Have you ever felt so absorbed in a video call that you forgot you weren’t in the same room as your colleagues? Or perhaps you’ve caught yourself ducking in a VR game when a virtual object flew toward your face? Welcome to the fascinating world of virtual presence, where our brains blur the lines between physical and digital reality. Here’s something that might surprise you: research suggests that our sense of presence in virtual environments can be so powerful that our bodies respond physiologically—heart rate changes, palms sweat, muscles tense—as if the virtual experience were completely real. In our post-pandemic world, where remote work has become normalized and the metaverse looms on the horizon, understanding virtual presence isn’t just an academic curiosity; it’s essential for anyone navigating modern life. In this article, we’ll explore what virtual presence truly means, why it matters more than ever, how our brains create this compelling illusion, and what practical steps we can take to harness its benefits while avoiding its pitfalls. This psychological phenomenon is closely related to telepresence, though virtual presence specifically emphasizes the subjective experience rather than the technology enabling it.
What is Virtual Presence?
Virtual presence (or “telepresence”) is the psychological state in which a person feels physically and/or socially present in a mediated environment rather than in their actual physical location. It occurs when the brain processes digital stimuli—visual, auditory, haptic—as a coherent model of reality, temporarily overriding awareness of the real-world surroundings.
This phenomenon involves three dimensions: spatial presence (feeling “there” in a virtual place), social presence (feeling connected to others), and self-presence (experiencing embodiment through avatars or digital representations).
What exactly is virtual presence and why should we care now?
Virtual presence psychology refers to the psychological state in which users feel physically present in a mediated environment rather than in their actual physical location. Think of it as your brain’s ability to be “fooled” into believing you’re somewhere you’re not—whether that’s in a Zoom meeting, a VR headset, or even absorbed in a compelling video game.
The implications extend beyond individual experience. At a societal level, virtual presence is reshaping how we define “real” versus “virtual”—a distinction that’s becoming increasingly obsolete. When a virtual meeting produces genuine emotional impact, when a virtual concert creates authentic joy, when virtual therapy produces measurable clinical outcomes, insisting that only physical presence “counts” becomes philosophically untenable. We’re witnessing what sociologists call the “virtualization of the lifeworld,” where mediated presence isn’t second-best but simply a different mode of being. This shift challenges traditional notions of authenticity, embodiment, and what it means to be human in an increasingly hybrid physical-digital existence.
The post-pandemic shift in our relationship with virtual spaces
The COVID-19 pandemic fundamentally transformed how we relate to virtual environments. What was once optional became mandatory overnight. We’ve observed in our clinical practice how people who never considered themselves “tech-savvy” suddenly found themselves spending 8+ hours daily in virtual meetings, attending virtual weddings, and even saying goodbye to loved ones through screens. This wasn’t just a temporary adjustment—it represented a paradigmatic shift in human connection.
According to data from various workplace studies conducted between 2020-2023, the percentage of remote workers in the US and UK more than tripled compared to pre-pandemic levels, with many organizations maintaining hybrid or fully remote models. This means that for millions of people, virtual presence has become their primary mode of professional interaction.
Importantly, this shift revealed stark individual differences in presence adaptation. Some people thrived in virtual environments, reporting that remote work reduced social anxiety and allowed deeper focus. Others experienced profound alienation, unable to establish sufficient presence in virtual contexts to feel engaged or connected. These differences weren’t just personality quirks—they correlated with neurodivergence (autistic individuals often preferred reduced sensory input of virtual contexts), introversion/extraversion, access to quality technology, and home environments conducive to focused virtual presence. Understanding these individual differences is crucial for equitable post-pandemic work and education policies.
Why this matters from a humanistic perspective
The neuroscience behind feeling “there”
Our brains weren’t designed for screens, yet they’ve proven remarkably adaptable. Virtual presence emerges from a complex interplay between sensory input, cognitive processing, and emotional engagement. When multiple sensory channels are engaged simultaneously—visual, auditory, and increasingly haptic—our brain’s predictive processing mechanisms begin treating the virtual environment as a viable model of reality. It’s not that we’re being deceived; rather, our brains are doing exactly what they evolved to do: creating a coherent sense of “being somewhere” based on available information.
Virtual presence becomes particularly influential through mechanisms like the Proteus effect, which transforms how we behave based on our digital embodiment.
The three dimensions of virtual presence: how we experience being there
How to measure virtual presence: tools psychologists actually use
Understanding virtual presence is one thing; measuring it rigorously is another. For researchers, clinicians, and even UX designers working with immersive technologies, quantifying presence transforms it from a subjective curiosity into a manipulable variable with practical applications.
Validated psychological questionnaires remain the gold standard. The Igroup Presence Questionnaire (IPQ) assesses spatial presence, involvement, and experienced realism through questions like “I felt like I was just perceiving pictures” (reverse scored) or “I had a sense of being there in the virtual space.” The Slater-Usoh-Steed (SUS) Questionnaire uses a simpler 6-item scale focused specifically on the sense of “being there.” For social presence in multiplayer or communication contexts, the Networked Minds Measure evaluates co-presence, psychological involvement, and behavioral engagement.
Physiological indicators provide objective correlates. Heart rate variability (HRV) decreases under high presence, reflecting focused attention and emotional engagement. Skin conductance responses spike during emotionally salient virtual events—if your palms sweat on a virtual roller coaster, your body is “buying” the illusion. Postural sway measured via motion tracking increases when spatial presence is high; your body unconsciously adjusts balance as if the virtual floor were real.
Behavioral markers offer ecological validity. Breaking presence—the moment you “remember” you’re in VR, often triggered by technical glitches or physical intrusions—can be logged. Reaction times to virtual stimuli versus real-world stimuli converge under high presence. In therapy contexts, avoidance behaviors in virtual scenarios (backing away from a virtual spider, refusing to step off a virtual ledge) indicate clinically meaningful presence.
From a practical standpoint, combining subjective self-reports with physiological data provides the most complete picture. A patient might report low presence to appear “tough,” but their racing heart tells the truth. Conversely, someone might feel immersed yet show minimal physiological response, suggesting habituation or individual differences in autonomic reactivity.
| Dimension | Definition | Key Features | Measurement Tools |
|---|---|---|---|
| Spatial Presence | Feeling of “being there” in a virtual location |
• Sense of physical location • Suppression of real-world awareness • Physiological responses (e.g., vertigo on virtual cliffs) |
IPQ (Igroup Presence Questionnaire), SUS (Slater-Usoh-Steed) |
| Social Presence | Sense of being with “real” others in a mediated space |
• Perception of co-presence • Emotional connection to others • Behavioral engagement (turn-taking, eye contact) |
Networked Minds Measure, Social Presence Scale |
| Self-Presence | Experience of embodiment through digital representations |
• Avatar identification • Proteus Effect (avatar influences behavior) • Body ownership illusions |
Embodiment Questionnaire, Self-Presence Scale |
Researchers generally identify three interconnected dimensions of virtual presence: spatial presence, social presence, and self-presence. Understanding these dimensions helps us recognize when and how virtual experiences become psychologically “real” to us.
Spatial presence: the illusion of being in a place
Spatial presence is that feeling of “being there” in a virtual location. It’s what happens when you’re so immersed in a virtual environment that you temporarily forget about your physical surroundings. In VR applications, this can be remarkably powerful—users report feeling genuine vertigo when standing on virtual cliffs or reaching out to touch objects that don’t physically exist.
A compelling example comes from therapeutic applications of VR for anxiety disorders. Patients undergoing exposure therapy for phobias in virtual environments show similar physiological responses—increased heart rate, sweating, muscle tension—as they would to real-world exposure. This demonstrates that spatial presence isn’t just a subjective curiosity; it has measurable, therapeutic applications.
Social presence: feeling connected to others
Perhaps most relevant to our current moment is social presence—the sense that we’re interacting with “real” people rather than digital representations. During the pandemic, we collectively learned that video calls could sustain relationships, though not without cost. The phenomenon of “Zoom fatigue” emerged precisely because maintaining social presence through screens requires considerable cognitive effort. The challenges of maintaining social presence in video calls have broader implications for digital workplace harassment and the psychology of online vs. offline personality.
Research on remote work and education during 2020-2022 revealed something important: social presence isn’t automatic in virtual spaces. It requires intentional design, active participation, and often, learning new communication norms. We’ve had to develop new literacies—reading subtle cues in tiny video boxes, interpreting text tone without body language, managing turn-taking without natural spatial cues.
Self-presence: embodiment in digital spaces
Equity and access: who gets to feel “present”?
Here’s an uncomfortable truth we must confront: not everyone experiences virtual presence equally, and the barriers aren’t just psychological—they’re structural, economic, and deeply tied to systemic inequality.
The hardware divide is the most obvious barrier. High-quality VR headsets capable of producing strong spatial presence cost $400-1,500+, placing them out of reach for low-income individuals, communities in the Global South, and resource-constrained institutions like underfunded schools or rural clinics. When we discuss VR therapy for PTSD or educational applications of immersive learning, we’re implicitly talking about interventions available primarily to the privileged. A video call on a cracked smartphone screen produces vastly lower social presence than a high-resolution monitor with quality audio, yet millions have only the former.
Internet infrastructure creates a second-order exclusion. Virtual presence in remote work or telemedicine requires reliable, high-speed connections. Research from 2020-2023 documented how students from low-income households experienced significantly lower engagement and “sense of being there” in virtual classrooms due to bandwidth limitations, frequent disconnections, and inability to use video—effectively creating a two-tier education system where presence itself became a privilege.
Physical and cognitive accessibility matters immensely. Many VR systems aren’t designed for users with mobility impairments, visual impairments, or neurodivergent conditions. Someone with vestibular disorders may experience severe motion sickness that makes sustained presence impossible. Autistic individuals might find the sensory intensity overwhelming or, conversely, might find virtual spaces more navigable than physical ones—but current systems rarely accommodate this spectrum of needs.
Cultural and linguistic representation shapes who feels “at home” in virtual spaces. If avatars, environments, and interaction norms reflect narrow cultural assumptions (often Western, anglophone, individualistic), users from other backgrounds experience lower self-presence and social presence—a form of digital displacement. The discomfort isn’t technical; it’s existential.
As psychologists and technologists, we have an ethical obligation to advocate for universal design in presence-inducing technologies, to question who benefits from immersive systems, and to ensure that research on virtual presence includes diverse populations rather than defaulting to WEIRD (Western, Educated, Industrialized, Rich, Democratic) samples. Presence shouldn’t be a luxury good.
Self-presence refers to how we experience ourselves within virtual environments, particularly through avatars or digital representations. This dimension has profound implications for identity, self-concept, and even behavior. Studies have shown that people’s avatar choices can influence their real-world attitudes and actions—a phenomenon known as the “Proteus Effect.” This phenomenon is deeply connected to the psychology of avatars and how we build our virtual identity across different platforms and contexts.
Consider this: if you represent yourself as more confident or attractive in a virtual space, you might actually behave more confidently. Conversely, discriminatory experiences in virtual spaces—whether based on avatar appearance, voice, or username—can produce genuine psychological harm. From a social justice perspective, this matters enormously as virtual spaces increasingly become sites of work, education, and social life.
The double-edged sword: benefits and concerns of virtual presence
Therapeutic and educational opportunities
The applications of virtual presence for wellbeing are genuinely exciting. Beyond phobia treatment, virtual environments are being used for PTSD therapy, pain management, cognitive rehabilitation, and social skills training for individuals with autism spectrum conditions. The ability to create controlled, repeatable, yet emotionally engaging scenarios offers therapeutic possibilities that traditional settings cannot match.
In education, virtual presence enables experiences previously impossible—walking through ancient Rome, exploring molecular structures from inside, or collaborating in real-time with peers across continents. When designed thoughtfully and deployed equitably, these tools can democratize access to experiences once reserved for the privileged few.
To understand how VR therapy leverages spatial presence for clinical outcomes, see our complete guide on virtual reality therapy and treating phobias with VR.
Beyond exposure therapy, virtual presence enables VR therapy for trauma and PTSD and virtual reality for pain management, where immersion directly modulates pain perception.
The psychological risks of excessive virtual presence
While virtual presence enables remarkable therapeutic and educational applications, we cannot ignore its shadow side. Excessive immersion in virtual environments carries genuine psychological risks that demand our attention—not to fear-monger, but to use these tools responsibly.
Dissociation from physical reality represents perhaps the most concerning risk. When individuals spend prolonged periods in high-presence virtual environments, the boundary between virtual and physical can become psychologically permeable. This isn’t science fiction; clinical case reports document individuals who’ve experienced derealization symptoms after extended VR use—feeling that their physical surroundings seem “less real” or “flat” compared to the vividness of virtual experiences. For vulnerable individuals with pre-existing dissociative tendencies or psychotic spectrum conditions, this blurring can exacerbate symptoms.
Social isolation paradox emerges when virtual social presence substitutes for, rather than supplements, physical connection. Yes, you can feel genuine connection in a virtual meeting—but if that becomes your only form of social interaction, research suggests negative mental health outcomes accumulate. During the pandemic, we observed this directly: people who relied entirely on virtual presence for social needs showed higher rates of depression and anxiety than those who balanced virtual and in-person contact. The quality of presence matters, but so does embodied, physical co-presence for human wellbeing.
Identity fragmentation can occur when self-presence across multiple virtual contexts (different avatars, personas, interaction styles) isn’t integrated into a coherent sense of self. Adolescents experimenting with identity—a normal developmental process—may find the multiplicity empowering or destabilizing depending on their psychological resources and support systems. We’ve seen cases where the gap between one’s virtual self-presentation (confident, attractive, successful) and experienced physical self becomes a source of distress rather than creative exploration.
Addiction vulnerability intersects with presence: the more presence an environment produces, the more psychologically rewarding it becomes, and the greater the risk of compulsive use. Gaming disorder often involves high presence—players aren’t “escaping” reality so much as finding an alternative reality that feels more rewarding, controllable, or meaningful. This isn’t the user’s moral failing; it’s a predictable consequence of how reward systems in the brain interact with well-designed immersive environments.
Physical health consequences matter too. VR-induced motion sickness affects 20-80% of users depending on the system and content, caused by sensory mismatch between visual motion and vestibular stillness. Prolonged use can cause eye strain, neck pain, and postural problems. These aren’t just inconveniences—chronic discomfort creates negative associations that undermine therapeutic or educational applications.
The solution isn’t to avoid virtual presence but to approach it with the same harm-reduction mindset we apply to any powerful psychological tool: assess individual vulnerability, establish time limits, maintain connections to physical reality and embodied relationships, monitor for warning signs, and design interventions that respect human psychological needs rather than exploit them.
Practical applications across contexts: where virtual presence matters most
Virtual presence isn’t just a laboratory phenomenon—it’s actively shaping outcomes in clinical, educational, professional, and entertainment contexts. Understanding where and how presence matters helps us leverage it strategically.
In clinical psychology and therapy, presence determines treatment efficacy. Exposure therapy for specific phobias (heights, flying, spiders) requires sufficient spatial presence for the patient to experience genuine anxiety that can then be therapeutically processed. Studies show that presence scores during VR exposure predict symptom reduction at follow-up. Similarly, VR for PTSD works when patients feel “transported” back to trauma-related contexts in a controlled, titrated way—too little presence and it’s just watching a screen, too much and it risks retraumatization. Pain management applications leverage presence to redirect attentional resources away from nociceptive signals; burn patients in VR during wound care report significantly lower pain when presence is high.
In education and training, presence enhances engagement, retention, and skill transfer. Medical students practicing surgical techniques in VR simulators show better real-world performance when the training environment produces high spatial and self-presence—their hands “remember” procedures practiced in virtual space. Historical simulations where students embody figures from different time periods produce stronger empathy and deeper historical understanding when self-presence is cultivated. Language learning in immersive virtual environments improves pronunciation and conversational fluency because social presence makes interactions feel consequential rather than artificial.
In workplace settings, social presence determines remote collaboration effectiveness. Teams that establish strong social presence through consistent video use, virtual “water cooler” spaces, and synchronized activities report higher psychological safety, trust, and creative output than teams that treat virtual interaction as purely transactional. Architectural firms using VR to walk clients through designs find that spatial presence dramatically improves communication and reduces costly revisions—clients understand spatial relationships that 2D plans never conveyed.
In social connection and entertainment, presence shapes relationship quality. Long-distance couples who engage in shared virtual activities (watching synced movies, playing cooperative games, exploring virtual environments together) report higher relationship satisfaction when experiences produce social presence. Conversely, the same technologies used without attention to presence—passive, distracted video calls—contribute to feelings of disconnection.
The common thread: intentionality matters. Virtual presence is a design variable we can manipulate through technology choices (VR vs. flat screen), content design (interactive vs. passive), and user behavior (focused attention vs. multitasking). Applying this knowledge means asking: “What level of presence does this context require, and how do we create conditions for that?”
Current controversies: is virtual presence “real” enough?
A significant debate exists within the field: Can virtual social presence genuinely substitute for physical co-presence, or will it always be a poor approximation? Some researchers argue that virtual interaction lacks essential elements of embodied communication—pheromones, subtle temperature changes, the feeling of shared physical space—that fundamentally limit its psychological depth.
Others contend this reflects outdated thinking, arguing that as technology improves and we develop new communicative norms, virtual presence may offer unique benefits rather than merely imitating physical presence. Honestly, I find myself somewhere in the middle. While I’ve witnessed meaningful therapeutic relationships develop entirely online and seen students thrive in virtual classrooms, I’ve also observed the weariness, the longing for physical connection, the sense that something essential remains missing.
How to identify healthy vs. unhealthy patterns of virtual presence
Given that virtual environments are now unavoidable for most of us, developing awareness of our relationship with virtual presence becomes crucial. Here are practical frameworks for assessment:
Warning signs of problematic virtual presence patterns
- Reality confusion: Difficulty distinguishing between virtual and physical experiences, or preferring virtual experiences consistently over physical ones.
- Neglect of physical needs: Regularly skipping meals, sleep, or physical activity to maintain virtual presence.
- Relationship displacement: Virtual interactions completely replacing rather than supplementing physical relationships.
- Emotional dysregulation: Virtual experiences consistently producing disproportionate emotional responses that interfere with daily functioning.
- Escapism dominance: Using virtual presence primarily to avoid dealing with physical-world challenges or responsibilities.
- Physical symptoms: Persistent eye strain, headaches, disrupted sleep patterns, or postural problems from excessive screen time.
Strategies for healthy virtual presence engagement
Rather than advocating for digital abstinence (unrealistic and unhelpful), I recommend intentional integration:
Practice presence awareness: Regularly check in with yourself about which “space” you’re primarily inhabiting at any moment. This metacognitive awareness helps prevent unconscious drift into problematic patterns.
Establish boundaries: Create clear transitions between virtual and physical presence. Physical rituals—changing clothes after logging off, going for a brief walk between video calls—help your brain shift presence states.
Optimize your setup: If virtual presence is central to your work or social life, invest in quality technology and ergonomics. Poor audio quality, uncomfortable seating, or inadequate lighting all increase the cognitive cost of maintaining virtual presence.
Cultivate embodied practices: Counterbalance virtual presence with activities that strongly anchor you in physical reality—exercise, cooking, gardening, crafts, or physical touch with loved ones.
Question design choices: Develop critical awareness of how virtual environments are designed to manipulate your sense of presence. Ask yourself: Who benefits from my extended presence here? Am I choosing this, or is the platform choosing for me?
For professionals: supporting clients navigating virtual spaces
As clinicians, we need updated frameworks for understanding how virtual presence intersects with mental health. This means:
| Clinical consideration | Practical approach |
|---|---|
| Assessing virtual presence patterns | Include questions about screen time, virtual activities, and feelings about online vs. offline life in standard intake assessments |
| Validating virtual experiences | Recognize that harm, relationships, and meaningful experiences in virtual spaces are psychologically real, not “less than” physical ones |
| Addressing equity concerns | Consider how access to technology and quality virtual presence affects treatment planning and recommendations |
| Leveraging therapeutic applications | Stay informed about evidence-based virtual interventions appropriate for your client population |
| Modeling healthy boundaries | Establish clear telehealth policies that demonstrate intentional virtual presence practices |
What does virtual presence psychology tell us about being human?
Here’s what fascinates me most about this field: virtual presence reveals something profound about consciousness itself. The fact that our sense of “being somewhere” can be triggered by patterns of light on screens demonstrates that presence is fundamentally a construction—a story our brains tell based on available evidence.
This isn’t to say physical reality is unimportant or that “everything is illusion.” Rather, it suggests that presence is flexible, shaped by attention, expectation, sensory input, and emotional engagement. We’ve always had the capacity for imaginative presence—getting lost in books, daydreaming, remembering—but technology has externalized and amplified this capacity in unprecedented ways.
From a progressive, humanistic perspective, this flexibility offers both promise and peril. It promises expanded possibilities for connection, healing, learning, and experience. It imperils us with new forms of exploitation, manipulation, and disconnection from embodied, ecological reality.
Moving forward: cultivating wisdom in virtual spaces
As virtual and physical realities continue blending, we need what I’d call “presence wisdom”—the capacity to navigate multiple modes of being-somewhere thoughtfully and intentionally. This isn’t about rejecting virtual experiences or romanticizing an impossible return to pre-digital life. It’s about developing conscious, ethical relationships with technologies that increasingly mediate our sense of presence.
We’ve covered how virtual presence psychology operates through spatial, social, and self-presence dimensions; how it offers genuine therapeutic and educational benefits while posing real psychological risks; and how we can identify and cultivate healthier patterns of engagement with virtual environments. The research base continues expanding rapidly, and uncertainties remain—particularly regarding long-term impacts and individual differences in susceptibility to virtual presence effects.
What’s clear is that virtual presence is neither inherently good nor bad—it’s a powerful psychological phenomenon whose impact depends entirely on how it’s designed, deployed, and experienced. As psychology professionals and informed citizens, we have both opportunity and responsibility to shape this ongoing transformation.
So here’s my challenge to you: Over the next week, notice your own patterns of virtual presence. When do you feel most “there” in digital spaces? What’s gained and what’s lost? How might you bring greater intentionality to these experiences? The answers matter not just for your individual wellbeing but for our collective capacity to build virtual spaces that serve human flourishing rather than merely extracting attention and data.
The future of presence is being written right now, in countless individual choices about how we inhabit digital spaces. Let’s write it wisely.
New to cyberpsychology? Start with our complete field guide to cyberpsychology to understand foundational concepts.
The future of presence: what’s coming next
The science and technology of virtual presence stand at an inflection point. Emerging developments will fundamentally reshape how we think about “being somewhere.”
Haptic technologies are moving beyond simple controller vibrations toward full-body suits that simulate touch, temperature, and texture. When you can feel virtual rain on your skin or the texture of virtual fabric, self-presence intensifies dramatically. Early research suggests that adding haptic feedback increases presence scores by 30-50% compared to audio-visual VR alone. The therapeutic implications are profound—imagine PTSD treatment where patients can safely experience somatic sensations associated with trauma memories, enabling more complete processing.
Brain-computer interfaces (BCIs) promise—or threaten—to create presence without external devices. Companies are developing non-invasive headsets that detect neural signatures of attention, emotion, and intent, using this data to adapt virtual environments in real time. If the system detects your presence dropping, it adjusts stimuli to recapture engagement. More speculatively, bidirectional BCIs could bypass sensory organs entirely, writing experiences directly to perceptual cortex—ultimate presence, or ultimate vulnerability to manipulation?
AI-driven social agents are becoming indistinguishable from humans in text and approaching that threshold in voice and appearance. When your therapy “session” is with an AI that produces strong social presence—remembers your history, responds empathetically, even seems to care—what are the psychological consequences? Early data suggests people form genuine attachments to AI companions, raising questions about authenticity, consent, and the nature of relationship itself.
Decentralized virtual worlds (the “metaverse,” crypto-based virtual real estate) promise persistent presence across contexts. Your avatar, reputation, possessions, and social connections follow you between platforms. This could produce unprecedented continuity of self-presence—or catastrophic consequences if your virtual identity is hacked, stolen, or controlled by corporate interests.
From a psychological ethics standpoint, we must remain vigilant. Technologies that produce powerful presence will be used for therapy and education, but also for advertising, propaganda, and exploitation. The same mechanisms that make VR exposure therapy effective could make immersive advertising irresistible. The same social presence that enables remote connection could enable sophisticated manipulation by bots and bad actors.
Our task as psychologists isn’t to resist these developments—that’s futile—but to insist on human-centered design, empirical validation of benefits and risks, and equitable access. Virtual presence is too powerful a phenomenon to leave entirely in the hands of technologists and marketers. It requires psychological expertise, ethical frameworks, and public awareness to ensure these tools serve human flourishing rather than undermine it.
References
Bailenson, J. (2021). Nonverbal overload: A theoretical argument for the causes of Zoom fatigue. Technology, Mind, and Behavior, 2(1). https://tmb.apaopen.org/pub/nonverbal-overload
Cummings, J. J., & Bailenson, J. N. (2016). How immersive is enough? A meta-analysis of the effect of immersive technology on user presence. Media Psychology, 19(2), 272-309. https://doi.org/10.1080/15213269.2015.1015740
Fox, J., & Bailenson, J. N. (2009). Virtual self-modeling: The effects of vicarious reinforcement and identification on exercise behaviors. Media Psychology, 12(1), 1-25. https://doi.org/10.1080/15213260802669474
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