Let me start with a disclosure: My mother is a retired massage therapist. Her clients were people and horses — a healer trained in both human and equine massage.
Also pertinent: My mother is a human being.
So I was skeptical walking into Sway Wellness Spa in Larimer Square— home of the state’s first robot massage.
Spa manager Jocelyn Farmer welcomed me and my skepticism at reception.
“I love that. I’m glad you are part of our industry in one way or another and that you’re going to try something new today,” she told me.
The “something new” is Aescape, an AI-powered massage robot with stark white appendages reminiscent of a dentist office. Colorado’s only other one is in Aspen.
I shared the simile with Farmer, who swiftly responded: “It’s much more comfortable and much more relaxing.”
Sway leases the robot, which is situated in a tranquil space tucked away from the bustle of LoDo. Human therapists work in adjacent suites.
“We would never use this as a replacement for people,” Farmer said. “I feel like human touch will never go away. It’s too important.”
Why offer this then?
“You have people who don’t want to speak to a therapist,” she explained. “Perhaps you have personal trauma and this is an alternative.”
There is also a curiosity factor — particularly for folks in the spa and tech industries, she added.
At Sway, the price for an Aescape massage is on par with one by a carbon-based life form — around $130 per hour. But it occurred to me I don’t have to tip a machine.
Before my massage, Farmer handed me what looked like exercise apparel.
“This is so the machine can glide along your body and perform the protocol.”
No oil. No lotion. No sticky film afterwards.
“So you could go right back to work,” she quipped.
I slipped into the slippery outfit and lay face down. There are no face-up robot massages.
Beneath the face cradle and well within reach was a touch screen with questions and tips.
“Is there an area where you need extra focus?”
I selected the lower back.
“Adjust the headrest. Adjust the bolster. Body scan in progress.”
A countdown appeared. 3. 2. 1. The robot whirred awake.
The “hands,” as Farmer refers to them, are heated. They obeyed my instructions to keep their contact light. They didn’t feel like hands, but were pleasant enough.
I saved the torrent of questions tearing through my mind for after. I darkened the screen, silenced the ambient music and eventually relaxed.
My half-hour session (I’m on a public media budget) was over in a jiff. Like any good massage therapist, Aescape (whom the staff nicknamed “Rita”) suggested I drink water.
Farmer was waiting for me in the daylight of the storefront. Had I needed her during the treatment, there was a call button … and an emergency stop.
“So are we a skeptic now, Ryan?” she asks.
“I am less skeptical,” I reply. “But I had a lot of thoughts while on the massage table. The robot doesn’t have intuition. When I think about my mom’s work, she would read people’s energy.”
Clients can give Rita endless inputs about areas of the body to focus on, pressure, perhaps even injuries, but healing is also about the innate gifts of the healer.
“On the other hand,” I tell Farmer, “I didn’t feel any compunction to please the machine, to be a good client.”
She nods.
“That is people-pleasing. You are trying to help when they are actually there for you.”
Unoiled, un-lotioned, unbothered, I left the spa and called my mother. I told her I was grateful this option exists for people, but that I wasn’t clamoring for a second session— even if the robot learns your preferences the more you visit.
“I’m grateful it exists for people, too,” she said.
Ryan Warner is the senior host of Colorado Matters.
