09-07-2025
I pitted an AI robot massage against the real thing
The spa attendant ticked off a few instructions ahead of my 11:15 a.m. massage. Change into this wetsuit-like outfit. Pull your hair back. Hit the start button whenever you're ready.
'It'll do a couple onboarding things,'' she said, 'and then you're good to go.''
Onboarding? Was this a new-hire orientation or a hotel-spa appointment?
I had signed up for a new robot massage at the W Scottsdale. The 241-room hotel in the city's downtown entertainment district recently added Aescape, an AI-powered machine touted as the next generation of massage.
Robots aren't new to hotels. You've probably seen them cleaning, delivering room service or gliding through the lobby.
Now they're coming for the spa. Aescape (the A is silent) has massage tables at a handful of hotels, including the Four Seasons Resort Orlando in Florida and the Ritz-Carlton Bacara in Santa Barbara, Calif. They are also popping up in other cities at fitness centers and day spas.
There are no deepfake concerns with AI massages. You can see the massage table and the giant white arms with fat paws ready to pound your back.
The question for spa guests: How does the robot compare to a professional spa massage therapist and is the value there?
That's where your trusty travel columnist comes in. I tried both at the same W Hotel Away spa, 24 hours apart. The Aescape massage, 60 minutes, was $120. My 50-minute de-stress massage was $190, $228 with service charge.
Both did the trick in their own ways. But let's just say Erik, my real massage therapist, doesn't have to worry about job security.
Maybe you've plopped into one of those Sharper Image massage recliners or high-tech massage chairs at an airport lounge or mall. Get those images out of your head.
The Aescape robot massage at the W was set up like a traditional spa appointment. There was a treatment room, table and background music. Except there's no massage therapist and you disrobe not to your undies but the tight-fitting loungewear Aescape provides.
The company says it's designed to limit things getting bunched up during the automated massage. It also helps the robot read your body during body scans. (Mine told me my left foot was out of position at one point.)
Customers start the massage face down on a wide massage table, peering through the traditional face pillow to an iPad-like screen below.
'Welcome, Dawn," mine said, and noted I was there for the 60-minute total back, glutes and hamstring massage.
The device is the massage control center. It's where you adjust the pressure, pick the music, move on from a particular body part and heart any robot move you particularly like.
I found this all pretty distracting. But that's probably because it was my first time and I was taking mental and voice notes for this column. (The company says there's a way to set it and forget it and simply enjoy the massage. It's called immerse mode.)
I'll admit to taking a few deep breaths during the first minutes the robot was pressing deep into my back. Yes, I was thinking about the online comments from naysayers who feared getting crushed. The worries went away after I reduced the pressure level.
The robot can't reach two areas that are most enjoyable for me, the head and neck. And, in this particular case, I had a wicked stiff neck that needed attention.
So I was more than done with the back section 30 minutes in when the robot turned to my sore glutes and hamstrings. (You don't turn over on these massages, either; the entire time is spent face down.)
The glutes-and-hamstring section was the best part of the massage. A bonus: I rocked out to AC/DC's 'Thunderstruck" as the robot worked out the kinks.
You don't find that soundtrack diversity during traditional spa massages. I even turned up the pressure past the halfway mark.
When it was done, I wouldn't say I was in that dreamy, postmassage haze—but I was more relaxed. Another plus: My hair wasn't a greasy mess and I didn't have to shower off any oils or lotions. I didn't even have to check out because it was prepaid through Aescape.
Given the areas it doesn't reach, though, 60 minutes was too long for me, even on the company dime. And I don't think the value proposition is there, either. (Two young guests checking out spa treatments that same day asked if the robot massage was free!)
An Aescape spokeswoman says the price includes extras like access to the hotel's popular pool.
David Cronin, general manager of the W Scottsdale, said a comparison between traditional massages and a robot massage misses the point. The robot massage isn't designed to replace humans, he says.
They are for people who maybe don't want the personal touch of a massage therapist or just need a 30-minute recovery after a hard workout. The shorter massages have been popular, he says, with guests and locals. He's a cyclist and says that's the sweet spot.
For an extra 70 bucks plus tip, I'll take all the extras that came with my traditional massage. That one started with robe, slippers and a hand-delivered elixir made with three juices, spearmint tea and prickly pear syrup while I waited for my appointment.
The biggest extra, of course: Erik. The hulking message therapist has worked at the W for three years. He won me over as soon as the clock started in treatment-room six.
His hands and elbows dug into everything that hurt ('It's going to feel worse before it feels better,'' he warned early on) and the head and foot massages were the treats they always are.
I was just a few doors down from the robot's home at the hotel, but miles away, mentally and physically.
When time was up, Erik was waiting outside my door with a glass of cold water. The robot only asked me to rate the massage (4 out of 5) and simply told me to remove my belongings from the table to make way for the next guest.
Write to Dawn Gilbertson at
