A new report by the Immersive Experience Institute and Gensler confirms magic can be monetized—but should it be, asks The Experientialists’ Lou Pizante?

The incredibly insightful Noah Nelson at the Immersive Experience Institute, alongside the sharp minds at Gensler, have just unveiled their co-produced 2025 report on Evolving Immersive—a deep dive into where the industry stands and where it’s headed. 

This insight-loaded, mildly overwhelming, somewhat sprinkled with humblebrags, but undeniably fascinating report presents us with the delightful image of the immersive industry as a teenager: slightly awkward, uncertain, and desperately seeking its identity amidst growing pains. 

Marking what it calls the first fifteen years of the immersive movement, the report attempts to chart the industry’s rise from underground oddity to cultural force. While immersive experiences existed long before Punchdrunk’s Sleep No More—with notable predecessors like Schechner’s Dionysus in ’69, Krizanc’s Tamara, and even Disney’s meticulously themed worlds—the report emphasizes Punchdrunk’s rise to commercial glory as the moment immersive officially got its Hogwarts letter and left the cupboard under the stairs.

Admittedly, arguing about the exact “birth” of immersive is about as productive as debating who truly invented brunch—it’s delicious either way. Thus, Sleep No More is a perfectly fine place to begin the discussion. Besides, only a fool—or someone with a truly reckless disregard for their own credibility—would argue with Noah Nelson over immersive theater.”

“Only a fool—or someone with a truly reckless disregard for their own credibility—would argue with Noah Nelson over immersive theatre.”

Unlocking the Engagement Paywall

The report smartly recognizes that today’s audiences—spoiled by interactive, dopamine-driven platforms like Twitch, TikTok, and Fortnite—no longer accept passivity, preferring instead an illusion of choice and control. Institutions from museums to struggling shopping malls have taken note, incorporating interactivity to convince patrons they’re not simply staring into the void of endless scrolling. 

More importantly, the report nails a reality that immersive creators sometimes pretend isn’t happening: audiences are no longer dazzled by the mere existence of interactivity. They want quality, they want meaning, and they want to feel like they’re part of something—not like they just paid $75 to wave a plastic wand at a wall while a hidden Bluetooth speaker says “Excellent spellcasting!” in an accent that sounds vaguely British but also suspiciously AI-generated.

Financially, the report accurately portrays the immersive industry’s uneven landscape, recognizing major commercial successes like Meow Wolf‘s Omega Mart, a standout anchor tenant at AREA15, as examples of profitable and scalable ventures. At the same time, the report thoughtfully underscores the financial challenges faced by smaller, independent creators who typically rely on personal investments, modest crowdfunding efforts, and community backing to survive. 

“Spoiled by interactive, dopamine-driven platforms like Twitch, TikTok, and Fortnite, today’s audiences no longer accept passivity, preferring instead an illusion of choice and control.”

The big takeaway? Immersive’s financial model currently functions like a high-stakes game of Shark Tank meets Survivor, where the only paths to victory are securing major investment, selling out just enough to survive, or developing an emotional support Etsy shop to fund the next big project.

The Immersive High School Lunchroom

The report perfunctorily glosses over the fact that immersive takes many forms. It lists seven “formats”—but does so with the enthusiasm of a flight attendant demonstrating a seatbelt. It’s a quick nod before moving on, without really considering the texture of these formats or how they interact. The nuances, the overlaps, the ways these different approaches shape (and sometimes clash with) each other? Largely missing. 

Immersive isn’t just one moody teen. Really, it’s an entire cafeteria filled with weird, wonderful, deeply specific cliques, each convinced they’re the future of entertainment.

You’ve got immersive theater kids dramatically monologuing in the corner, massive multi-sensory digital art installations waving to influencers from the “Do it for the ‘Gram” table, and location-based VR experiences nervously defending their pricing models like debate team captains about to snap.

Meanwhile, the immersive theme park crowd is at the overachievers’ table, armed with billion-dollar budgets and an unshakable belief that more fog machines and IP crossovers will fix everything, while walkthrough attractions hover nearby, reminding everyone they existed before immersive was cool. Gamified experiences and ARG designers are whispering cryptic clues under their breath, daring anyone to crack the puzzle hidden in their cafeteria tray, while escape room creators sit smugly nearby, refusing to disclose how many people have rage-quit their rooms in frustration.

“The heavy-handed focus on commercial giants neglects grassroots creators who, despite operating on budgets that couldn’t afford a single Meow Wolf LED bulb…”

Themed dining experiences are putting on an elaborate, in-character show while subtly reminding everyone that drinks are not included, pop-up exhibitions are dramatically announcing they’ll only be here for a limited time (tickets selling fast!), and the competitive socializing folks are loudly explaining why axe-throwing bars and high-tech mini-golf are the true future of fun.

And then there’s experiential retail, sitting at the cool-kid table with a smug grin, knowing full well that brands will pour millions into their concepts even if half the visitors leave without buying anything. 

Apologies for the meandering metaphor, but once I started, I simply couldn’t find the exit… much like half the guests in an underfunded immersive walkthrough. But my point is: immersive theatre alone is so diverse that reducing it to Punchdrunk’s shadow feels like summarizing Netflix as just “Tiger King and some other stuff.”

Additionally, the heavy-handed focus on commercial giants neglects grassroots creators who, despite operating on budgets that couldn’t afford a single Meow Wolf LED bulb, often provide the innovation and heart fueling the industry’s evolution. It also breezes past the complexity of hybrid formats, failing to recognize that immersive experiences today are about as straightforward as explaining cryptocurrency to your grandparents.

 The future isn’t just about perfecting one format. Rather, it’s about embracing these hybrid models, blending formats like immersive art with retail, gamified dining experiences, and integrating augmented reality elements into real-world attractions, continually evolving alongside technological innovation and audience behavior.

“Immersive theatre alone is so diverse that reducing it to Punchdrunk’s shadow feels like summarizing Netflix as just “Tiger King and some other stuff.””

The Delicate Art of Not Selling Your Soul

Despite the vast landscape it covers, the report often presents immersive in a way that feels polished but overly simplified, like a cookbook by Phaidon with stunning photography but only a list of ingredients and no explanation of how to combine them—captivating, yes, but leaving out the parts that actually makes things work. Despite this vast landscape, the report mostly treats immersive like a theme park ride in the process of being sanitized for a corporate keynote. 

It barely touches on institutional how real estate developers’ mercurial developers mercurial now viewpoints immersive as the hot new anchor tenant—less “artistically daring” and more “how do we fill this abandoned mall space before it becomes a Spirit Halloween again?” Investors are interested, sure, but they’re still standing cautiously at the edge of the metaphorical pool, waiting for someone else to jump in first to see if they get electrocuted.

The report would have benefited from a deeper dive into the financial innovations shaping immersive’s future—because while ticket sales are cute, real sustainability lies in hybrid funding models, diverse revenue streams, and yes, the occasional sponsorship deal that will absolutely feature a “Do Not Touch” interactive moment, lovingly brought to you by Verizon, who will then text you about it forever.

And let’s not forget the report’s glaring omission of accessibility and inclusion—because let’s be real, immersive’s history with accommodating all audiences is about as flawless as an animatronic attempting to sing “Happy Birthday” while its servo motors slowly break down.

“The report mostly treats immersive like a theme park ride in the process of being sanitized for a corporate keynote.”

Yet despite these blind spots, the report is refreshingly realistic about the paradox of scalability versus intimacy—a genuine challenge akin to hosting a cozy dinner party for 200 close friends you’ve never met. 

Their data indicating 73% of respondents are willing to travel great distances for experiences that feel meaningful (or at least Instagrammable) provides valuable insight—though it does somewhat resemble polling audiences on whether they’d prefer watching paint dry or, say, attending an amusement park. The real question isn’t whether people will travel for good immersive work—it’s whether they’ll travel again if they showed up and the “immersive” part of the experience turned out to be two flickering LED strips and an actor who looked like he was questioning every career decision that led him to perform next to a malfunctioning fog machine.

Too Legit to Quit?

In the end, this report confirms what those in the trenches already know: the immersive movement is like a theme park dark ride—equal parts thrilling and terrifying, but mostly just trying to keep everything from breaking down mid-ride. The immersive movement is at a lifestage that is both exhilarating and exhausting, full of potential but equally full of existential crises. It’s a movement that demands reinvention even as it fights to prove its legitimacy, where the line between innovation and gimmick is often drawn in vanishing ink. The report does a commendable job of laying bare this adolescent angst.

Like all coming-of-age stories, immersive’s evolution will be messy, exhilarating, and occasionally embarrassing. As this adolescent movement staggers toward industry-sized adulthood, we can only hope it maintains its weird charm, endless experimentation, and resistance to becoming too “mainstream.”

“Like all coming-of-age stories, immersive’s evolution will be messy, exhilarating, and occasionally embarrassing.”

Or maybe I’m overthinking it—because immersive was never about formats, markets, or business models.  Maybe the real lesson isn’t about four-pillar strategies, four-quantrant appeal, or even four-wall economics. Instead, it’s about why we keep coming back, despite the challenges, the burnout, and the occasional misfire. Because at its core, immersive has always been about stepping outside the ordinary, slipping into something extraordinary, and—just for a moment—believing in magic.

And if that can’t be monetized at scale… well, maybe that’s a good thing.

Lou Pizante is a co-conspirator at The Experientialists, making big ideas real with a mix of business acumen, financial faerie dust and just the right amount of chaos. He believes in the power of great ideas—especially when backed by a team of master builders and a smattering of lasers. Lou is a member of the WXO Council and a Blooloop 50 Immersive Influencer.