My journey with 3D printing begins with me mishearing “bust” as “butt.”
“Khoi, do you want to get your bust 3D-printed?” my colleague asks casually.
My butt? I think to myself. What have I gotten myself into? I’ve only been here two weeks.
To my relief, this was merely a misunderstanding. Instead of somehow digitally recreating my posterior, the District 3 shop called Michelano 3D offers customers high-quality printed busts of themselves. It's pretty straightforward: you sit for a short scan session to create a 3D map of your upper body, pick out the paint color, go home, wait and your smaller-than-life bust will arrive in about a week.
Once I got over my initial shock – for a brief period, I thought I would be dropping trou for a complete stranger – I became overwhelmed with an all-consuming, paralyzing dilemma: to do or not to do? As a millennial, I am well-acquainted with the many shenanigans we carry out in the name of self-love. But posting selfies with your Starbucks cup is one thing; making a miniature statue in your image – and keeping it beside your desk – is on a whole new level. Is this the slippery, narcissistic slope that will ultimately lead me to delusions of grandeur?
Eventually, peer pressure and curiosity win out. My colleague and I make the trek to the 3D printing shop, nestled beside the Nhieu Loc Canal. As we get out of the office, the sky starts an ominous rumbling. I have mixed feelings; she is chuffed to bits. This was, after all, her idea. It starts raining cats and dogs.
After braving a thunderstorm, committing several traffic violations and getting completely soaked, we reach the store, which is adorned with a flowery banner overlooking the canal.
Dinh Thien Quoc, the shop owner, takes one look at us and disappears into his kitchen. He returns with two cups of delicious hot milk tea. I like him immediately.
While we sip on our tea, Quoc starts explaining the process of getting from a simple scan to a solid product that we can hold in our hands. “The scan can retain 90% of the details from your face, and only takes ten seconds each,” he affirms. “But you must sit still and smile like Mona Lisa.”
He shows us a dozen of his previous creations, which all come in different sizes, shapes and paint colors but, true to his word, each one shares the enigmatic and slightly unsettling smirk of an Italian woman living in the Renaissance.
Photo via 3DPrint.
When I indicate that I am ready to be scanned, Quoc nods and holds out a headpiece, asking me to cover my hair. It has something to do with the color black, either from hair or dark-hued clothing, interfering with the light, which creates errors during the scanning process. The “hat” is actually a piece of brightly patterned cloth with two holes.
“You look like a Japanese chef,” exclaims my colleague, which is reassuring, considering I could be wearing a leg of somebody’s pajama bottoms.
What follows next is probably one of the most surreal experiences of my life. I sit on a swivel chair, staring unblinkingly at the camera while the lights of the scanner flicker sporadically. With the curtains drawn, it feels strangely intimate, like the inside of a photo booth. Being subjected to that light pattern is perhaps the closest I will ever come to doing psychedelic drugs.
After 15 minutes or so, all four of my sides are scanned and the chef hat has started to grow on me. It feels comfortable, like a nun’s veil. My eyes are watering when we finish.
Quoc informs us that the bust will be available in five to seven business days and shows us the elusive printing machine. It is working its magic on a client’s bust, piecing together thousands of layers into one solid sculpture.
3D printing is not a completely new thing in Vietnam, where professionals in design and architecture have been printing out stuff from 3D renders for years. However, it’s hard to find a printing service that involves scanning a live subject, producing an intimate and personalized bust for each client. “It’s probably the first in the city,” says Quoc.
Starting out just nine months ago, the HCMC University of Technology graduate was inspired by a video he came across on the internet. In the clip, Obama himself was sitting in a similar scanner, getting his bust done. Quoc began to delve deeper into the world of 3D printing.
“Back then I had just finished my Master's and was looking for something new to do. Something novel but also doable using resources I can find in Vietnam,” Quoc says. “I started researching 3D printing. Canon was very helpful. I sent them some queries and they helped with the coding [of the software].”
Initially, reading market reports on Vietnam’s 3D printing gave him hope that the business would find its footing, however running a business in Vietnam, especially a startup, is no picnic.
“I’m doing okay,” he shares. “A few clients a month are enough to cover the rent and advertising, leaving me with a bit of money for a coffee here and there. But business is simply not enough to take it to the next level.”
Despite this fact, Quoc remains optimistic that the trade he picked is moving in the right direction. “I’ve been putting up ads on Facebook and Google,” he says. “And by the end of this month I’m closing up the shop and moving to Nha Trang. I’ll give it another shot out there.”
As of now, the service is most popular with international tourists and older customers, so Quoc believes the crowd of tourists frequenting Nha Trang’s beaches wil probably be good for business. “Look at my hair,” Quoc points to the back of his head, grinning. “It’s all white now from all this thinking and planning, and I’m only 29 years old.”
I receive the bust a week later, hand-delivered by Quoc himself. It comes with a black, glossy pedestal and a nice box that smells like fresh paper. Currently sitting on my office desk is a miniature rendition of me that everybody swears is a splitting image of the real version. I will be the first to admit that it’s a little narcissistic to stare at a bust of yourself everyday, but like tap dancing or skydiving, it’s one of those things you have to try firsthand to know how it feels.
