I was wrong about smart glasses for people who wear prescriptions—here’s what changed

I used to lump “smart glasses” into the same bucket as fidgety gadgets that make you look busy without making you better. I wear prescription lenses all day, juggle back-to-back meetings, and navigate New York on foot, subway, rideshares, and the occasional Citi Bike. I didn’t want a sci‑fi billboard on my face or a camera pointing at coworkers. I assumed anything with a display would be distracting, incompatible with my Rx, and too fragile for a Midtown sprint in light rain. That bias felt reasonable—until it quietly cost me. I missed small moments: the quick idea I meant to capture before a stand‑up; the calendar note I forgot while weaving through a crosswalk; the subway reroute I didn’t notice because my head was buried in my phone. None of those were disasters, but each forced a micro‑recovery. By 6 p.m., those micro‑recoveries add up to fatigue. I told myself it was the price of living and working in this city. Then I tried Even Realities G1.

Here’s the reality I wasn’t admitting: New York days are stitched together by glances—at a crosswalk signal, at a client’s eyes, at that Slack ping that might matter or might not. We don’t need more screens; we need fewer glances that go deep and more that stay shallow but useful. We also don’t want to broadcast our tools. We want frames that pass in a Williamsburg coffee line or a Madison Ave boardroom, that just happen to give us a discreet heads‑up when it counts. If you’re a 25–45 urban pro with Rx lenses, the friction isn’t lack of information; it’s context switching. You jump from a calendar alert to Maps to a voice memo while also reading a street sign through a drizzle. The overlooked pattern is how often you look down—literally down—at your phone to confirm something you already knew five seconds ago. That down‑look steals presence. It breaks the thread in a conversation and steals eye contact in a pitch. It’s not that phones are bad; it’s that some information is better as a glance you don’t have to fetch. I didn’t need immersion. I needed a minimal, private overlay that fit my prescription and my city.

The turning point was a simple checklist. I told myself I’d reconsider if a pair of glasses could: one, take my prescription seriously (not a “demo lens” compromise); two, look like classic eyewear, not a prop; three, keep my info private and invisible to others; four, give me only the few things I actually use in motion—notes, navigation, headlines/alerts, a teleprompter when presenting, and occasional translation; five, offer a sane setup with off switches for everything. Even G1 is what crossed that bar for me. The frame options are familiar (panto or rectangular). There is no camera. The display is a discrete, floating head‑up layer that only I see. The lenses are prescription‑ready, and there’s a straightforward path for single‑vision online and progressive options via retail partners. I didn’t change my mind because of hype; I changed it because the risk felt controlled: start minimal, opt in to features one by one, and keep the thing looking like eyewear, not hardware.

I trialed G1 in the wild—ניו יורק, ארצות הברית, during a normal week. Here’s what I actually did. I chose the rectangular frame, uploaded my prescription, added clip‑on shades, and checked out. When the glasses arrived, I paired them to my phone with the companion app (iOS and Android are both supported). The app walked me through display alignment; a quick fine‑tune of nose pads and tilt made the floating HUD sit where my eyes naturally glance. I started with Minimal mode in the Dashboard—calendar title, upcoming meeting location, and a small notification badge. First friction: too many notifications early on. Fix: I turned most of them off and kept only time‑sensitive ones. Now the glasses don’t chirp; they whisper when I ask them to.

The next morning I used Navigate walking from a downtown train to a client office in Flatiron. Subtle arrows and street names appeared just above my normal line of sight; I didn’t need to hold my phone chest‑high to confirm a turn. Later, between meetings, I tried QuickNote: “QuickNote: follow up on vendor contract language.” My words became a timestamped note I could review in the app. On Tuesday I used Teleprompt for a five‑minute internal update. I imported bullet points and set the scroll to a slow pace. The text floated for me, but I kept eye contact with the room. No one asked, “Are those smart glasses?”—which was the point. On Wednesday, a partner from Madrid joined a call. I toggled Translate. Their Spanish appeared in English where I could glance without breaking my listening posture. Thursday was a longer walking day, so I clipped on the shades, set the display to auto‑brightness, and kept it in Minimal mode to preserve focus. Friday I tried Even AI with a voice wake (“Hey Even”) to check a quick conversion and skim a short definition before stepping into a negotiation. Throughout, I used the TouchBar on the temple to advance or dismiss when voice didn’t make sense, like on a noisy platform. Second friction: outdoor brightness made the text feel too present at first. Fix: I nudged the position a few millimeters and dialed down intensity; after that, it behaved like a quiet overlay.

What changed was modest and meaningful. In the first week, I picked up my phone less during transits and hallway walks. I didn’t stop opening my laptop or reading long emails on my phone; I just stopped fishing for little confirmations that broke my stride. Presentations felt steadier—not because I became charismatic overnight, but because my eyes stayed up. I captured more throwaway ideas before they evaporated. Translation was situationally great; when the conversation moved fast, I still asked for clarification out loud, but I missed fewer points. Navigation became calmer; I walked like someone who knew where they were going. Battery life was “forgettable” in the best way: it lasted through a typical workday and the case topped it up when I dropped them in. What didn’t change: deep work still lives on my laptop; long reading still lives on my phone; I still charge at night; and if I push notifications to the max, I’ll distract myself. Even G1 didn’t make me superhuman. It made the in‑between moments less leaky.

Who it’s for, in my experience: people who already wear prescription glasses most of the day and move through dense, real‑world environments—subway platforms, elevators, client floors—where a fast, private glance is better than pulling a phone. If you value classic frames, eye contact, and pragmatism, G1 fits. It’s also for presenters, sales leads, and founders who want discreet teleprompting without gear on stands. Who it’s not for: if you want a camera on your face, this isn’t it. If you never wear your glasses all day, you won’t reap the always‑on benefit. If you expect immersive 3D visuals or gaming, you’ll be disappointed; G1 is a head‑up display, not a headset. And if you rely on progressives and only buy eyewear online, you’ll likely prefer an in‑person fitting through a partner optician.

Let me address the doubts I had. First: “Will it distract me?” It can—if you let everything in. The cure is ruthless minimalism. I set my Dashboard to one or two tiles, used Do Not Disturb during meetings, and kept only time‑critical notifications. The display lives above your normal sightline, so it’s there when you glance, not when you stare. Second: “Will people notice?” The frames are classic panto or rectangular and read as regular eyewear. There’s no blinking light and no outward‑facing display; only you see the content. I’ve worn them in client spaces, cafes, and on the subway—zero comments except on the frames themselves. Third: “What about my prescription and comfort?” The lenses support a wide range of prescriptions with single‑vision available online, and you can get progressives through retail partners if you need them. The fit is adjustable, and there are lightweight materials and a screwless hinge that make them feel like real glasses, not a gadget clamped to your face. If you’re sensitive to brightness, start low; the auto‑brightness sensor helps in and out of sunlight.

If you’re ready to try the practical version of smart glasses, here’s what’s in the box: Even G1 with your chosen frame and lens, a wireless charging case, a USB‑C cable, a premium cleaning cloth, and the companion app for iOS or Android. The feature set includes QuickNote, Navigate, Teleprompt, Translate (with a free tier and an optional pro upgrade), Even AI voice assistance, a Notification Dashboard, and real‑time Transcribe. There’s no camera; privacy is intentional. For peace of mind, there’s a standard warranty and clear policies: non‑prescription orders have a return window, and prescription orders are custom with a short cancellation period. Many buyers can also use FSA/HSA reimbursement—check your plan. The move from “maybe” to “mine” is simple: pick your frame (A panto or B rectangular), upload your prescription, choose your lens, and start in Minimal mode. If you live the New York pace and your day is a string of glances, set yourself up for better ones. Order Even G1, pair it in minutes, keep what helps, switch off what doesn’t, and get back to looking up.