That order flipped. The hardware is the same bet, but the reason for it changed. Every one of these gadgets is a delivery system for Muse.

Look at the partners. Walmart, Best Buy, Sephora, Instacart, Expedia, Wayfair (noticeably absent is Amazon, I guess it doesn’t want to play ball with Zuck). Muse agents are getting their own email addresses. This isn’t a wearables strategy. It’s a checkout lane you wear.

Which brings us to the problem Silicon Valley refuses to learn from. Scott Galloway put it best: ““Nobody wants to put a prophylactic on their head that says to the world, ‘Don’t have sex with me.’” and “Headsets are nothing better than wearable sex repellent.”

Google Glass learned the lesson. Snap Spectacles learned it. The Vision Pro learned it at $3,500. Ray-Ban Meta works because it looks like regular Ray-Bans. The top-selling feature of Meta’s smart glasses is that nobody can tell they’re smart glasses.

The camera-free Audio model says a lot. It exists because enough people decided they didn’t want a lens pointed at them over dinner. Meta’s fix for its creepy glasses is glasses that do less.

The Charm is Meta admitting that the face may be a lost cause. So it’s moving the AI down to your chest, like a Flavor Flav clock that can book you a flight.

Some of this will stick. Audio glasses make a lot of sense. An AI agent that can actually buy things is a real product. But the plan still depends on millions of people deciding that a computer on their body is worth looking a little ridiculous.

Somewhere this December, someone will be on a first date asking their pendant whether it’s going well.

The pendant will know. It has two cameras.

What’s Behind Honor’s Backflipping Phone?

Honor just unveiled a phone that does backflips. Not metaphorically. The thing has a 4-axis gimbal built into the body so it can physically move, nod when it agrees with you, shake its head when it doesn’t, and apparently just start dancing if a song comes on. Who the heck is this for?

Strip away the theater, and there’s a real feature under there: 3-axis gimbal stabilization for video, AI object tracking, a “Spinshot” mode that swings the camera 90 or 180 degrees mid-shot, and an ARRI partnership to make the footage look cinema-grade. That part makes sense for a certain kind of user: the solo creator who wants a mini gimbal rig without having to carry one. Fine.

But who is this for beyond that narrow slice of vloggers who’d rather their phone do the camera work than buy a $150 stabilizer?

Because the rest of it, the nodding, the head-shaking, and the phone as a tiny robot butler with opinions, feels like a solution hunting for a problem. Nobody was on a video call wishing their phone would physically pivot to keep their face centered like a nervous intern. Nobody wanted their handset to have body language. Who is this for, the guy who talks to Siri and wants Siri to visibly agree with him?

And Honor isn’t even committing to it yet. The event page has a disclaimer that everything shown is “under preparation” and subject to change before it actually ships. No price, no release date, no real specs. So right now this is a phone-shaped promise that it might, eventually, be a phone that fidgets. “Who is this for?” I keep asking because I genuinely don’t have an answer, and I don’t think Honor does either. They just really wanted to show off a motor that shrank by 70 percent and decided the best way to do that was to make the phone flip like a caffeinated gymnast during your group chat.

Bonus round: Check out the promo reel and tell me what YOU think: Creepy or Great Tech?