I am alone in a dimly lit room, splayed face down on a table. Megan Thee Stallion’s Mamushi is bumping from a speaker, and on a large screen, two white circles roam up and down an outline of my body.
Am I at an exclusive German sex club at 2am?
Sadly, no. I am in a suburban shopping complex on a Tuesday afternoon, getting a massage from an Aescape robot.
Aescape describes itself as a “pioneering lifestyle robotics company” that is “revolutionizing the wellness industry by introducing exceptional massage experiences”. Put simply, they make robot masseuses: cushioned tables with two large, white, robotic arms that rub your body based on your preferences and preselected programs.
I love massages – I am never happier than when the profane flesh sack I call my body is being kneaded like Wagyu beef. So I opt for a 30-minute “Power Up”, which costs $60 and promises to leave me feeling “invigorated and alert”.
According to the Mayo Clinic Health System, massage therapy can help with a number of conditions including anxiety, depression, sports injuries, digestive disorders, headaches and soft tissue sprains. It can also improve circulation, strengthen the body’s immune response, lower stress levels and increase energy.
But is a massage from a machine as good as a massage from a person?
“There are so many contraptions out there. My mom has a massage chair and I use a Theragun at home,” says Crista de la Garza, a board-certified massage therapist in Colorado. While there can be value in these tools, de la Garza says she is not worried about a robot coming for her job.
First, there are real physical benefits to being touched by a person. During the early pandemic, for example, when people were isolating and social distancing, many reported feeling “skin hunger” – a sense of deprivation and abandonment that comes from not getting enough physical touch.
A 2024 paper in the journal Nature said that receiving touch was “of critical importance” and found that touch interventions helped reduce pain and feelings of depression and anxiety in adults. The paper also found that touch interventions from objects or robots “resulted in similar physical benefits, but lower mental health benefits”.
“It is a powerful thing to be touched safely and appropriately and therapeutically,” says de la Garza.
In fairness, Aescape’s website says it “is not about replacing therapists”. Instead, “it’s about enhancing their work and addressing the industry’s labor shortage.”
“Nothing can replace a human,” the efficient, blond receptionist tells me when I arrive for my appointment. I’m late because of parking woes, but the machine doesn’t care. It’s a regular spa, with manicures, pedicures, human massages and crystals for sale at the front desk. On our way to the robot’s chamber, she says the Aescape has been popular, especially with clients who “aren’t comfortable being touched by a stranger”, she says.
Inside, she hands me a high-compression, Aescape-branded top and leggings to wear during my treatment. Apparently, they help enhance the machine’s “body detection”. I lie down on the table and hold very still while the Aescape scans my body. She shows me the screen controls and an emergency button that I can press if anything goes wrong.
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“We haven’t needed that!” she says brightly before leaving me to change.
Once I’m prone and facing the screen, I’m confronted with an array of choices. What kind of music would I like to listen to? Lo-fi ambient jazz, classic rock, or a playlist called “brat”? I can view an unsettlingly detailed outline of my body – they didn’t need to depict my saddle bags so clearly – or soothing videos of the ocean, a snowy mountain or a rainy forest. I can adjust the height of my headrest and change the pressure of the machine.
One of the things that makes de la Garza skeptical about robot massage is that it “makes you think too much”. Getting massaged by a person involves more surrender – the therapist controls most of the experience, she says, and the client can turn off their brain: “The client’s job is to breathe, communicate as needed, and simply be in a relaxed state.”
Indeed, I find myself distracted by the urge to tweak the music and scenery. Do I like looking at snow? It’s OK. Can I relax to the “brat” playlist? No – back to ambient lo-fi. Is that really what my butt looks like? Chilling.
Some friends said a machine massage would make them nervous. What if the powerful robotic arms skewered my soft flesh like a pile of antipasti? I, on the other hand, was more worried it wouldn’t be strong enough, and that my knots of tension would remain coiled and tight.
But the massage is enjoyable. The robot’s blunt, plastic hands are gently warmed. They can’t knead and poke as precisely as human fingertips, but their ministrations feel pleasant. Actually, the hands are more like knobs, roughly the size and shape of small Dutch clogs. It feels a little like someone pressing their fist into your back.
At the end of my session, I feel looser and more relaxed than I had at the beginning. I don’t feel invigorated, exactly, but I do think I could drop into a deep, dreamless sleep.
It is certainly no substitute for a real massage. I like the surrender and precision of a normal massage, and the Aescape can’t massage the head, hands or feet. But if I can see myself going again if I feel particularly sore after a workout, or if I find myself roaming around a suburban shopping center with 30 minutes to kill. It’s relatively cheap, and you don’t have to tip.