How VR Can Transform Storytelling—And Why It's Revolutionary for Foundations

We've all seen videos that stir our emotions, but what if you could step inside the story? Virtual reality (VR) and extended reality (XR) aren't just buzzwords—they're tools that can immerse your audience in the world your foundation is fighting for, creating empathy and urgency in ways traditional video simply can't.

What Is XR? (And Where Did It Come From?)

XR, or extended reality, is an umbrella term for immersive technologies like VR (fully digital environments), AR (augmented reality, which layers digital elements onto the real world), and MR (mixed reality, where digital and physical interact). The concept dates back to the 1960s with early head-mounted displays, but today's XR is accessible, powerful, and—critically—emotional.

The Power of Immersive Storytelling

Imagine a foundation's fundraising event where donors don't just watch a video—they live it. Let's say you fund water wells in India. Here's how VR could transport your audience (original human concept created by M&E Films):

The camera glides through a bustling market—first-person perspective. Children run around you, laughing and chattering. You hear someone close to you say something—you look to your left; it's a market seller, gesturing for you to pass a basket to the person on your right. You watch "yourself" do so and then continue on your journey. You step up to a water well in the middle of this slum, and people are drinking seemingly fresh, safe, clean water. You stand for a minute and observe, feeling the vibrant and positive energy and watching the general activity. Then you continue walking.

After a while, you come to another water source. Again you see a similar scene with children running around, playing, laughing but this time the well isn't new and fresh; it's clearly very aged. There are large puddles where pipes have burst and then been patched up time and time again. Flies buzz around, attracted by some type of smell. You see mothers and children drinking from it, people washing clothes nearby. You stand and observe for a while again, then keep on walking.

After some more time has passed, you are invited into someone's home. They are so kind, so friendly. A woman you imagine to be the mother of the family embraces you in a way that you can almost feel despite knowing you are in a virtual world, then holds you at arm's length, takes you in with her eyes pausing, enabling a moment of reflection, consciousness and connection. She looks at you with the love and warmth that feels like home, safe, that makes you feel like you're standing with your own mother or whoever your special person or people are. She gives you a smile that lets you know you are welcome here. You sit down; she offers you tea. You gratefully accept but are unsure of the sanitation situation, but feel embarrassed to decline so you graciously accept the warm vessel. In the corner, there are two young children playing, a girl and a boy. You watch them; they're laughing and smiling, just like your children, like your nieces and nephews. You feel your smile grow across your face, feel warm inside. You're sitting surrounded by the children's family. You look around, and everyone is sipping tea. They're speaking—you can't understand the language, of course, but you can read the subtitles on screen. Most importantly, you can feel the energy and the warmth of the moment.

Then you look up, startled, as you hear one of the children coughing. At first, it's just one or two small sounds, but soon it's all anyone in the small room can focus on. The mother, who is sitting next to you, stands up quickly and ushers the children out of the room, seemingly embarrassed. The father, sitting to your left, apologizes for the interruption and tells you the mother will take him away so you won't be bothered by it again—offering a half-hearted smile.

A few more minutes pass, and you turn to the father and ask (through subtitles on screen in the local dialect), "What's wrong with him?" The father lowers his shoulders; his whole frame and demeanor seem to shrink. He takes a moment and finally, in a small voice, says, "It's the water we gave him when he was just a small baby. It's damaged his lungs. A lot of the communities were provided with new facilities, but there wasn't enough to reach all the way to our home. So there was nothing we could do—he didn't have access to clean water."

It's clear the father doesn't want to speak any further about this. He gathers the tea things and makes his way out of the room, letting you know he'll be back in a moment and you should wait here. You're left sitting with two other people you don't know on the other side of the room. The energy feels flat—just the sounds of the crackling fire, the street noise outside, and the distant sounds of the boy's cough.

A message appears on screen:

"Sponsoring this project for $2 a month allows fresh, clean water to flow to every village."

How do you feel?

VR has the ability to connect the viewer to the feeling and the reality of the situation. We've always been very clear: we don't use guilt or sadness to generate donations or gain support through our videos. That's a dated method and doesn't work, in our opinion. This is something we adamantly stand by. However, allowing someone to feel the reality of the situation lets them connect—and used correctly, VR can do this.

It can be used in so many ways, of course. Now imagine walking through a field of lush green grass as a women hangs her washing out on a line in the middle of a field. It's mid morning and as the materials catch in the wind, the soft fresh scent carries on the breeze makes its way to you. As you pass by her you smile, she acknowledges you, smiling sweetly while continuing to sing a beautiful song- one that you know will stay with you forever.

Children appear around you as if from nowhere. They're out of breath; they've been running to catch up to you. They take your hands and pull you as you all start running toward a great big tree. It feels like you're running forever, but as you approach the tree, you realize why they've brought you there. The great oak provides cool protection from the rising midday sun.

You sit down on the soft ground, and after a while, you slowly start to lean back and lie down, putting your hands behind your head, looking up at the deep blue sky, watching as the white puffy clouds dance effortlessly through the sky. Your eyes begin to shut, and all you can hear is the sound of the gentle breeze and the laughing and chattering of all the children around you. Oh how you wish you could stay in this perfect moment forever...

Now how do you feel?

Video has always been about the feeling for us, and that's why we're so excited about these advances in technology—it allows us to connect in a deeper way. If used correctly, it has the ability to bridge divides—but only if we democratize access. For foundations and nonprofits alike, this means partnering with creators who can adapt these technologies for galas, fundraisers, or social campaigns—meeting audiences where they are.

Here's the thing: VR's power lies in the story, not the headset. A headset can deepen immersion, but a well-crafted first-person narrative—whether through a 360° video, an interactive projection, or even a simple screen—can still transport your audience. The goal isn't the tech itself; it's making people feel like they've stepped into another world. And that's something every foundation can harness, with or without the latest hardware.

In a world where attention is scarce, and distractions are abundant, new technology and the acceptance of technology will continue to grow. As creatives who strive to do good and enrich the world around us, the possibilities are literally limitless. We're not just telling stories—we're creating experiences that transform how people connect with causes.