Emotiv's headquarters looks like that of any Web 2.0 start-up, which is to say it is a cluttered warren with mostly twentysomethings hunched over multiple monitors in San Francisco's South of Market neighborhood. But you have to meet only a few of these laptop lizards to realize that something unusual is going on here. One is an expert on facial expressions. Another has designed high-powered communications software. Yet another has produced best-selling video games. Smoke from a soldering iron wafts from a side room teeming with custom circuit boards. The payroll includes mathematicians as well as an evolutionary biologist.
And then there's the charismatic Le, now 31, who is a bit harder to characterize. She is comfortable shooting the breeze about the fine points of intellectual-property protection, the structure of the human cortex, and the future of the music industry, punctuating all of it frequently with an infectious laugh. But there are also flashes of a less easygoing, sharper-edged Le -- flaring, for example, at the suggestion that Emotiv can be compared with any of the countless start-ups that have set up shop nearby. "They may take on some technology risk in their development, but they know what they want to do is doable," she says. "Here, we're pushing the boundaries of what's possible."
Measuring brain waves, of course, isn't such a big deal. Electroencephalography, or EEG, machines that track the brain's electrical activity at the scalp have been around for the better part of a century. But the best EEG machines cost tens or even hundreds of thousands of dollars -- and for all that, they generally haven't been used for much more than measuring relaxation levels or detecting signs of life.
When they launched Emotiv, the partners figured there was no point in hiring established EEG experts, since the state of the art in EEG machines wasn't even close to what they needed. "We decided that we'd look at the whole landscape of science," says Do, "because there had to be something out there traditional researchers were missing." Ultimately, Emotiv decided to treat emotional signal processing as a sort of math problem that could be solved with clever software. Emotiv opened an office in Sydney and staffed it with mathematicians, digital signal processing experts, and artificial intelligence whizzes. To help keep R&D costs manageable, Emotiv leaned heavily on graduate students willing to work for free in exchange for having some exciting, cutting-edge research on their resumé.
The result was a software program that broke brain waves down into 90,000 components. It was so complex that running a single 10-second brain-wave reading through the program took six computers two days. And sometimes the two-day crunching session would be for naught: The brain-wave readings were so faint that just the electrical activity generated in an eye blink was enough to swamp them. To work well, the software had to learn to filter out the noise. "It was like listening to all the phone conversations in New York at once and trying to pull a few of them out," says Snyder. But the researchers made steady progress, and as they did, Le was quick to file patents; she eventually claimed some 25 that covered a range of processes.
In late 2004, after a day of particularly good progress, the group sensed it was close to being able to read a person's level of excitement in real time. No one went home that evening. Le, Do, and the research team pulled an all nighter; they took turns wearing a standard electrode cap -- sort of like a bathing cap coated inside with gel to improve electrical conductivity -- while watching movies, listening to jokes, arguing, and more, all while a graph on the screen tracked excitement. "By morning, we knew we had it," says Le. "We knew we were going to succeed." Without any champagne on hand and with the bars closed, the team members went to a coffee shop to celebrate, their hair glistening with conductive gel.
By now, I can move that block with ease. I'm ready for a new challenge: making something happen onscreen that has no real-life analog. In this case, I'm to make that same damn block vanish into thin air. What am I supposed to think and feel? Disappear isn't part of my mental repertoire. It's suggested that I stare at the background scene and visualize it without the block. I conjure the image in my mind and focus on making it vivid. The block flickers. I sear the blockless image into my brain, and just like that, the block is gone. Who knew I had the ability to concentrate in such deadly ways? Now for some easier fun. An animated face comes up on the screen, and I'm told to make faces. As I grin, the face grins; it matches my frown, blink, wink, and eyebrow arching. I'm a cartoon! I feel as if the headset is helping me realize fantasies I didn't even know I harbored.
Le and her colleagues were just as tickled when they found they could perform similar feats. But they soon realized they now had a serious decision to make, one they had been putting off while the very feasibility of the project was in play: What do we do with this? Hit the market with an expensive device that would sell in low volume? License the technology to one or more big companies? Or somehow figure out how to bring the costs down enough to sell to a mass audience? The co-founders had been dreamily discussing the possibilities all along, but now they met to formally choose their future. "Nam and I were very excited about the opportunities around licensing, but then Allan said to us, 'We don't want to make money doing this,' " recalls Le. "Nam and I rolled our eyes, thinking that this was typical scientist talk. Then Allan added, 'We want to make a lot of money.' " They all laughed, but the point was clear: They had all seen success in past exploits. Why bother to do this if they weren't going to go for the jackpot? They decided to shoot for the mass market.
The strategy is counterintuitive, to say the least. "The best beachhead strategy for a new technology is one that demonstrates that the technology works, is highly valued by the customer, and gives you a high margin," says Jerome Engel, executive director of the Lester Center for Entrepreneurship and Innovation at the University of California, Berkeley. The transistor, for example, was first brought to market in 1952, when it was used in hearing aids. Customers were grateful rather than finicky, marketing was fairly simple, and the revenue funded expansion into bigger markets. Emotiv, in fact, is working with a wheelchair company to develop a thought-controllable device for those who can't move their body. But that's a sideline. The company's biggest bet remains squarely on consumers -- which Engel finds risky. "If you go for a consumer market first," he says, "you're racing against limited resources, you need to get a lot of partners, and you need to have a very sexy product that delivers exactly what unforgiving customers are looking for. These guys made a choice that carries a huge risk."
