Two hulking, white robotic arms shot out the sides of the massage table. In place of hands were curved, disclike nubs, giving a high-tech crustacean aesthetic. The vibe was more spinal surgery than spa experience. Yet I was there to be massaged. The robot nubs, heated to a toasty 95 degrees, would soon get to work tenderizing my muscles.
Was I a little nervous that the nubs would bruise, chafe, or otherwise harm me? Yes I was. But I was also excited. This was my chance to try Aescape, the robot massage startup that’s been making waves in East Coast fitness centers and spas since July.
Some $80 million and many years of R&D went into building the first robot masseur, according to CEO Eric Litman. “This is the first real application of robots fully autonomously coming in contact with human bodies,” he said. “That required a tremendous amount of planning and technical execution.”
Since October, Bay Area influencers had been getting demos of Aescape at the company’s new SoMa location, and I, frankly, was growing jealous. “The robot hands felt like human hands,” gushed Matt Benfield on Tiktok. “It felt like a normal massage,” reported Kaitlyn Edejer. “I’m not a fan of normal massages,” posted Gilded Ashes. “This was a 10/10 experience.”
Regular (ie, non-influencer) San Franciscans will be able to try the service for themselves by late February, Litman told The Standard. Pricing for the robot massage varies based on location, with Aescapes currently stationed in New York, Tennessee, Florida, Maryland, and Washington D.C., plus some hush-hush “sports team training centers.” Expect to pay a $2 minimum per minute, so likely at least $60 — but there’s no tip required! I received my robo-massage for free as a media member, but I still wondered if I’d pay the price for the experience.
Getting dressed and scanned
My robo-rubdown began with a wardrobe change. First you have to squeeze into skin-tight leggings and a long-sleeved tee, offered in sizes from XXS to 3XL. (The company recommends sizing down.) Sharmin Sadoughi, senior VP of strategic operations, explained that this is so the robot can maintain consistency of pressure.
It felt weird to put on clothes for a massage; plus, it doesn’t allow for oils, ordinarily one of my favorite parts of a massage. But that’s intentional: “We wanted to be able to work on the body without people having to shower afterward. It’s one of the key selling points,” said Litman. The company has no plans to add oils to its treatments.
Once outfitted and lying on the bed, I fell victim to the kind of snafu that can happen only with a robot masseuse: The unit needed a software reboot. (This was a developer’s unit, so kinks were still being worked out.) After the update, I was instructed via touchscreen to keep as still as possible as infrared sensors scanned my body, creating a 3D model. My digital twin then appeared on the tablet screen, which would serve as a control unit throughout the massage. Litman said this million-datapoint scan ensures a massage that’s “uniquely tuned to you.”
On the screen, I selected the 30-minute back, shoulders, and glutes program, designated my desired level of pressure, then watched the robot-hands on the screen move across my digital body while their real-life counterparts kneaded and stretched my real-life flesh. The robot worked its way up and down my spine and across my shoulder blades and made tight rotations on my butt. The sensation was oddly pleasant. The robo-arms demonstrated an uncanny ability to linger on sore spots, holding pressure for a beat or two before moving on. It was eerily similar to the work of a human masseuse, minus the awkward small talk about “problem areas.”
When the massage reached my glutes, I turned up the pressure. My knots released, and a muscle that had been tight for ages finally relaxed. It was the kind of deep tissue work to the butt region that I might feel awkward asking for from a human — but I had zero qualms about forcing the robot to dig deeper.
This, I realized, is why someone might prefer a robot rubdown to a human one. Some people find massages awkward or are uncomfortable being touched by a stranger. Some men, I’m told, worry about having erections. But there’s nothing to be embarrassed about with a robot masseuse. “You can fart if you want,” a friend pointed out, a benefit I hadn’t considered.
Another benefit, according to Litman: Robots are stronger and more consistent than humans. Earlier models experimented with four and six arms, but user feedback suggested that was a bit too “octopus” for comfort.
For all its powers, the Aescape robot’s repertoire is still limited. It can’t yet do a scalp massage, and calf, neck, and trapezoid treatments are supposedly coming soon (hamstring treatments, however, were just added).
No matter how versatile the rubs, some people will prefer a human masseur. There is no substitute, of course, for real touch. But robo-rubbers are offering a different, more affordable experience. At Kabuki Springs in Japantown, my preferred spa, a 50-minute massage starts at $135, more than double what the Aescape would have cost me.
After the full algorithmic experience, I could see myself partaking in a robo-rub between sessions with a masseuse. But I wouldn’t forgo humans altogether. Not until the robot can rub me with oils, at least.